The Other End of Imagination

The sky opened up after a day of gray and burst forth the light.
Hello halo! (A sister to the loper?)

"He thought big and they called it phallic.
They didn't know he was panoramic...."
Flushing delights (innit).
Flushing Meadow is a weird World's Fair graveyard. The NYC model in the Queens Museum of Art, a long overdue visit, well worth the long 7 slog out there.

My lens is sore....

Progress

OK, three things:

1. "What time is it there". Weekend viewing. For starters, the DP and whoever lit this flick, need awards. Beautifully photographed & in the main, wonderful light play. Rare for ME to say this, but how refreshing is a film without score? Really adds to this. Content? It's about grief. About love. About connection. About *time*. And the relation between time and the above. Really innovative. Quite weird. But weird in a very gentle way. A wonderful trip into a mind.

2. Tim Hawkinson is my newly aquired art hero. What a creative mind. What pure vision. What a mix of wonderfully contrasting messages through his work. The retro collection at the Whitney just blew me away. So many good things I didn't know which way to turn. Definitely a return is needed already. And the Uberorgan on 56th Street & Madison is wild. (Once more, accosted for photographing by jobsworthy, but more of that on birdw0rks Flickr in a while...) Where to start with the main exhibit at the Whitney...? The toothpaste and human hair clocks. The sonic, bamboo, room-filling, figure-rich percussion. The tyre monster. The fractal hands. The skin unseen and seen. The inflatble self portrait and chicken suspended from the roof. The signature machine. The hydraulic printout face animation. The interaction between the natural, mechanical, visual, and audible. Too much. Too wild. Too good. All linked by extention cords fashioned, at intervals, into knitted shapes. This man earns his crust.

3. A new camera, a new photophase. The above represents one of my faves re. own photographs. Why? Not 100% sure yet. It's simple. It's clean, It feels alive. It elicits some kind of emotive response that I can't put in words. It's full of movement. It's somewhat abstract. It expresses something that I can't express via another medium. Will take a while to work out what that is, natch. Took a while to capture. And yet, was born from impulse. Music composition, at its best for me, is normally exactly the same. There are still deeper reaches of the mind in which to burrow down into, eh? Obviously. This is one reason, exactly, why life will never be boring. Don't you agree?

Arse Tick

The truth will out
And me will too
It's all a myth
And those books you read are just munky food
Sanity is a beach hut in a corn field
A fat waif in leather troos
Yuz all fookers
And arl tekk yuz awwl on

But don'€™t take it out on the pillows
And is hat tidying part of the deal?
See...
I was born in a barn, me
And that'€™s why I always leave it open to you
Or maybe I'm just a sloth in sheep's clothing
Or a gorged tick in an evening dress

Altogether Gone or Loony

"when you naked so shiver in the drizzle

look at clothes by your feet and think 'oh yes, warm' then eat them by mistake

"when you dream be dream, but only of a gloomy lobtoast

"when you park so wrong ee headlights smash bumper breaky shuttle bang bang and bang like fucking pinball

"and when your west no longer be west of your east but above it and mock you like bad candle jack: 'oh ha, you dim muddle bum' and your north-south be altogether gone or loony

"then ooo welcome
ahhh ooo mug welcome.."

Chris Morris