Friday, September 29, 2006
This man can walk around all day without a worry about when the end might come or how he could get the workload finished. He can let his mind be distracted by learning to play the guitar say or maybe watering the plants, that is if the leaves are drooping or the soil has become too dry. He can take a part in his own life and can consciously get involved all of the thoughts dancing around his mind, and comments; hasn’t that tree got an interesting texture out the window and is not the sky up there a shade greener this hour and if I record the sound of that man tapping his shoes then repeat it via a loop machine will I be able to edit the resultant base sounds to create an interesting repetitive thud over which I could dub a high pitched monologue. He makes tea, sees what’s in the fridge then boils potatoes, switching the microwave on but it is in the lounge that he thinks up the new narrative idea. Nothing can prevent this man from seeking out new areas of thought because of course his conceptual space is limitless. He knows that he can always walk outside if he wishes but opts to stay inside, searching now for Ballard or Orton, Philip K Dick or stuff by the Marquis de Sade on his bookshelf. Fiddling with the lapel of his shirt he casually turns to see if his computer has finished downloading the latest intellectual material. Everything is possible; This man can dream and create models for future developments, write plans for necessary projects and maybe the plan is the work and there is nothing else that needs doing to it; the end result an open ended structure that leaves the viewer free to imagine his or her own encapsulated world, fixed only temporarily to the original idea, leaving them free to unlock their pouches and pocket the art, carrying it along with them along their winding paths.