Binary code, fibonnacci sequence painting, poetry and consciousness
As I paintined and wrote, studying binary code all the while, a strange set of circumstances emerged in relation to time, language, painting, writing, and the movement of the body to do all the small things. I painted for weeks on two panels using a rule of oure observation. Never did I allow myself to contrust or edit my envirmonment, and, to the best of my ability, I painted beginning with the first thing I happened to lay my eyes upon. This was especially boring in my studio, where I ended up making paintigns about paintings...boring and disappointing, but other artists who i admire have said they love these things--the boring and the disappointing-- and I have agreed with them. After all, what is more disappointing to artits than art? To an artist in 2018, a tube of oil paint, stupid, insipid, ancient, unaware, there is nothing more disconcertingly, grossly disappousnting. The unfamiliarity of these items, thier inapplicability to current life, creates a feeling of dissacioiation in me. Content that is boring and unsexy and disappointing is also sometimes the most true, and this truth may account for some of the wrathful discomfort I experience at the sight of such things as tubes of paint and brushes. regardless of the uninteresting and uncurrent subject, as I painted, I entered a state that many know is indescribable outside of the thing itself. Time flattens, a sort of ecstasy of the slowest line sets in. Hunger, weakness, small motions take over, utterly invade my being and dictate my gray marking of time and space. At some point over the course of the two weeks, I turned my panel on its side to paint. I had been standing, sometimes on a ladder for hours, and my foot, recently surgically restructured, had begun to hurt badly.
I again painted on the panel dumbly after it had been turned, using the same sickeningly slow observational rule, but this time in Bic pen. The image spiraled to the riight, like I was writing my perspective, though this is not what I was doing. ( when I paint this way, am i unconsciously replicating an "objective" visuality which I have come to associate with written language?). This is not what I was doing becuase the painting process uses a different mode of consciousness than does the writing process.
I am sidetracked by the instances that occured over the course of these paintings which merit concentration, but for this section I want to record, as I sit performing my teaching assistant duties with art student freshmen surrounding me, talking about their unqiet nights in dorm rooms, the emergence of a weird unplanned pseudo Fibonnacci sequence sign...a finger pointing to some other way of seeing and thinking and moving my body to make images...
I began to represent the room, my uninteresting painters studio, in a sort of spiraling re-re-re-presentation and a phenomenon similar to the thing that happens on the Land-O-Lakes butter package design image came out on my panel, though my image continued to move to the right, whiile the butter image moves into itself. A drawing of the drwing within the drawing, over and over again. It happened about 4 times in my draeing/paintiing using the observational rule, then disapperaed both as a result of the smallness of the images and comparative largeness of the materials and tools involved, and because the image left the panel. It simply traveled off grid. This spiraling occurred in the space of the panel where the fibonacci spiraling occurs.
The difference between the thing that happened on my panel and the thing on the butter package is this: the butter package has no reference to the world outside of the package. My image has to reference the thing it sees, and and eventually it sees itself. Somthing about this process of seeing, processing, drawing onto the panel moves. It seems it must move, but it need not move to the right.
The panel I had purchased 6 years earlier, and was 3"x5", numbers that correspond to the golden ratio, which never held any special significance for me. I think theres some weird intuitive math thing going on here.
Writing and Painting, two forms of study