"but then you have to widen the understanding of art... I am really convinced that humankind
will not survive without having realized the social body, the social order, into a kind of artwork.
they will not survive." - joseph beuys
the glass of tea glows in front of me & i am thinking about decay, rot, atrophying. (ATROFEEN)
wondering if, as the ground beneath me hardens into my summer, my hands are hardening into
how they will be when i die, stiff. someone just told me today that they drowned once - & i knew
that meant that they had died, they had been dead. some miracle had brought them back.
i am thinking how i began my life by drawing, that -- and here is my personal mythology -- "I drew
before I walked." i am equating drawing with writing, as they are both marks made by the hand, using
a tool which somehow engraves or enscribes or realeases a staining - dy(e)ing a substance onto something
else. so there i was, not yet speaking, not yet walking, but both hands moving, writing at once.
so what is it about me & mark-making?
& why is that usually when i have "forgotten myself" i am also forgetting to make marks?
hands in a sort of dumbness.
i want to do a ceremony & invite my hands again to life, as i have done times before. i want to do
a rising, a resuscitation, a pulling up from the lake where perhaps they have seemed to drown, &
then to see what other parts, what dirty fabrics & scratches, come with them.
FOLLOW THE HAND
INVITE THE CALLOUS
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