#75…considering the demon Beauty…


DCS_1629Reining a demon …

… Beauty … Beauty certainly isn’t a demon, is it …(or maybe – she)?

Is there a tethering grace to hold the pony’s desertion or revenge?


There is noise in bumping cans, tubes, brushes, bottles, razorblades dividing pleasure from depression (simple, just scrape off callused dried bumbles).  There is racket in traffic, robo-calls, bad media speakers, word questions for which there are no answers (impatience awaiting sober silence or skill?). There are memories, bits of love, clanging  mushy heady grey matter (or warm red embodiments), alarms beepbeepbeeping (is it commerce or just legality?).  There is loud partisan truth (for which there is no rebuttal).  All this, and obviously more, attend while roping a delusion …  the reining of Beauty.

And yet some, covered with dust and ashes, persevere. That is okay, and noticed, but please don’t burden the wrangler with your delusions.  It’s that day’s work, a tiny skirmish with an outrider of the sublime, a vengeful circus pony; and plenty for the painter’s day.

Beauty has within – a wildness – to birth awe, but beauty is not awe.  Beauty is tied to controlling acts of delusion, of a final ruling, maybe unity, even unalterable hushed simplicity; beheld, maybe, in joy.  And yet it changes, often degrades; entropy attending the stillbirth of awe.

Artistics possessors of technique and emotions, even greyed and ash covered ones, mostly lack that silent simplicity: and seek painting (circus ponies and more) for fun.  Now there is a delusion! Fun is less than joy, and that’s a fact.  The restraining lead tied to beauty is going to snap and lash through delusions, the stumbling, the wild skill-less drippings, the slashing; the meek even cowardly smoothing: hoping for that simplicity, a circus going solemn.  And yet, beauty is more than that and less than awe, and that’s a fact.

But shouldn’t fear reign in the confrontation with demons?

Can we be fools, funning with Beauty, restraint ruining the savage unleashing of joy: and still face (and even grasp) the descent of awe?

It is how the circus ponies get their revenge.



#66…Considering the role of anger…


IMG_0001Theatrical extras, birds and small mammals, escaped during a mystery play rehearsal (to have been performed here at the Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture).

The play, in synopsis, is a dramatization of a trio of stories concerning the same angry man, who knots ropes into a whip.  He is better known in other stories for peace and thoughtfulness, with a skill in useful fiction.  He becomes an anarchist after watching the plebs offer the weak to gain an honorable nod from the patricians, who claim access to The Divinity’s pleasure.

His whip is not a particularly lethal device but, unfurled in rage, it upsets the traders accounting.  He madly denounces the cheapening of the sacred.  Would any forego such commercial arrogance and accept this cleansing?


Alas, in later scenes, other actors bray their manly sins; a type of public self-flagellation – self-flagellation in a kevlar cardigan. Then they bellow scripts of hallowed words, for remission of their actions (with special offers to others, at a price, payable to earthly gatekeepers).

As the play goes on, those with an unconquerable desire to be despised offer their weak in exchange for a haughty nod from their lording creditors.

We are not sure how it ends, could this be comedic?

#61…where we consider sentence diagrams and sculpture…

diagram of emotive relationships in a recent sentence as mobile

Does mystery have value if no human desires to explore the underlying structure, a revelation of the un-mysterious?  Anarchists are profuse with word bombs convoluting thoughts (or mental pop-ups) aimed at emotively reasoning an end to some offensive authority: including even rational thoughts.  Certainly there is an explorable mystery in organizing explosive emotive thoughts.


Veer a bit to see a pile of coat-hangers.

Wire “art materials” from the junk deposited (with good intentions) at the door of The Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture.

During the chilled months confinement in the tent, some attendees began “coat-hanger sculpture” projects.  A coagulation of disagreements soon puddled around the project tables.  The makers were adamant that no narrative or story should be attached to their output, no figures recognized.  Their wiry sculptures don’t have to say anything, just…BE.  They are just abstract sculpture.IMG_0003

But some of the scribbler types soon identified works that resemble diagramed sentence structures, therefore implying a story or meaningful words. Attempts were made to place subject, object, and predicates plus adverbial phrases, predicate nominatives and all of the other bits and thoughts (often absurdities) preserved in sentences, as then making meaning of the coathanger art. IMG_0001 2

The wire artists, remembering the cognitive dissonance of junior high school, embroiled with the less-physical learners about keeping “their” propaganda out of “my” art.

The structures became more convoluted and complicated and enlarged in scale (a wonderful word for sculptors, meaning bigger, commanding presence).  These became huge steel structures perfect for holding bifurcated cliches.

The grammatical tyrants analyzed speeches of emotive politicos (word bombs, isolated utterances of dubiously ordered facts, paltry similes), and applied them to the sculptures.

And so sculpted steel now supports dissembled stories; combined mysteries occupying the open areas of the tent of irreconcilables.


The pale light illuminates an insufficient answer to a question seldom asked…is there meaning without a story.

#60…Considering urban legends and other doubts…


Fooled in the twilight, a clanging…to look or…to replay convoluted stories …creatures, a chimerical plot, a misuse-able craft?  Confusion – a mechanical, persistent heart’s cognition, a dark dull force in pursuit- a raft of fear?

