Все о том же, но как свежо!
January 8, 2010
Новое, это хорошо забытое старое.
Простыми средствами можно добиться замечательной выразительности.
Краткость – сестра таланта. (Кротость таланту смерть.)
Ну, а теперь!… Прошу любить и жаловать TotemX - Master of Nothing; bullshitter of the highest caliber!
Или вот это. Название, как говорится, само за себя.
Это просто какая-то бомба джазовая!
November 2, 2009
А вот здесь линк на массу творческо-интеллектуального богатства: http://www.ted.com/ Не ем, не сплю, не работаю - все смотрю…
Чего это я?
August 25, 2009
Мы играем в игру под названием Жизнь
Самую справедливую игру на свете.
Допустим, ты обижен.
Ты хочешь меня убить.
ОК. Нет проблем. Может передумаешь?
Банг!
Я вышел. Мне хорошо-о-о-0…
В то время как ты
Остаешься жить
С этим.
Я пошел ужинать с папой Богом.
Мы сидим, разговариваем о том и об этом.
Смотрим оба в окно,
Наблюдаем за продолжением игры.
Завтра я выйду играть
Опять,
А пока,
Хорошо
Дома.
Разное. Жизнь типа.
August 5, 2009
Вчера ездили в Чесингтон на атракционы. У меня был energy defficiency syndrom. Причем конкретный. Я старалась конечно драму не устраивать, хотя очень хотелось. Я прикинулась самопожертвенным героем и даже постаралась сдерживать себя от слишком очевидного демонстрирования – позы, там, выражения лица и т.п. Ловлю себя на том в эти дни, что напоминаю себе маман. Uh-oh…
Розмари на прошлой неделе вдруг решила меня to shrink. Спрашивала о том о сем, прошлое, детство, что беспокоит. Отношения с родителями. Все такое. Тут-то я себе маман-то и напомнила, хотя сразу конечно не призналась, ни ей, ни себе. Отстраненность – вот что.
Тем более, что читаю теперь эту хрень “чудесную” (A Course in Miracles), и торможу конкретно на уровне повседневной жизни. Все мозги брошены на фронт чудесных упражнений, для жизни ничего не осталось – извиняйте. Сегодняшний урок – “Моя святость благословляет этот мир”
Моя святость благословляет этот компьютер…
Моя святость благословляет этот стол…
Моя святость благословляет эти бумаги…
С утра была полна дивлением на себя хорошую, с легкой подачи Макса Бондаренко, на работу едва времени осталось. Заплетенные в один божественный процес, удивление на себя хорошую, чудеса и психоанализ Розмари привели к решению заняться серией автопортретов. Весь следующий год в той или иной форме буду только собой и заниматься. Не лезть в чужие дела, не пытаться овладеть чьими-то навыками, не учить ближнего как жить. Только я, только мои дела, только мои таланты. В свободное от себя время разрешаю и рекомендую себе ценить дела и таланты окружающих.
Десять автопортретов. Рисунок, масло, акрил. Принт. Меццотинта и сухая игла. Руки. Уголь? Дневник. Курс в чудеса.
Уже на что-то похоже. Уже облекает форму. Структура. Лезли и Анна. Книга. Да.
The better Death
May 19, 2009
This morning’s post on the Poetry Chaikhana came with a better idea of death than anything I came across so far. Still, it is not ideal. I mean, the death the way I perceive it, is a liberation, complete bliss and the all-encompassing knowledge. But now I came closer to understanding the pleasure of the physical existence. The really ideal way would be to have both – the bliss and the knowledge of beyond death, and the pleasures of the material living at the same time… I think it is possible. How can I achieve it?
I am copying here the Ivan Granger’s post. Can’t say I am taken by the poetic quality of the translation, but the idea of the poem itself resonates with me.
Poetry Chaikhana Blog |
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Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi – No end to the journey Posted: 18 May 2009 08:40 AM PDT No end to the journey English version by Robert Bly No end, no end to the journey Into this new love, die
No end, no end to the journey That line becomes a rhythmic chant on Ramananda’s wonderful CD “Secret Language.” no end, no end never And, my favorite– how can the heart in love A full life, a complete spiritual practice can be found in that question. But why all this death imagery? Into this new love, die Why does every spiritual tradition speak of dying and death in such a favorable light? Do all mystics have some secret death wish? In deep ecstasy, the sense of individuality, the sense of “I” thins and can completely disappear. Though you still walk and breathe and talk, there is no “you” performing these actions. The separate identity, the ego, disappears, to be replaced by a vast, borderless sense of Self. It is this experience, this complete loss of the limited sense of self, that is the death so eagerly sought by mystics throughout time. This is the death that leads to new life… in every moment That limited sense of self is the prison we must break free from. take an axe to the prison wall, Suddenly, the walls that kept you contained and carefully defined drop to the ground — and there you stand a radiant being whose boundaries are no longer perceived in terms of flesh or memory. In this new freedom, you are alive in a way you never imagined before, and everything you perceive is part of that life. walk out like someone
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Looking for the spiritual structure
April 22, 2009
And so, I am looking.
