Silhouettes emerge from a dense and luminous fog.
Spheres dissolving into parentheses, hypertrophied atoms the size of melons, ingots of moon-flesh, then strange nozzles and nipples, as if Being were an immaterial fluid oozing from a tube. The etymology of galaxy is gala, the Greek word for milk.
Perhaps these images are distractions. Epiphenomenal to their own reality, which is granules of darkness creating light by their opposite absence: carbon atoms on blank aluminum void.
The charcoal and sheet metal are rendered metaphorical by their own specificity, but under the beauty of their projected form is just a graph of density and location.
Is that a saint-less halo or a detached ring of Saturn? Christ’s foreskin or a casual shard of mathematics? Where intervals are purely a question of relative proportion, does size matter?
Images consisting of nothing but manipulated light, of inexorable perfection, the oldest metaphor of all- day and night, good and evil, that light is being and darkness nonbeing- the same thing in increasing complexity, but who cares?
Yin and Yang walk into a bar… Yin says I’ll have a pint of that Being, Yang says I’ll have the same, but make mine a Weissbier and the other a Schwarz. Black beer with white foam, white beer with black. The Germans have always had a flair for ontology. Bartender says why didn’t the Zen monk vacuum the corners of his room? I don’t know, says the one, why? Because she didn’t have any attachments. That’s funny, says the other. And harmony is restored.
Vacuum can be a verb, but usually, it’s a noun. As in the antiquated cosmological platitude “nature abhors a vacuum.” We know now that this is untrue. Most of the universe is emptiness, expanding emptiness, the light caught in its expansion, stretching and shifting to red like the beams of a siren. To be honest, the movement of stars is beyond me.
The ancient philosopher Democritus, who is still known for his austere atomism, (a kind of prototypical quantum physics), was also known for his persistent laughter at the absurdity of thinking we know anything. There is nothing but atoms and void, he wrote. The rest is opinion.
If art should be both simple and complex at the same time, then he seems to be doing his job.
– Alan Fishbone