Art and Crying

June 30, 2013 § 2 Comments

Doug Aitkin

Doug Aitken – new ocean cycle

I have finally got around to posting the collection of art and crying stories that people sent me. I hope I have not missed any. You can send yours to rush.of.sun@gmail.com.

http://www.marlainaread.com/index.php/current/art-and-crying/

Music and woman and music and feeling free.

June 17, 2013 § Leave a comment

Though you never wanted me, anyway.

Peace and blessings manifest with every lesson learn,
If your knowledge were your wealth then it would be well earned.

But, oh, to get involved in the exchange
Of human emotions is ever so satisfying

Why you procrastinate girl?
You got a lot but you just waste all yourself
They’ll forget your name soon
And won’t nobody be to blame but yourself, yeah

Seeking candy, out of line
Broken kneecap, velvet spine

Intariti-o nitelus
Ca ajunge acus-acus

If I could
Maybe I’d give you my world
How can I
When you won’t take it from me?

I put my soul into what I do
Last night I drew a funny man
With dog eyes and a hanging tongue
It goes way back

You came to me carelessly
I am iris and the lense
The bridge adjusting to the water water water water

Licking alms
The devil might steady
Rattling we’ll taste

Still falling
Breathless and on again
Inside today
Inside me today
Around broken in two
Til your eyes share into dust
Like two strangers turning into dust
Til my hand shook with the weight of fear
I could possibly be fading
Or have something more to gain
I could feel myself growing colder
I could feel myself under your fate
Under your fate
It was you, breathless and torn
I could feel my eyes turning into dust
Into strangers, turning into dust
Turning into dust
Turning into dust

Sophie Trudeau on violin and co-writer of this song.

 

Just a collection, small small small. I feel them all.

Painting number 1

April 22, 2013 § 1 Comment

pm

Spákonufell, Prophetess Mountain of Þordis # 1
Ink finger-painting on Hahnemühle paper, 78 x 106cm, 2013

This is the first painting in a series I am doing inspired by this mountain. When I wake up it is the first thing I look at. If the colour or light or cloud formation strikes me, I get on my coat and pants and trundle out to photograph.

I dont ever paint. My ‘form’ is such that i am not confident with a brush, how they operate, how to make things not just look like basic line work. So I used ink, black and white, and used my fingers and hand to craft the image. There is something quite instinctual in me to use hands. I often eat with my hands too. I also find it odd to use a pen or pencil.

The next one is a blue image of the mountain cloaked in a halo of cloud. Chris and Mel brought back some fur and leather from their out of town trip today, and they gave me a small piece of blue. It looks like a sky.

I have also asked another artist from Nes, Katelyn Clark, who was here last month, to work on an installation piece of soundscape and film. She has a doctorate in musicology and when she was here she played this amazing improvised piece in the local church on her custom made organetto – an instrument from the 12th century i think. The sounds were so perfect, long, calling like ship horns. I have some ideas for metronomes.

Plus my boat and trek up the mountain with said boat will be in a public program and catalogue ‘Summer we go public’ here in Iceland. I am all over doing some proposals for back home too, and Electrofringe….

Your collusion is my illusion

April 9, 2013 § Leave a comment

And we would go on as though nothing was wrong.
And hide from these days we remained all alone.
Staying in the same place, just staying out the time.
Touching from a distance,
Further all the time.

“OK” … COMPUTER

March 23, 2013 § Leave a comment

I used to think that Amnesiac was the best Radiohead album. Pyramid Song just takes me away. The piano introduction is paced in this way akin to a struggled walk up a sheer cliff face. The moments of securing a foot placement. That act of scraping and carving a place where security can be assured. His voice lends an air of self instituted isolation, the feeling that my struggle is for a greater good only I will experience. When the percussion starts, it starts to affect my breathing, internal power, fearless. Even with a feeling of being up against a wall, clinging to a precarious situation, It makes me feel like I can manoeuvre to a place of safety.

There There from Hail to the Thief. I meditate on the burden of having to think the same thing over and over. It feels like a hand snaking up my neck, fingers sliding over my nape, and wanting that person to take over the movement of my body. But I shake them off. I want to run, dive, crawl and press my body to the earth repeatedly. The song is about possibility. I love how it builds to the guitars, rolling, pushing you, slapping and snapping at your heals. faster, faster – run right into everything you were supposed to do.

It is dark. The sky is blue, a very dark blue. The moon is half full. The incident of light is enough to illuminate the shapes of the hills flanking the car. They are snow carved and the white proceeds in neon glory. It is against the white that you can perceive the black earth and rocks. They exist in relief, absence and are retracted. The sky has just enough colour left that the edge of the hill can be determined, a soft but stark line, rolling out the shape of this piece of earth thrust up. Everything In Its Right Place feels like this mountain, hill, earth. Cold, still able to be determined. Perfect if just for that rolling moment.

Is this love? Exit Music (For A Film) makes me remember an escape. One not remembered by me specifically, but recalled through the memories of others. I was there. Old enough to have memories, as I surely do of this house and time. There was a car. it had a window at the back of the boot that could be wound down. I usually think my memories of that place are real. But have I told them to myself? The expanse of land all around the house. I was a child then. That girl was me not yet grown and she is still standing there, watching the house recede. In someone else’s memory.

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing entries tagged with music at rushofsun.