Cyclical Wordplay Artwork

Cyclical Wordplay Artwork
Title: Mountain Reflection on Cyclical Wordplay (original manuscript made into art)

On the Artwork

On the Artwork

By using a spontaneous form of action painting, without touching the brush to the paper at any time, three different shades of paint; gold, white and black, are used to emphasize free form, spontaneous creative expression not only in the written word, but in the space that it occupies. This method of action painting which withholds all contact with brush and medium excites notions of letting pure spontaneity occur through the open-ended natural course of creation taking shape out of human hands (in the air).

This representation of the spontaneous action of free form creativity in writing makes the viewer look at the entire page as one unified expression in the creative form of the particular written piece, whereby the empty space defines the writing as much as the words expressed on the page. Those who habitually write freehand, especially free form, improvisational writers, know that the limited size and type of paper (e.g. whether there are lines, creases, folds, graphics, etc.) inevitably divides up the rhythm of open-ended spontaneous expression.

By utilizing circular objects, such as plastic compact disc panels and other circular objects, I have used a method of action painting where I flit a paint-covered brush repeatedly to introduce a dense splatter effect over a circular form in order to regard the fact that all writing is inevitably formed by the shape of the letter, word and sound through which its expression carries. Another method of action painting brought me to form sizeable globs of paint in shape of an oval, especially at the end of a tail of paint or alone, confirming the universal truth that with free form, spontaneous movement, all form inevitably assumes a circularity (or cyclicality), as represented in the oval, sphere and all other circular formations found in nature that are central to the creative essence of form.

The center of the artwork details a line with a globular oval end protruding into a circular form. This marriage of two different methods of action painting, spraying over a concretized foreign object and allowing natural shapes to occur, is the central image in the piece, which glorifies human intent metaphorically through many complementary symbols, as in the sperm and the egg among others. The globular oval and thick line formed near to the core image represents a leading expression, passing away from the center’s concretized circular form, from which the rest of the paint devolves as miniscule spatial occupations on the page. The rest of the action painting signifies the importance of relatively negligible marks defining a whole expression of greater density and presence.

Note:

The process of creating this piece: freehand spontaneous writing on notepads, transcribing writings onto a computer, editing form of writing into conventional poetics, typing out each piece onto self-prepared craft paper, stitching together each page into a wall mural (or spatial literature), action painting, re-configuring the entire spatial layout page-by-page, photographing and scanning each page, designing the end artwork via computer software

Preamble

Preamble

Opening the page to experimental, improvised writing which emphasizes and attempts a most strict depiction of the spontaneous nature of mind can be perceived with harrowing aspiration in the realm of continuity; that is flipping the page.

As a forewarning of sorts, this collection of writing, as devised for readership, is the result of an editing which has purpose in giving the spontaneous flow of mental activity form. While attempting to convey the refreshing action of letting go, all structure and boundary and, in sense, constructs of mind are dissolved.

The writing asks many questions to the reader: Where do we place ourselves as we remain glued to the mirror image of our world? When do we notice that the contour and shape of the mirror-image reflected into our minds is in fact an artificial; that is reflective function, as opposed to a direct sight? How do we understand and make observations into the absolved outpouring of mental fruition through a most basic, almost instinctual, resonance with words as mere vessels of human energy? How can we instill in the reading a sense of self, a theatrical play of noticing self as natural form, spontaneously resolved and perceived in the moment?

The title of the collection “Cyclical Wordplay” brings to light the foundational nature of creation as a cyclical process, with rhythmic momentum in a constant transition between renewal and decomposition. The idea “Wordplay” refers to a notion that words can be as sounds on an instrument, simply meant to be full to the brim with a particular feeling and raw emotion/thought/idea/sensation through which it is able to carry into a context of form and meaning. So, in a sense, we can conceive of words' symbolic sound, through which the newfound impression of the given moment may relay its inward need to express itself in a very subtle form; through a word. Each individual reader is as an instrument through which that symbolic sound or word idea is carried and resonates with a new meaning each time, according to the particular temperament and character of the individual, allowing that symbolic sound or meaning to carry through them as its basic vibration.

