I have been assigned to write what has influenced my practice as an artist. I feel I am pretending sanity, or rehearsing sanity and striving to be rational. Rationality is universal, anyone can understand me if I am rational. Even though absurdity is our common denominator. Except if you see me as rational is because I hide myself. I hide in a warm dark cave in silence. I don’t know how to be myself in the world. My flesh overpowers my existence. Monkeys inhabit my brain.
“I sang out the sadness of being born” wrote Alejandra Pizarnik. I see myself in her, always carrying a sense of existential tragedy. My first memory? the feeling of being trapped. My constant. Tiny monsters are drinking my blood, biting with their tiny teeth my flesh. The body is in flames. I am the traveler with no home, with no sense of place. A tree with no roots to the earth.
I could never be seduced by the spell. My ruby glasses were broken. My ruby glasses had the wrong prescription. I could not see the world tinted ruby, but astigmatism glimpses through the cracked glass. I was driven to art because I wanted to create a world inside the world. I wanted to play life, as one plays house. To imitate the intelligible to escape to the unintelligible. To play the game aching to break the spell. Art peels layers of tissue from my body, it is a painful sacrifice in which I choose to close the door to myself. Or better, open it in secret using allegories like music in a mute vibration. I don’t want you to look at me. I want you to see me. But I am happy if you see yourself and I am your mirror. I want the warmth and camaraderie of sharing. I want you to have a piece of me and then for you to disappear in it.
I vomit myself drunk in the nothingness. I want to expulse my body out of my body. I want to cease. I wanted to be a thinker, and thoughts consumed me. I thought thoughts would be appeased if they materialized in form. Somehow they are appeased; somehow they are border line reigning out of control. I dare to look at all the darkness and laugh. Art making is my sinister delirium of survival.
Labels: Elektra KB