Towards Soon

“First, spread dissatisfaction. Nothing is working, nothing anywhere is working. Ensure that it looks like there is a fundamental crisis. This is simple enough if there actually is a number of fundamental crisis to pick from. And, while the people might understand that things are as they always have been, it will always be easy enough to make it look like things are particularly bad.”

– the anarchist’s guide to anarchy, for dummies (yet to be written)

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Dear Jack,

I’d like to make art that is in charge of how it is perceived. Art that holds the person and directs their attention. Art that moves from pattern to pattern, with the points in the pattern shifting in relation to each other, but to nothing in the outside world. Such that if one were to look at a fixed point in the space of the art it would not make sense – for the art does not move in relation to the space. And that if one were to pick at a particle in it to track, they would eventually find themselves led back to the pattern.

It is in the pattern that I would like to make my point.

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Nature has only one rule: again.

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How many iterations of the same experiment does it take for proof?

Nothing is working – nothing anywhere is ever working.

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Perhaps the role of art is to put is complicity with life.

  • Lyn Hejenian

Perhaps the role of magic is to show us the wonder in the banal. A rabbit pulled out of a hat makes you wary of all hats everywhere – even though you know it’s really just a well placed lever and fingers that have learned how to lie.

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“It’s not that I’m angry, I’ve lost my anger – or at least what you thought it was. Perhaps then it is that my anger has lost its face. I’d go get it but I’m afraid of Koh.”

“why?”

“I mean, to stick to the metaphor, how do I react if they all lose their faces? My happiness, my sorrow, my everything?”

“But isn’t that what you were working towards? Being faceless? Being invisible?”

“sigh”

*

An angry rabbit is pulled out of a hat in the middle of the show. It’s hands are crossed, it’s right foot rests on the left and a scowl sits squarely under its whiskers. They pass it the mic.

“Nothing is working, nothing is ever working.”

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There is much work to be done.

Love,

Michael

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