Jailed Desire


Between the horseshoe and wild figments of the bailiff,
we screamed shouting in a huff,
all distanced by a few proud gruffs.

The way we learned another song ive heard, and soundly kissd the way she sang, all day.
“To forget yet another grave to the hate of passd out, laughin,”
Strains into the mornin lite, all grated into a horror-show spawn disguise.

“Ol’ bang and swingin grains,”

We hatched a sharp-end perfect and swayd earth to curve around another worth,
possibly a shameful night,
with a hardend wretch,

“But why anger the groove under temptations wide-n-smooth, deprived negligent hide?”

“I could figure another way to escape, but I think I will just stay,
the moon's been a whole lot of warnin cries
and she loved the way I said I wanted to be only the way I was gonna”

See the face speak from a glowin tomb
shrinkin under a cool gust
in the sky-blackened
with storms’ sheer foam,
springin aimlessly round the answerin groans,
all gone cold,

“Take me away,
now take me dry but I wont stay inside,
chain my feet or mark me a slave to the firin’ plain brink or edge
you’ve been stringin’ from the endless lofty ledge,
please no why I see the arms got a surprised smile.”

“Burnin’ hi, this forehead's gray with streaks of nicotine blinks
and my train of thought's been stolen for a pick and a nail,”

Early,
passd the street,
we panicked with crosses cold as iced holes,
breathin above the haloed spring of living hair and flesh,
speaking a language of the grand, distressd
socialist dodge,

“Brew an ache static as the flame that died to a wind,”

“Birthd as a string flown to the herbalist's charm,
transformed to gold across the person of a mind hurt with smoke and envy,”

The wine mildew sunk and spilld
caressing the unearthd wizardry of yearnin for the lanky
blessd panegyric gong that hung to mine;
the meccan youth
judged to the spike of a bestial frame,
calld to throatsing the burnt fungi of a stinking dungeon, smouldering,
and challenge the furtive upbringing of a snaky eyed Jew,
bloody as the few ethnic spines that learnd of another god,
now say slowly:

“The joke,
of a ghoul
bursting at the weasel's
astringent chimes

wedgd into a prairie
fanned to the thickbodied beggar
playin a screw for a watch

prayed to time in the elegant methodology of a chalky-lipped stooge
fullbellied in the fecal ditch of corrupt Latin drains

pitchd as a tipis’ vent
sputterd wise drawling off the addicts cheek
aflame with the rage of a million marching horses
savagely wandering

the political blinds of a drunken sniffling child
hailing cabs with torches of mirth and biblical wonder
losing the page and fooling the magic theatre
in a spayd cats sight
silenced by the caverns of traditional modernity,

butchered and bought out for a smitten tongue-splashd alcohol
grasping ears to heal the flashd out apocalyptic dawn of chosen beauty

in one amiable decision to live on the mountain of home
nested in the light
sheer as the nights' weird desert plague of sadness
blamed on a drum for the beat of divorcd madness
sick derisive patterns of wordless imagining
in the pictured life among the arisen void,”

Kernels of lingering issues
ailing the laughter's fine and even oblong walk
to the pirated weak blundering
among the fold of zerod in bombarding,
chanting something sweet as we followd the morbid west

a new vine of soulless hierarchies
of pantheon smudge
bellowing hot pierced chests of sacrificed suns
to the languish of a virgin disease
eating away passively into the medicine smoke of a mushroom feast
Blurry flies
bleeding into lines drawn across the mess of a painful junk of rights
and infuriated guessing approaching the vast sky
as we believe the truth of our strange inklings
of lied stagings
grounded in a death

“We fled
to turn back and drink more of the community’s enduring strength,”

“Higher than mind or knowing,
to the rains that fell before we were hearing or feeling,”

A resembling
entranced under the botherd remorse for an embrace
to fall backwards and free the tremulous nervescratchd swoon
we longd for
in our prison cell agasp at the last key
sleeping all too close to be undreamt
in the winking fires of a jailed desire.

29, December 2009
Waking in brother’s old room, south shore Massachusetts

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