Atom bombs atomize, mirror mazes distort and distend, the Large Hadron Collider destroys to create, Google search indexes information and kaleidoscopes awaken patterns; These are the tags that identify the image. A landscape in fluid flux arises which extends across many dimensions. The image is intimately tied to the infinity of Google search, the boundaries of a blog, the visual abilities of the viewer and the interactions of the moving images present within the image itself. The image constructs an architecture that facilitates and maintains the image’s own logic, a system determining relations between things, which provides points of access for the viewer.
Still Lifes?
The images of fragmented still lifes are neither still nor do they represent life, at least as we know it. The fragmentation of the traditional still lifes in the image, offers a multiplicity of “windows” that gather to form a collage-like image. Each window is a new aspect of the still life: hyper-textualized orange skin, an errant barcode sticker, a tear in a ripe mango, a contoured navel and the soft yellow blur of-- something. Here the still life is violated by the cut-up; comparing apples to oranges is a futile endeavor, as identity lays deflated amidst a plenum of attributes and trivialities. No longer possible to place a ‘self’ within the orange, the viewer finds life in the play of the particular, which unfolds as a moving hodgepodge on the screen. The image becomes a marketplace predicated on the exchange between and within objects, as oranges graft to apples and cloth fuses to ceramic. It is an image economy where bodies lend themselves to one another as a catalyst for change, or at least the possibility of change. The still lifes are forced to abandon their inertness and “itness” amidst the tumult of this image economy, a process that is complicated (or not) by the presence of self portraits.
Self Portraits?
The self portraits are as fragmented and reshaped as the still lifes, leaving disfigured amalgamations of blemished flesh, glossy pupils, magnified eyelashes and tilted teeth. These self portraits abandon any attempts to recover a representation of the individual; instead they bask in the play of images. It is the transformation of a Rubik’s cube from an instrument of logical solution to an instrument of constant re-creation. The image economy disregards the logic of circuits for the logic of the circus, placing focus on the improvised over the calculated, the grotesque over the refined and the inhuman over the human. Emphasis is taken off of the life of the individual and focused upon the lives of the images and their interactions, as some move to lend their unfocused eye to complete another’s face, others prefer to lie below the epidermal images in solitude. The image’s title extends the image’s logic to include the viewer, as careful capitalization in the title forms the question: “STILL…SELF?” This both linguistically highlights the presence of distinctions between identical forms and questions the nature of the “selfness” of the viewer himself.
Still Self?
The video-image is only accessed by the viewer through his visual sense perception, as there are no direct experiences of taste, sound or texture. The viewer is enveloped in the logic of the image, as the image is blind to all but the viewer’s eyes, fragmenting the image of the viewer himself. The image of the viewer and the image on the screen operate under the same logic, at least for a while. As the video lasts only six seconds, the viewer’s experience is transitory, however it produces a new conception of what the individual could be under the particular logic of the image. If the conception of images is expanded to include all things, material and ethereal and human and inhuman, then the self becomes an index possibilities of ‘being,’ which arise from experiences with new images. The viewer’s index becomes similar to the Google search as it results in an infinite index of variations and conceptions based upon a fixed entity, which has endless potential for growth. As each image proffers a logic of existence, a stable life is defined by the presence of familiar images and logics, however despite attempts at insulation images can neither be contained nor always recognized, leaving the individual perpetually at the point of possibility.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
MOON
One day I want to walk on the moon
Though I know there are no days on the moon
Tell time according to the gears of a clock
I have investigated this moon
Closely in my daily life, collecting
Moon dust and rocks off the kitchen floor
That is just as cold as the surface of the moon
I don’t hold my breath
So I sink to the bottom of the swimming pool
And walk on the floor as if it was the moon
I sleep in bedrooms without roofs as much as I can
To close my eyes, to feel as close to the silence
As must be on the moon
I drink till I get sick to practice my orbits
I talk to people about the moon
Not for their science, but for its sound
That rolls as a word as round as moon in the mouth
I take pictures of crescents, harvests and blues
Each day of the month, recollecting each type of moon
I sit in my room for hours writing about the world outside.
To practice what life I would live on the moon.
SPACE STATION
hat a great day for humankind, the astronauts congratulated each other
Behind mirrored-glass visors and thick synthetic gloves
Natives of several countries, they gathered
To find life in outer space on the international space station
They ate exotic foods prior to departure
Lazing in deep space, find comfort in the earth that seeps from our bodies
We will soon search for the outside in each and every orifice
Pores, nostrils, ear canals, digestive tracts, windpipes and urethras
We will weave into one another simply performing
The daily tasks of intergalactic flight
To regain our sense of permeability, possible escape
Love made so primitive on such super computers
Photographs of home dissolve in these passing light years
Constellations of dye float weightless, without memory
Someone will complain to head quarters about the glare
The aluminum foil and neon lights overexpose these dreams of home décor
We have begun to cover portholes with curtains made of clothes
We are naked but we dress this space as if it was our home
There are microphones and cameras that record our every move
And research into the search for extraterrestrial life
We have beds with patterned linens, but instead we float as globes of tangled bodies
To orbit once more on a universal axis, to enjoy that familiar home seasickness
In our space station, all the world appears this way, at least at this stage of the mission
We are pleased to report to our donors that we have gathered glimpses into the beginnings of early alien life.
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