"The erroneous gaze from the perfect [wo]man"
I am concerned with looking in all directions, to try to make sense of what all these directions are.
< What is this > ?
An Image is more than an
Poiesis is an integral part of Art; the act of bringing into existence something that did not exist before, something that is inherently new, and through this new-ness the power to believe and hope and live and dream erupt into being, into feeling and looking and questioning. This quintessential happening gives art purpose.
Art is the foundation of society that escapes.
In escaping it is free to make-believe.
In make-believe it denies you and me.
Each image is inherent in the act of poiesis; each image is its own act of the act of making new. it is now what was never before. it is now something wholly itself in its own ultimate image.
The erroneous gaze from the perfect [wo]man can never be and has never been. (The photograph I made last night in the boiler room had never been but now is. Even if destroyed, itself still is and has been and is wholly itself in its own image of what it is. The erroneous gaze may never happen from something so perfect for it s perfectness would be shattered (is shattered by the mere thought of its erroneous state) and left would be (is left) the notion of the perfect and the notion of the gaze that so dangerously and ultimately destroyed itself.
Archive of image & thought.
I had a thought the other day and have lost it, maybe down the back of the sofa or maybe, when I was walking, wearing the jacket with the pocket that is a bit loose, baggy, it dropped out onto the street, I, myself, unaware. I'm sure I had more memories than I do now, they also seem to be disappearing at a worryingly fast pace, faster than I can make new memories, so it seems that one day soon my head will be void of memories because I can't keep up the pace of making them to replace them. I can never remember the dates of my friends birthdays, sometimes I can remember the months, but trying to choose one day out of twenty-eight or twenty-nine or thirty or thirty-one days as when the actual birthday is is a hard task to do, and when I do rarely get it right it is always 'too late' as it took me a long time to guess at the day and the day has often passed; the only dates I know with surety are my own birthday, in October, and my Brother's birthday, in April. I often have ideas that I want to develop into something but the ideas never stay in my head for very long, and even if I write them down somewhere I tend to misplace the piece of paper that the idea was hastily written down onto and then have to either a) remember what the idea was, which doesn't work because it has completely escaped me and vanished along with the paper it was written on, or b) think of a new idea, but this ends up being forgotten along with where I wrote it down, or c) just admit that I should just let the ideas be lost as the actual enjoyment of the idea is thinking of the idea and after that it is all an unfulfilling time anyway as the idea never really holds true to the idea that you thought of in the first place. I have trouble with recalling the names of the faces of my friends and family as there are too many names, how many I'm not fully aware of as there are some names in languages that I haven't heard yet, and names in my mother tongue that I'm yet to hear or read or see a face that is called this name, like Ptolemy or Millicent, certainly now I have read these names I know them, but I will forget them because there is no face to put to them, unless I call someone the wrong name and the name I use is either Ptolemy or Millicent, but then it is the wrong name for the wrong person so it will be corrected with the correct name which I will then have to use and use to displace the name I used to begin with. The days of the week are some of the first things I begin to mix up, Sundays become Mondays, but Mondays become Thursdays so really when I forget that Monday is actually Sunday I'm really thinking the it is Thursday and I have forgotten that Thursday is actually Monday, it is a good job that there are only seven days in the week to remember, as if there were more, say, 15, then I would find it a hopeless task to remember where exactly in the week I'm up to. I oftentimes leave my plants without water for longer than I should, not because I am cruel hearted and like to watch life slowly wither from them, but simply because I don't remember to fit it into my daily/weekly/monthly routine amongst many other things that I forget that I should be doing on a recurrent basis, fortunately I do remember to water myself, though. Most days I forget who I am and I constantly search through the corridors and labyrinths of my spoilt mind that don't seem to lead anywhere but back to the waking and slumbering I know is the only constant, though sometimes sleep is something I forget, in-fact most nights, or days, I forget sleep and consequently forget waking, for without the one you cannot have the other.
Time seems to slip away in these processes of forgetting; time, it seems, is the one thing that makes me forget; how can I forget at leisure instead of at the mercy of something I cannot see or control; time, it seems, is just that, it is mercy, it is a mercy, it holds us in its grasp, it decides when it is up, and when it begins; time, it seems, is ambivalence; time forgets some but remembers others; time giveth and taketh; time is forever but forever is something I do not know, or is it something I may have forgotten, as I have forgotten time.
I: A Theory of Shattering Mirrors (and their link to the photographic)
If you look into a mirror, what is seen is your opposite, your left as right and right as left - a facade of yourself - no insides - a picture - your self in an infinity.
If I were to shatter this mirror, your opposites would scatter into an innumerable, (give or take) measure of opposites, each different from the original that began the looking into/at, yourself -
Photography may embody this practice of s h a t t e r i n g -
Instead of holding up a mirror to that what is around, you hold up a camera, and, with each image, you shatter another fragment of time, of place, of self - another instance of a facade of what is in-front.
Time becomes meaning(less).
As you freeze it - in the innumerable image, innumerable shards of silver, innumerable instances - each separate shard, (each a separate opposite reflecting shard) to the one that precedes and succeeds, again shatters the mirror.
We live in a world where images are the opposites that allow us to see the outside of ourselves to learn what mistakes are in-front and behind.
If not a single image was created after this word was spoken, then no more would the mirror shatter.
We would remain in a flux-less time.
II: A Theory of Infinite Mirrors (and their link to the photographic)
When you look into a mirror and hold another mirror angled into the former, with your reflection's reflection is created a paradox of infinity
You reflect & reflect & reflect ad infinitum
(though this infinity paradox may shatter*)
Images allow us to construct a similar paradox of infinity by a constant reflecting of what is around, (our surroundings being the former mirror,
(which is especially prevalent now through digital means)
and our images being the latter mirror) captured in light so to see all, forever (as long as that may be)
Instead of the mirror starting and ending with the mirror and its own reflection reflected, until shattered, the photograph will end, and start, elsewhere.
Its start is a View from the Window at Le Gras embedded in pewter, and can generally be found in Austin, Texas
Its end is at the point of the last photograph - until that point the photographic lies within a temporal mode of infinite mirrors each reflecting
the latter in the former, the latter in the former etc.
The last photograph will end up shattering the mode of infinity in photography*