i think of my pictures as dramas; the shapes in the pictures are the
performers. they have been created from the need for a group of
actors who are able to move dramatically without embarrassment and
execute gestures without shame.
neither the action nor the actors can be anticipated, or described in
advance. they begin as an unknown adventure in an unknown space. it
is at the moment of completion that in a flash of recognition, they are
seen to have the quantity and function which was intended. ideas and
plans that existed in the mind at the start were simply the doorway
through which one left the world in which they occur.
the great cubist pictures thus transcend and belie the implications of
the cubist program.
the most important tool the artist fashions through constant practice
is faith in his ability to produce miracles when they are needed...
from mark rothko's 1947 essay "the romantics were prompted", first published in the journal possibilities
, vol. 1, no. 1
it's all falling from the hand again. a loud thump. parts of the city, an aerial
edge, a disjunctive "and", and our misspelled adventures, shaking the
simulacra and smart-mouthing the zha-zure—that's articulation. the gesture
is so expansive. now that i think of it, walking is more like an accordion, a
long stretch through the nunc stans
and various stalled vehicles. or a way to
be a long side of the now, this now in transit. its glass breaking solidity, its
similarity with what was said and what wasn't. and what is is our refusal to
remain. still. or some kind of joy. crowded and ringing, every day equals
every other, an opening an announcing a long appearance. or else a moment
of silence, like a phonograph. i should be shouting something here, but
without any periods
les wade, from "walking after midnight, largely diurnal and whirling" published in moveture: the daily rushesarchive.org/details/MovetureTh…