Moving towards the sound and lights of the trains,
The kobold comes to a great ToadFrog looking into a black reflection pond.
"I'm a beautiful creature,
what do you know? You can't even speak right. "
the kobold realized that there are no words when witnessing all the stories of the reflections.
Burning embers interrupt her beautiful reflection,
the hissing STEAM smells of morning mist.
The pain from grasping the Ember moves the feet buried in the muck.
The light from the reflecting pond illuminated the figures whose wailing laughter drowned out the wet sounds that surrounded them.
Embers drifted down around them hissing when they touched liquid mirrors igniting the surfaces with brilliant images before the thick smoke overtook them all.
Overcome by the stench and deep burning in the eyes, Everything wanting to vomit out the oppressive substance, the feet of the kobold continue on.
One day there was a princess in a tower and she thought a white Knight was coming to rescue her and he was beautiful and spoke kind words. And he seduced her, knowing she was enchanted and would never say no to him. When she became with child her world was filled with joy. But when she told the White Knight he turned into a vicious Goblin and ripped the baby from her stomach and ate it. The goblin was magic so that he did it in such a way she kept on living with a hole in her stomach. And so the princess stayed in the tower in the castle forever after that because she was too afraid of the Goblins outside her Tower. And who would want a princess with a gaping hole in her stomach anyway?
The art Is a lie used to tell the truth.
What is the point of talking into a machine that is unable to understand you? It is the same issues I've had with every other person I've ever spoken to. Words that sound like other words are transposed on top of each other. In the quantum world these words do exist and the songs that we don't know the words too also exist.
We often go back to the moment of waiting in line under Christmas lights two hands brought together, no electricity pass between the two.
Electric into time and into the future and I see you. All of the options that could be there. Your future, so bright. I push up against it with my hand and you hold tight.
The lights flicker and go out and I hear you gasp as you feel me absorb the life from this moment.
I wonder if in that moment the words that we spoke came back to you? The words about an artist creating the world around them. The artist using words declaring what they want,
And all I wanted was to hold the hand forever.
My hand was open waiting for you to grab what you wanted. And then your hand against mine found it and decided to cling to this moment. The Christmas lights flicker and are gone. We stood there waiting in line. I hope the lights remain off.
And then your hand pulls away for fear of someone seeing as you're reminded of a discussion they had on the state of being.
The character of light and dark and the electric current that exists between the two.
Christmas comes back on, never close again, except for every moment since then.
They spoke on the idea of trash
in humanity as we picked up and threw away the discarded.
As I threw my trash over a fence I speak on how there was more God that I saw along the street then in any church.
Wax smoke covers my clothes and turns them into Rags, is what is filling my lungs, and my brain. This is the Purgatory where I move the muck but go nowhere except for old memories. it weighs thousands of pounds back and forth to be melted down. There will be no record of the work.
Trying to find something of value in all the death, The definition of art has now become unoriginal decoration. Of course everyone hates it. And there is nothing to understand of it.
Love Is Alive used to tell the truth?
Love Is A Lie used to tell a truth.
The lies that were told are now forgotten.
Your hand let go to let the trash fall away.
Trains made into words spoken into the void reflect the faces of those witnesses to this moment.
The art is a lie, used to tell a truth.
There has to be a witness. If there is no witness, one will be sculpted. It will be sculpted in something that will last a thousand years in the frames of our dna. A message that took more than a thousand years to get here. It is asking what do you see?
1. Paying tribute to all of the Unseen workers that brought us to this moment.
2. Looking at the suburbs from an Artisan's perspective by deconstructing the bronze casting process.
3. Creating a structural moment of pause in the noise that is distracting Us from this moment.
4. Being transplanted in and out of time, a constant alien and foreign traveler brings a sense of permanence to its surroundings.
5. The Continuous Observer views the moments across the globe, pulling them into the present, to travel along with us into the future.
6. The Artist uses the closest available materials to assist in bringing the reflections of the surrounding environment into being.
7. The Substantial enduring characteristics of bronze has traditionally relegated this material as one that commemorates the life and death of individuals.
8. There is no crime of preference when everything is reproduced to be the same.
9. The Artisan is preference in action, hidden behind the final product.
10. In the land of the seasonal rotation of replacement, we hold onto a specific moment that reflects and defines the species that we are a part of.
11. The goal is not to hold on to a specific moment forever but to be ok with each moment as it comes.