It is Wednesday. I feel as some resistance in me is gradually lifting up. I think I allow the destiny to take it course and allow myself to believe, that that course will be the most exciting, happy and beneficial for me and all my people. Now I can see the meaning of the events in the past. The way they each gave me a little glimpse of what I am, what my life is about.
I understand now my preferences in art and what the art is for me. And why. And understanding that gives me the acceptance of my own way. Hurah! I needn’t resist being myself any more! 
So.
The art is not the goal in itself. It doesn’t have any meaning, any value of its own. The art is a tool of telling a story.
We, human beings, are constantly trying to decipher what we are in general, as human beings, and what each of us is, as a unique individual. Each life is like writing up a story. My life is writing up a story. My art is a tool of writing up a story.
I never felt that mad about art, and used to beat myself up for not being passionate enough about it. But it is fine now, no need to be passionate about something as limited as one way of art making. Because the life is much bigger than that, and to write an exciting story of a life, one mustn’t limit one-self to one form of creativity.
No use trying to squeeze myself into the trodden path, to comply, to follow the rules. I am too big for that. That’s what I didn’t realise before! I’ll shape my own path by letting myself to be…
White Shaman
April 21, 2009
21 April 2009
Last weekend I attended an interesting event. A talk on Friday and a one-to-one session on divination on Sunday, given by a Sangoma (Shaman) John Lockley from South Africa. This is his website: www.african-shaman.com
During the talk, John told us about himself and his path to becoming a sangoma. He had prophetic dreams about it since his early years. But being a white boy unconnected to the Xhosa or Zulu culture in any way, he didn’t know the meaning of them, or what to do about it. Only after several years of search and having suffered a series of illnesses, he came to the Teacher, who was already aware of him. She in turn had a dream, in which she was told to be prepared to train someone from a different culture to become a sangoma. And when John came to see her, she knew it was her student.
In Africa they call it thwasa – the illness, which afflicts people who are to become healers in order to force them on their spiritual path. I can think of at least couple of other examples in other cultures, where individuals reach their enlightened self only having gone through some nearly fatal experiences. Those kind of stories, along with a few examples of great artists ending up in a mental house, as we figured out on Sunday divination session, created a mental block, which kept me from committing myself fully to art, to spirituality and to life.
I find myself in a continuous mental argument about life, and death, and guilt of not doing enough and not being enough… And the bliss of being dissolved in the Everything, which will come after death.
On Friday’s talk, I asked him about death, what his perception of it was. He said, that he was afraid of the death – he is a human. But his feeling is different from that which people of Western cultures usually share. As far as I understand, there is a fear, but there is an acceptance. More of an acceptance and less of horror, maybe?.. It is difficult to explain without repeating word for word the whole conversation… However, to my words, that I was looking forward to death in a way, his response was, that it seemed, my challenge was to live. To the full. That it was easier for me to die than to live… I thought about it afterwards, and yes, it’s been sometime since I am aware, that I am not committing to something. But what it is I am chickening out of, I don’t know.
On Sunday session, John said that he was going to meditate and make himself available. That was the part of the session, when he attempts to contact the ancestors. I closed my eyes and waited. Nothing happen. None of my ancestors came to claim me. I imagined them sitting in an ante-room, some bored, some chatting, some just busy doing nothing. A receptionist at the communication device speaks up:
- Hey, there is this request here. Anyone has to say anything?
Murmur… Looking at each other,
- Nah.
- Nothing to say. She’ll figure it out for herself.
- Eventually.
- Yeah! Ha-ha. Eventually… Good one…
- Okay. No reply.
In the room where the session takes place, it is very hot. My cheeks are starting to burn. I can hear some rustling and open my eyes. John looks at me and offers to take a sit on the cushion on the floor.
- I’ll throw the bones now, okay?
- Okay.
We sit down opposite each other. Between us he spreads a goat’s skin. Sprinkles some herbs, saying spells in a clicking language. Takes a sack made of a goat’s skin with the things inside, says something onto it and blows. Then it is my turn to hold my hands out, supporting the sack and blow on it three times. Then he shakes the sack, and letting the neck of it loose, throws the things out of it and on to the skin on the floor…
Somewhere in my mind I trail back to when I am 4 or 5, living with my grandparents and an uncle in the countryside in Central Asia. Fortune-telling, was it? Or divination? Something of that sort was a natural part of life. Grandma and I visiting other houses, where women in 2 or 3 would spread the cards, or throw the bones. It never happened in our house though. Why?.. Oh, that would have been because the grandfather wouldn’t allow any religious or otherwise witchcraft in the house of a devoted communist. Sure.
