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.

on the importance of clothes...


"I guess I just have a hard time getting used to this life is all."

pause.
no wind today.

inside without a trace of the humane.
"outdoorsman?"

"not a chance."

"the television is ON!
and you have, now, nothing to say,
after 40 years,
how could you favor this derisive goal 
a sucker punch, yes to the face!" 

beleaguered but high I did let him inside,
I did, and without controversy or sorrow.
the kitchen light beckons me
so clock it out
guilt trip
pilgrimage?

"not any MORE!
suckers to the grave"

"won't you follow me to die,
I can not take myself anymore"

the ego folk 

"away...
ultimately, it is true, and NOW you will die always,
don't you KNOW fella, hey."

So, I've been stayin’ up movie/news/sex watchin,
flippin’ in between Washington's continued district of Colombia, "town destroyer" of NY fame"

oil spill rouse with a spice of serendipitous Brazilian ass
fire to the light opening wide and open as the wide crevasse of my grandfather
west Rainier memory, Washington is there too 

"is he in you?"

anyway, so I catch a trenched feeling like we are still at war
in generations of unconscious healing,
the feathersmith of American pride stands thick limbed and Indian in my house,

"who are you?" 

why, not

The voice of me, you must be you, and I ME!
the sad, “why try?” and remained silent,
such a kind guy.
I thought,
and felt the presence of myself, as another,
brutish, uninvited,
a burden, a sin,
yet here always, and somehow still loved,
in the creation of an all-Guilt haunt of our collective tribal past,
coming back, and now is…bird's chirp
I take off my shorts, I pray and sweat with black fast of day

Winter 09’ 
N.W. Calgary. I chase my Love barefoot out into frozen, icy pavement

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