Sunday 14 March 2010

whitespace beep beep kavarna

I see icee seeth i sea
these other ecologies (within eco)w/in on/off (ecolologies. A corner
in my blindspot on edgewood- with a coffee shop. And within willt to walk to walk>>>>>two walk
walking distance places where another gig is being played.

And it is as real as it is real as an image
an image on a computer screen to me. i move through based on associations that have their origins.
and mine is from here.
Over there on


what they feel like. My first impulse is to consider their characteristics that get in the way of even having a point of relevance to discuss things. I would say that base level or common denominator is in how we are both cutting our chops. forever about the path and trying to not admit that we are an exposed process of development too much,because while that is admirable,it also discredits a value or respect that seems to be needed.
These different pockets. And then i think of a sort of flash mob that i participated in at the last "fashion rules!" event at Nieman Marcus. the pockets of people there. the art on the walls in nieman marcus. funny. would you go to an art gallery and see the thin cliched idea of clothing fashion in its own reverse. would i go to a bill lowe opening and see...tuffskins on timothy tew's strutting buttocks?
i see comments over at burnaway and i try to trudge through other local art blogs. the local level. the self-aware while comparing to others. Cautious expectations that still, in the end, have to be 110% with regards to confidence in expressing an idea of taste,or simply being yrself,using that physicality that does at least take up that space,to be honest about that. as close to the chest as possible.
i still see comments about some supposed stifling idea of southern mentalities,when i'd say one is pretty hard pressed to find anything but transplants these days. Coming here, presuming there is a soil to plant ideas associated from other places, more connected in terms of walking familiarity- as well as connected to the self.

Atlanta's make for a perfect business environment.(As 40% of our skyline is in foreclosure,they say.) Designed to keep us in our compartments and still communicating,a perfect editing of what on paper is the necessities. In the same way a fast food uniform and dress code are supposed to remove clutter of personality, real individual personality is deleted respectfully and efficiently from the transaction. and one could argue this is a good thing, i suppose. how much emotional energy do you have for others? for... art? Don't you want to buy your burger or communicate with your clients and co-workers with as little emotional touch as possible? to save it,to savor it for sharing with those you truly care about? How much/when does all of this compartmentalizing ever end? I think of those long in the tooth ladies in certain small mom n pop shops around, older people as well as running into those locals that just in a maybe subdued drawn out flast clattery chatter of change and drawers slamming empty talk. a place of mind and pace that precedes it. While they ring you up, it is all happening.funny, my first thought when it comes to interacting with the public at large has to do with strangers encountered in the environment made for buying things.

What with people in art openings? art in this environment. specific to atlanta as if it exists in a bubble. okay let's play. know thyself. but our being ourselves is the hiccup,the groundhog watching traffic.

where all did i go? i see art in kavarna. i dont feel like writing about it when i see it in my mind. whitespace.
(*sidenote as i write this: funny how i still have this lingering feeling of impending obligation waiting for the phone to ring)

i get bored with structure,but chaos makes me feel lost in a department store. freedom and rules and whitespace. these different images. the front gallery is specific imagery with horizon lines and human figures and class distinctions have been subdued by our own need for purchase and our own delight with the numbing illusion of electronic gadgets.individuality and cohesion. solidarity is never,is defined and replaced with false light. "the owners of the means of social production and wage labor" -are ourselves ultimately. lost in a cave away from it all while feeling in the thick of it, a place without relevance in the "prevailing mode of economic production and exchange, and the social organization necessarily following from it..."
to try to bring an awareness to legitimate class struggle. ever again. when artists themselves are reduced to dance floor club transplants rubbing elbows.

the liberation of the self must be attained on the self's own terms and by its own blood. arts duty reflected in this outmodes and moves beyond my own awarenesses and back into a suburb. atlanta. looking at art in whitespace. now recalling the paper cave and rubber uvulas and stalactites of beep beep. and the girl withthe hard serious look on her early 20's face,dressed hard fashion points and severely apathetic about her unlit cigarette and demanding glasses frames,she commanded the air in front of her nose as she shoveled into the see of happy mingling diminishing returns. bodies blobbed and drinking seeing the art or overflowed into the parking lot. the
long brush strokes in whitespace
and the silly same feeling of burnaway. i feel like going to mint or beep beep is kinda like what happens to flynn in tron when the mcp pulls him into the computer world.their coverage ranges,but the collective feeling of the thing is a tribe of its own. a class that attempts to use the machine of manufacturings sweet images while retaining this-this .....incohorent intent that is so well-intended.

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