The Things tumble out of the sack, my eyes try to follow them all at once. Some bright Things one wants to touch, some unexpected Things, like a pair of dominoes tied with an elastic ring, some indefinable Things like…
- What is this? – I ask, taking a piece and turning it around.
- Try not to touch it!
- Oh, sorry…
- It is a goat’s hoof.
He looks at the pattern the Things created on the white-haired skin.
- You are an artist.
- Yes, – I say, not knowing weather he knew from Ann, or deducted it from the bones.
- You do well in your art. You sell. You work hard.
- Yes. But I feel I don’t work hard enough. It is all relative.
- Oh, yes, it is relative. In what way do you think, you could improve?
- I don’t know which path to take. It feels to me, that there are two options. One is to discipline myself into working hard in one speciality and that way I will eventually reach some recognition. The other is, to let myself to be creative in any form I feel like at any given moment. Because sometimes I don’t feel like painting, but rather tell a story, or do a photo collage or something… But this is an uncertain way. I don’t know what to chose.
- What does your heart tell you? I don’t know how to live your life. Only you know. What do you think you should do?
- I don’t know. I’d like to risk it. To let myself do what I feel like doing.
- It means being more creative, doesn’t it?
- Yes. I want to be more creative…
- It looks like you are too much in your head. You need to trust your intuition more. Live from your heart, not intellectualise too much.
We talk. He asks me questions, looking at the Things on the skin. I keep glancing at the window, searching for the elusive answers from deep inside.
- Everything is good in the family?
- Yes. It is all fine.
He looks at the rug and seems to be puzzled. He looks up at me and his hand makes a circular movement as if around me,
- I can see some struggle around you. Is there a struggle in you life? Do you feel that way?
He collects the Things back into the sack and closes his hand around the neck of it. Shaking it slightly, he asks me:
- Would you like to ask about anything in particular? Any question? – I don’t know. All is fine in my life, really. But I feel unsettled. Yes. A struggle. I don’t know what my struggle is. What is my struggle?
He repeats the ritual of saying something to the sack and blowing, places the sack on my hands and I blow three times. He throws the bones again. He looks down for a moment or two. Points to a black magma-like lump on the skin and says:
- This is suffering in the centre… It came out again. But you say, everything is fine in the family…
- Yes, it is all great. The girls are great, and…
- Spiritual transformation!
- ?
- You are going through a spiritual transformation. Does it say anything to you?
- Yes… it does, – I start smiling. He starts smiling.
- I couldn’t understand, – he says, and there is excitement in his face. – All this suffering and struggle, but outside everything is fine in your life, so where this struggle comes from, and finally it struck me – spiritual transformation! That’s what you are going through! That’s why the talks about Death, and the tears! Before the butterfly becomes a butterfly it is in the… this thing…
- Cocoon.
- Yes, cocoon. But the cocoon is the death of the worm, no?
- Yes!
- In order to become the next stage, the worm has to die. And it IS suffering, isn’t it? It is painful. But it is a good thing. It is positive. I feel positive. That’s what it is! Does it feel right?
- Oh, yes, it does! – I say, and am surprised at how everything seems so clear and obvious now.
- You are going through the spiritual transformation, but you are not owning up to it.
- And I know exactly why I am not owning up.
- Why?
- Because even remembering what you said about your path, you had to go through a lot of suffering and almost die several times! I don’t want to go through the same! I don’t want the people around me to suffer because of my spiritual way. My life is just fine at the moment, I don’t want to loose it all.
- No, my case is different. Too extreme. Everyone’s path is different. I have a friend who is also a sangoma. She is in her 50-s, and she looks beautiful, much younger. She has three children, a husband who loves her, and she is fine. Her path was different from mine. Not so extreme. She had her own struggle, of course, but that was a different kind of struggle. We all have to face our demons. But it doesn’t mean that you have to sacrifice your family. Not at all!
- You remember I asked you about Death on Friday? And you said, that my challenge was to live. But I am not committing fully. It is the same with art. I am afraid, that if I commit myself fully to the art, I am going to end up in a mental house. And I don’t’ want it! My life is just great, and I don’t want to loose it – my family, my children.
- Why do you think you will end up in a mental house?
- Because all the really good artists did!
- No, they didn’t! If someone did, that’s not because they were good artists, but because they were imbalanced to start with. It doesn’t have to be that way. And this might be your block. You don’t strike me as an imbalanced person. On the contrary, you have children, you have a good relationship with your partner – that will keep you balanced and grounded. You don’t have to loose them, they’ll help you!
