untitled #57

this post is untitled, much like a minimalist or abstract expressionist artist might leave their work untitled so as not to influence the viewers visceral experience of the work.  but this post does have a subject & perhaps through the words (colors) & the grammar (forms) & the ebb & flow of ideas (composition) you may be able to discern its meaning as intended by the author (artist, do i dare?)

this subject has been touched on several times throughout this blog (it even has its own category) but lately its import has taken on added weight.  it could be said that for many years it was a given; that it came naturally, without thought or anxiety, it just was.  until this last decade, maybe even less, its decline seemed momentary (hope springs eternal); but now i wonder when it took on its patina of cynicism & how i may now look at it with some derision, as if it had drug in something dead from out-of-doors & left it as an offering at my feet.

this shift in tone has altered its identity & turned it into something that does not seem quite real.   for so much of my life i have walked hand-in-hand with it (perhaps in less demanding ways than others may approach it, but nonetheless) & to now try to remember when it loosened its grip & slipped its fingers from my warm grasp seems quite impossible.  i may have hastened its departure by taking so little notice of it all these years past.

when you look at it closely, put your nose right up to it, it is a remarkable subject; one that has fascinated man for millennia.  a subject of painters & poets, the cause of wars & unions, it is but one of the results of being human.   i imagine there are those who may be able to live without it (ascetics,  hermits; the dead, perhaps,) but rarely are we (those of us who wake up at 5 a.m. & go to bed at 9 p.m. , at least) able to live without it.

of course, as i try to come to terms with it, a new understanding of it (the digital age has changed so much) i must hold the mirror up to the past, a brief look back (not unlike lot’s wife, without the pillar of salt thing though) as i flee toward the future & its new meaning.  a meaning that i’m not sure i’m ready to accept.

it has a looser structure than it did.  the letters seem further apart & come to you, either very quickly or so slowly that you may find yourself wandering away from it, looking for anything to occupy your time, as it winds its way toward you (stopping to smell this blade of grass, & that one.) it seems to have lost its religiosity, its godhead & taken on a more secular, perhaps a more egalitarian mode of address (& dress.)

but i am struggling with this change, ruing the past & what appears to have been my lack of commitment; this loosening, this undoing of the necktie, (quite frankly, it is the exposure, the nudity of its loss that shocks me.)  i want to be resilient & make my creaky bones dance again & i believe they will (i am, after all, the eternal optimist & that is perhaps why i suffer so from this inconsistent friend — friendship itself — so eager to be a friend, & yet quite unable to take that first step.  for now.)

(paintings by mark rothko, but you knew that.)


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© Robert Patrick, and Cultivar, 2008-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts, photographs and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Robert Patrick and Cultivar with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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