100_1433In the beginning, We had sweet and simple idea remember?  This was a place where the creative and natural could have a simple reunion: inviting neglected anarchists and enfant terribles from now and the ages, to a country picnic.  A rural simplicity joined, sharing art.  We refused proper names (except for Yorick) in the hope that all would feel included, even unmemorialized names.  We have appointed The Deciders, for simplicity, to service opportunities in this old circus tent become museum. Deciders are rendered as the spiritual hobby-horse head of their youth, a personae, avoiding issues of photo rights.

The Decider (in-chief so called)

But alas, there is something foul afloat  (some unspittable taste of fear) because of one of the Deciders: who chooses to be called ” -In-Chief”.

But also a rising has expanded; a resistance has formed (quite sensibly) among emotives, including anarchists.


Bartered superstitions lurk, even on the prairie. A conjured ambassador from the city, night prowler (maybe urban myth), a legend about windows to be pried, and bolted doors blankly covering what should be opened. Among misfit children, the myth is a hero (he sticks his tongue out?).

KnightRider of the PryBar





An invented name, The KnightRider. Schooled in emotive bombs, the children regale in the KnightRider, hoping for some excitement among the resisters.









Yorick watching (chronically frayed) afraid of lukewarm immortals, counsels the child…

“You are to small for the bomb, and the bomb is to meek for the problem.”

The legend, the conjured Prybar, gains fame in a circuitous polarized distemper between town and the rural colony of anarchists.









Searching for that which needs, and can be…pried open.



#56…Considering further playful thoughts…

Parents and grandparents are the audience for most performances by wee ones.  As a consequence this post may get a bit boring for those of you who prefer your childishness played out by adults.


The Deciders have decided that the new systemized education (play training) should begin where we expect the children to end up.  To that end, The Decider-In-Chief (this is self-named, not what We named anyone; The Deciders are servants to the reunion’s best functioning, shown by their hobby-horse head personae): anyhow, that Decider appointed an announcer, a slick-stick hobby-horse personae, with the duty of introducing the children and their various acts in our recital.


The recital began with a dramatic presentation of the lives of famous hobby-horse cavalrymen.  This is definitely old-style dramatization of imagination as portraying goal-focused adventures for youth.


Next was a rather sappy maudlin story of a lost little girl.  According to a legend she finds a mysterious decorated cannon-ball, belonging to some knight-errant, prince, or cavalier.  Lots of tears as this bit advanced the plot.img_0018




Next was an acrobatic review of how much the students had habituated into the arts of dealing with “adult” situations, the somewhat athletic control of emotion bombs.







This was loudly applauded, the skill being accentuated by keeping the propeller spinning.  Variations of this were detailed by the announcer.


The closing was an invented ancient ceremonial “Lighting Of The Fuse” with flint and steel, recalling the everlasting need to be prepared to ignite an emotion bomb.




The child playing this scene is probably the best example of the training The Decider -In-Chief advocates for the The Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture’s day care.




The audience gasped as a curious errant child came centerstage. The announcer, warning about the bluntly obvious danger, was quickly dealt with by the so-called Decider-In-Chief who also dismissed the curtain call as potentially unruly.


The solution to danger warnings…for the moment.  Hopefully, next week we can have some dancing, join us.





#55…Considering Play…

img_0001Play is the eldest of habits, preceding the scribbling on cave walls, the accumulation of stuff, the maturation of mythical leaders, the harvesting of row-crops, the forming of balls (and bombs), and the counting graphs of wealth and power.

The ultra-new ( which includes old-school avant-garde) is worthy, when remembering, that play is connected to the antiquarian, the ancients, the creation myth of all things fiction; fulfilled in all things art.

With all of the pernicious crap going on in and around the tent of The Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture it is important that we remember that there are children present; and play should be a part of this gathering, no matter what real or imagined fears the adults cling to.













Our anarchist emotives live a nervous maturity; favoring adult sophistication that is (only?) monetized aggression, raging against a pitiable return. Collusion with wealth and power is often difficult to avoid, oligarchs tempt.











img_0001Please excuse the following official note:

The tent, overseen by those to whom We have given authority – The Deciders, is stretching into an oligarchic character.  Scholarly attention has been devoted to reigniting the carcass of artistic drive towards a new, superior (monied) academy; without an artistic skills component. It is to proffer effete emotive intellectualism lacking any direct involvement in lowly affairs, such as real children playing.

Play is to precede to a type of professionalism that diminishes childlike wonder with its’ erratic anarchic character ( i.e. the spontaneous substitution of a broom for a horse, the type of realism that never claims victory over an actual stone castle).  It appears that it should accomplish goals (sooner and fiscal in character) in service to the Decider-In-Chief.  Play, as now proposed, should be systemized in a digital format.










The Decider-in-Chief as established a play area developing skills more likely to benefit the fate of children when they seek a day-job.



Yorick established a play area outside last summer but the winter has limited it as a refuge, arguments have reminded some of the other Deciders of that effort. To what end we must wait, at least till next Saturday.