Art Talk

by Nathan Bartley

An assembly of heads has gathered here concurrently to weigh which one rises above the rest, and the casticgated blow , undesired by repentant memories plush with the chances of being disarmed, thunders quietly from beyond the pool of narcissus. Our collective belief owns the moment, and delineates its possibilitiies for vulgar profit, alas, not one who gathers here tonight has remembered their proclamation of birth. That loss is gain, and gain the wieght of atlas at least. 

For vanity’s sake I cast a foul beginning. To rectify our beginnings is seemingly the trajectory of a thousand years not forgotten. Only the mind that fearfully glances back into its beginning can establish a citedal of crystal, of salt. Bricks of salt house our commitment to repetition. 

We all reside here in equality, yet abscribe to this situation a subltly graded system implemented internally for the benefit of no one but our muse the ancient narscisisus. Narscissus as hope ripples eternally. The ultimate system for thultimate power point presentation.

A qoute from Frank Herbert “ Life extension for the rich and powerful poses a similar threat to a (community) as that found historically in the dominance of a sefl perpetuating bureaucracy. Both assume perogatives of immortality, collecting more and more power with each passing moment. This is power which draws a theological aura about itself:  the unassailable Law, the god-given mandate of the leader, manifest destiny. Power held too long within a narrow framework moves farther and farther away from the adaptive demands of changed conditions. The leadership grows ever more paranoid, suspicious of inventive adaptations to change, fearfully protective of personal power and, in the terrified avoidance of what it sees as risk, blindly leads its people to destruction”

There is a sacrifice I propose equal to the bombastic conventionality displayed only in the movies which demands a destruction of even our most prized maserpeices. These masterpeices collide against each other in an ongoing pendulum pagentry of excellence, Rooting down our possibility and propping up our expectaitions. 

The end result being the recastration of the rogue elephant, its balls regenerat, its weight and delicacy no different for the french as the spanish, the english, the german. Our history seems trodden by this frustrated beast. 

Form is emptiness , emptiness is form, this is the foundation of true intelligence, lost under the lopsided bureaucracy of the intellect and its puppets. The rectification of this paradox is the severence of the obvious movement towards truth, towards honesty and grace under fire.

The concept of god in all its mighty rhetoric creates a sanctary of self deceipt, a crystalization, a civilization. 

Well defined  insanity runs through the physical features of peoples bodies. It coursed through thier veins too like the in the minds of intellectuals with their distaste for things “contaminated” by uselessness. If only they could ponder their enslavment to fashion. Their desire to be branded, like hefers.

To disregard the status quo is to arrest the crystalization process so evident in systems such as our bled aristocracy and their layers of exploitation. The gap, the error is between what we think is true and what is true, vain power needs this gap. Our imaginative re creation of ourselves  is at counterpoint to the real thing , memory serves as the basis for both, doing a great disservice to that which is beyond memory, and beyond the future.

Black appliances named locally for conditions wrested from the ground, smelted with irony and cast in salt. 

At this time Id like to adress the audience to name their diseases…..starting here and moving sequentially to the back. 

Are there no diseases here?   WE should count ourselves among the minority, and celebrate our intended immortality with a tip of the hat to toxic avoidance. 

Who is’nt a god, who isnt a human, Silence is our prison in questions which probe the nuances of greed. Do you see us leashing cats, reduced to a monoculture of amplified exchange. A cosmic game of import, export?  Why has so simple a dance been broought to such a mystery? Cant the womb of the not knowable recount its pleasure in the known without lip service? Pur psychophysical flux is but the pendulum swing between these two disparing camps…on…off…on….off…..the old in and out. The quantum dictate.

Nuns will be nuns…..

We all participate in the gandios history of humankind, none are barred from the court. None of us are devoid of the power to contribute and contradict. To act and to change.

