‘Zone’

Still from Andrei Tarkovsky, Stalker, 1979

Still from Andrei Tarkovsky, Stalker, 1979

“All things are engaged in writing their history…Not a foot steps into the snow, or along the ground, but prints in character more or less lasting, a map of its march.The ground is all memoranda and signatures; and every object covered over with hints. In nature, this self registration is incessant, and the narrative is the print of the seal.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1850) quoted in Robert Macfarlane, The Old Ways, A Journey on Foot, Penguin Books: London 2013, pp.5
Image reproduced from Andrei Tarkovsky, Stalker, 1979, http://dinca.org/stalker-poster-artwork-tarkovski-surrealism/1058.htm

Tea, Toast & Post

Everyone needs Tea, Toast & Post. Image: Robin Hood’s Bay Heritage Village 54.4345°N 0.5344°W, Nr.Whitby and within North Yorkshire National Park © Denise Startin 2015

Everyone
who has experienced their personal life
or working life
or career
or artistic practice slide into a black hole
or has suffered
or has suffered an allergic reaction to…
or has suffered rejection from..
or fears..
or fears failure
or fears failure when it should be embraced
or dares…
or dares to hope
or dares to hope and dream
or dares to hope and dream and feel
or dares to hope and dream and feel and make
or everyone who has loved
or everyone who has loved and lost
Everyone should read this letter

Thank you Sol LeWitt, I love to you

“Dear Eva

It will be almost a month since you wrote to me and you have possibly forgotten your state of mind (I doubt it though). You seem the same as always, and being you, hate every minute of it. Don’t! Learn to say “F**k You” to the world once in a while. You have every right to. Just stop thinking, worrying, looking over your shoulder wondering, doubting, fearing, hurting, hoping for some easy way out, struggling, grasping, confusing, itchin, scratching, mumbling, bumbling, grumbling, humbling, stumbling, numbling, rumbling, gambling, tumbling, scumbling, scrambling, hitching, hatching, bitching, moaning, groaning, honing, boning, horse-shitting, hair-splitting, nit-picking, piss-trickling, nose sticking, ass-gouging, eyeball-poking, finger-pointing, alleyway-sneaking, long waiting, small stepping, evil-eyeing, back-scratching, searching, perching, besmirching, grinding, grinding, grinding away at yourself.

Stop it and just DO!

From your description, and from what I know of your previous work and you [sic] ability; the work you are doing sounds very good “Drawing-clean-clear but crazy like machines, larger and bolder… real nonsense.” That sounds fine, wonderful – real nonsense. Do more. More nonsensical, more crazy, more machines, more breasts, penises, c**ts, whatever – make them abound with nonsense. Try and tickle something inside you, your “weird humor.” You belong in the most secret part of you. Don’t worry about cool, make your own uncool.

Make your own, your own world. If you fear, make it work for you – draw & paint your fear and anxiety. And stop worrying about big, deep things such as “to decide on a purpose and way of life, a consistant [sic] approach to even some impossible end or even an imagined end.” You must practice being stupid, dumb, unthinking, empty. Then you will be able to DO! I have much confidence in you and even though you are tormenting yourself, the work you do is very good. Try to do some BAD work – the worst you can think of and see what happens but mainly relax and let everything go to hell – you are not responsible for the world – you are only responsible for your work – so DO IT. And don’t think that your work has to conform to any preconceived form, idea or flavor. It can be anything you want it to be.

But if life would be easier for you if you stopped working – then stop. Don’t punish yourself. However, I think that it is so deeply engrained in you that it would be easier to DO! It seems I do understand your attitude somewhat, anyway, because I go through a similar process every so often. I have an “Agonizing Reappraisal” of my work and change everything as much as possible = and hate everything I’ve done, and try to do something entirely different and better. Maybe that kind of process is necessary to me, pushing me on and on. The feeling that I can do better than that shit I just did. Maybe you need your agony to accomplish what you do. And maybe it goads you on to do better. But it is very painful I know. It would be better if you had the confidence just to do the stuff and not even think about it. Can’t you leave the “world” and “ART” alone and also quit fondling your ego.

I know that you (or anyone) can only work so much and the rest of the time you are left with your thoughts. But when you work or before your work you have to empty your mind and concentrate on what you are doing. After you do something it is done and that’s that. After a while you can see some are better than others but also you can see what direction you are going. I’m sure you know all that. You also must know that you don’t have to justify your work – not even to yourself. Well, you know I admire your work greatly and can’t understand why you are so bothered by it. But you can see the next ones and I can’t. You also must believe in your ability. I think you do. So try the most outrageous things you can – shock yourself.

You have at your power the ability to do anything […]

Much love to you both Sol”

Text reproduced from https://href.li/?http://jwvpk.wordpress.com/2009/03/10/letter-from-sol-lewitt-to-eva-hesse/#comment-288

The Occasion of poetry/Poetry of the occasion

Stéphane Mallarmé 1842–1898, Carte de Visite

Stéphane Mallarmé
1842–1898, Carte de Visite

“In historiography the prosaic element [lies] especially in the fact that…its actual form ha[s] to appear accompanied in many ways by relative circumstances, clustered with accidents, and sullied by arbitrariness, although the historian ha[s] no right to transform this form of reality which [is] precisely in conformity with what immediately and actually happened. The task of this transformation is one in which poetry is chiefly called if in its material it treads on the ground of historical description. In this case it has to search out the inmost kernel and meaning of an event, an action, a national character, a prominent historical individual, but it has to strip away the accidents that play their part around them, and the indifferent accessories of what happened, the purely relative circumstances and traits of character, and put in their place things through which the inner substance of the thing at issue can clearly shine.” – Hegel, Aesthetics.

Text reproduced from The Poetics of the Occasion: Mallarmé and the Poetry of Circumstance, Sugano, M.Z. Stanford University Press: California 1992, pp.1 Image reproduced from http://www.bibliorare.com/products/stephane-mallarme-1842-1898-l-a-s-sm-a-un-poete-5-lignes-sur-sa-carte-de-visite-a-ses-nom-et-adresse-89-rue-de-rome-trace-de-pli-il-sera-chez-lui-mardi-apres-4-heures/

One step forward/Two steps back (anon, anon, anon) – Three Steps into 2016

Left: Found Text in Samuel Butler Exhibition Catalogue ‘Travelling the Way of All Flesh’, Right: Robert Edwin Peary at the North pole by an unknown photographer

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”

Yours for a resolute 2016

Extract from T.S Eliot’s Little Gidding, the last of Eliot‘s Four Quartets, 1942. Quote reproduced from http://www.columbia.edu/itc/history/winter/w3206/edit/tseliotlittlegidding.html

Rimbaud

(Illuminations XIV: Les Ponts) [The Bridges]

Grey skies of crystal. A bizarre design of bridges, now straight, now curved, and others descending in oblique angles to meet the former, and these patterns repeating themselves in other well-lit windings of canal, but all so long and weightless that the shores, weighted with domes, sink and contract. Some of these bridges are still covered with hovels. Others bear masts, signals, frail parapets. Minor chords interlace, and fade; ropes rise from the banks. You distinguish a red coat, other clothes perhaps and musical instruments. Are those popular airs, snatches from noble concerts, the remains of public anthems? The water is grey and blue, wide as an arm of the sea. A white ray, falling from on high, annihilates this comedy.

Text quoted from http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/French/Rimbaud2.htm#_Toc202067626

Image reproduced from http://rickrozoff.wordpress.com/2011/03/30/rimbaud-evil/