- So, you tell me, that I am safe?
- Yes. But now you need to find some spiritual structure, which you could practise regularly. It will give you the energy and the strength to go through your transformation. You see what I mean?
- I can see that.
- Not reading – reading won’t help. You need to practice.
- Yes, I understand, but so far I haven’t found anything I could relate to. There are too many things, rituals… I find it difficult to accept, that there should be a middle man between me and the Spirit.
- You are right, there shouldn’t be. A structure will help you to connect to the Spirit directly.
- I’ll be looking for the structure…
I dreamt of a sculpture…
April 5, 2009
The last episode of my dreams today was the one with a sculpture…
I had someone telling me, that he sow a very interesting sculpture, “go, and see!” Explained where it was, somewhere in a public indoors area. I went. It wasn’t a museum or gallery, so people around were not paying attention specifically to that piece of art, and I spotted it in a corner by looking for it. It was a life size or slightly bigger standing figure. In a office attire, with a laptop bag under one arm and some suitcase with documents in another. Glasses. Short curly hair. Tie. Breasts. Slightly erected bulge of a penis under the zip of the trousers… Made in bronze. The look of the myopic eyes and the general expression of the face kind of attentive, but rather lost, switched off like… You know, like the look of someone who internally gives up, but keeps up the appearances, not even himself aware of having given up.
Some joyous voice says: “Great isn’t it? I especially like the way the balls roll around, creating a circular movement of the composition.” I try to see the dynamic balls, peering all over the sculpture, but can only see the mass of bronze. I am looking also for some information on the artist. Somewhere, I find that the name of the artist is Marina Davidovskaya… (Later in the morning I googled the name. Nope… No such person. Therefore, I am not a clairvoyant yet.)
Then I gradually wake up, and not opening my eyes proceed to thinking about my project at hand. The Saint Ronan’s school… Not that I need even more new media to my repertoire, but I do want to make it in a digital print technique. After reading that book “Coraline” with the illustrations by Dave McKean (and looking up more of his works, of course), I got really intruiged by the ways of combining photography and drawing and painting media all in one. I want to try! Trying to think now, how to fulfill it technically, as it’s gonna require some very expensive software (Adobe) and scanner… and printer… 
But where there is will, there is way. Sure.
I was looking at a plastic doll and musing about colour. Why is the colour of a plastic thing, however close you try to copy the flesh shade, is always dull, colourless, dead? Because the colour is just one uniform mix. If you look at the doll in the light – it is all more or less the same colour, only with the variation of the tone, determined by the amount of the light falling on to a particular area. If you look at it in the shaded areas – same thing: one colour with a variety of tone. But if you look at a flesh, the overall colour is a composite of manyelements flesh is made up of: the skin itself, which is slightly translucent, the veins, coming closer or going deeper, the bones, the hair, the blood… So, coming to my favourite topic of the week – information – we can say, that the dull colour of the plastic bears the information about its nature – a uniform lamp of plastic. While the colour of skin bear the information about the components of the flesh…
What was it all about? I don’t know, maybe just wanted to pour out my thoughts on ridiculousness of existence of such thing as a flesh tint in paints.
Giclee is NOT an original fine art print!!!
March 23, 2009
I came across this description of giclee as Original Art Print yet again and it made me really cross, because this is a pile of nonsense! Giclee isn’t, never was and never will be an original art, the same way as if Picasso made a doodle on the paper and faxed the image to you, you wouldn’t own an original Picasso! Read the rest of this entry »
Eureka!
March 22, 2009
An hour ago I was sitting on my potty and staring at the tiny spot on the bathroom rug. It is plain cotton, off-white, at the moment moderately clean rug from IKEA. As it often happens, the patters of the surface, specks and all, formed into something definable. (For instance, when I lived in Tashkent, on the toilet door frame the shadows of the dents on the wood formed into a Lenin’s face…). Sooo. Yes, the pattern on the rug created an animal. So cute and real it’s features were, that I draughted it immediately on the sketch-pad.
Went on working. (BTW, I just bought this SBI! thing on the net and am in the process of going through the manual. More on it later). After a while walked around the bed… Glanced at the sketch… Eureka! The winner! I am going to make it a character of a highly popular, immensely monetizable series of books!
I can see, you are skeptical. I can hear your “yeah, right…” Well, that’s up to you. But you see, that’s just how the brilliant ideas happen – you have a period of high concentration, most likely preceded by a period of uncertainty and glum. You get to the stage of near-exhaustion, and then – BAM! – you get The Brilliant Idea!
Note to myself: Remember that for my future biographers’ information… Actually, I’ll turn it into a category – FFBI! No, better “For My FBI…”