But…..if we weren born royal or rich we can still create our own intrigue, our own heirarchy and fiction and we do, we forge from squalor our coups, our succeedings, our overthrowings and our exile. A fiction to exalt us yet still we forget this fiction makes fictitous victims real, our gamesmen thus create a microcosm of the larger, beleivable drama played daily by the ruling class.  Let us remember our lot in life and rejoice in our actual equality, not fester in the illusion of success. For success as any mystic will tell you is failure and failure, as any poet will deny is success.

I am the offspring of an aristocracy designed to fail, designed to colonize. It has wavered in its conquest, and I hack the hands of thieves, and burn the eyes of the blind to reassure myslef that this dream was never mine to begin with. Karma is energy, and duality is merely heat, ask anybody who resents not speaking. I aquiesce in a pool of regret for the force of the folly that my heritage strips to sell on e-bay. I could have been a pencil dicked banker. Or a wanted golf pro put- putting for the fun of it.

If you came here to hear about the creative process ask yourself why? Tonight, before you brush your teeth, ask yourself “of what  value have I been to the memory I serve?” Can I really be that which casts itself in bronze in the courtyard of the unknowable?  Will “never”  happen?  Will always be forgotten? 

Death is nearer my sublime teacher than I. For I is not mine and I will live on beyond me. As I is common to us all, I is my master.

All this talk of the meaning and un-meaning of it all can be reduced to this triumphant monent where flesh and flesh, mind and mind, through the friction of duality are made still in the infinte, useless now. And why we rouse the affection of ourselves is unduly to unite what we cant be ina moment where cock sinks into the fleshy vestibule of our beloved, casting off the past, melting the crystalization of our past into an ocean of simple, peacful uselessness. With what expense ,with what accumulation, with what ownership?

So single a state it is, the silence beyond the function which we prohibit. The greatest secret of all time is that it is free and available to all, at anytime, the planets of blood attest to it and bleed for the absolute. Will you  not listen to your own listener? You who by Inlakesh our identities unite?

Lay down your heirarchies for they are not true as 1 turns to 8 … 8 to 9….   9  to 12, our laws are semulcrums of an infinity beyond knowing. WE  are bodies of earth. 

At his time I ask you to turn to your neighbours and trust, feel, and relax into them. They are you without doubt

Now ask…..did you choose who would be sitting in this room with you tonight?

The work here is both vain and ironic.  It vascilattes between a curious dismemberment, and an attempt to build  what won’t be built, or which may be constructed but only temporarily. There is no money back guarantee. I hesitantly wish to illuminate that which usually goes unrecognized. And the irony is that it only works in virtue unrecognized and so the vanity is my own salt persons program to gain power. What noble artist can survive unbenonced to the eyes which employ him? To what degree can one stay quiet knowing to speak is to bring to consciousness that which can only operate unconsciously?  A noble cause is my only option in a world which is locked in a vault. The irridescent glory of heaven , earth, and the active pricible which unites the two….man…..can not be owned, and thus I mimick the design of success and  fear the result of it simultaneously. Capricios….like goya, and impossible. Like the cash cow jumping over the moon.

The only reward is the emptying process, not the gain. And how many know it, innocence is’nt something to loose and regain n old age, despite the archtype itself, rather instead why loose it to begin with and propose to have ones cake and eat it too.? How about matrimony instead of the one who gains to the one who will never want? A two legged race and decidedly slower than an american dream. 

My basic question put here is how the insane trends of planned obscelescence can be so trendy that those who deny their own future by buying into the comodity market are rewarded with the honours that once were given to those who simply loved,,,without it bieng a competition?  The understanding that a rich man will never fit throught he eye of the needle is a quantum equation, not an ancient proverb. But how do you  unerstnad this? By adding it to your heap of diamonds, the diamonds of knowledge that cuts the throat of your competition? 

This show speaks about the paradox of having/not having. And by its sheer existence weather intellectually held, proves that perhaps less is more afterall. Because what I have, and what I show is a movment. It metaphorically mirrors the very intangible moment that we now inhabit, that is so easily avoided, that can so easily be squandered if one is caught within the substructure of society, the underlying current of gain which I call “the myth of progress.”