Replying to LO28964 --
Intellectual Passions
Barry writes 'pictures at exhibitions'.
My old computer is full. (1.9GB) Barry, I don't make folders for 'docs' -
so my 'C drive ' with my 'docs' is filled like one great room of cabinet,
every one can be called up, brought into some form of order under these
distinct headings, 'date', 'size', 'alphabetical', 'type'. So say I have
in my mind something that I wrote about two years ago and put it into
'inform/ation ' in my computer, a MSWord file. To find it I have to rely
on chance, and memory and a little logic (like, - go for 'date' because I
am sure it was about the time Bucket bit that policeman;-) other times I
just float into the ocean of thinkings. That's what I was doing this
morning. I have been trying to understand through experiences and memories
of experiences the poemagogical potentialities of Prigogine's. Prigogine
likes to play the piano, though like At I think he has less and less time
to indulge in personal passions, but rather spending;-) ever increasing
quanta qualia in that case maybe on preparing some for futurecase (one
word two things) footraces* ... metanoia.
So I mentioned Courbet, you though deep then thought better of it;-)
reflected or refluxed* you thought to see a metanoiaical moment cum
movement, like a bell struck soundly, by a meadow filled with angels and a
machine for eating money, stories untold, untellable hell, Barry, who'd
believe it;-) so I opened this file that was al about order from disorder,
choice from chance where the choice is embedded or embodied* so finely
into the grain of the wood that where some saw a cross others saw a tree,
root and branch, root and branch. So, somewhere deep on the guts of this
1.9 GB I came upon a file that had in some way become corrupted... nothing
serious. (flashback in real TIME;-)" Please let me know what you see on
the pdf insertion because I can't see anything where the images should be,
maybe because of the low memory on my system;-)". The reply came back a
few days ago, about the time... and, "- the images are there, but also a
few words are set into and upon one another." As if... as if... as if
they wanted to become re-embodied or re-embedded in a different
figuration;-) a different classification of date, alphabet, type and size.
No matter you see because I know what is there because I placed them
there, it is enough one other sees because if one other sees than all
others see. So this 'doc' it is exceptional, quite exceptional. It is as
if my thoughts were amassed and decomposed (please, please play on the
term "composition", "compositor". "Someone who places type in a frame or
Matrix;-) in old style cold type;-) printing) (Rick, I have placed the
original file image here for you to place upon the web, thanks).
[Host's Note: Andrew and readers, the file is at
http://www.learning-org.com/images/LO29026_FloatingOnTheAbyss.pdf
..Rick]
What a strange thing has happened in the flashing darkness of the
prismatic entrails of a mere 1.9GB. Well, I know, Courbet, we left him
standing at the door, at the lintel. Let us invite him in, he must be
freezing* out there ('freezing' is a play with the word because my fellow
artistically inclined Mr. Damien Hirst no MA just the BA;-) like Mr.
Courbet saw the writing on the academy walls and put up his own 'Salon'...
The jury had refused to show his work at the Exposition Universelle of
1855, his logical was impeccable, the show is a fraud without Courbet's
work if they maintain it is Universelle. Like a theory of 'complexity'
that seeks to ridicule and censors and edits 'other' theories (Pause)...
(Jan, I think you will like it that the universe is a woman;-). So into
his little 'exhibition Barry walks the great Delacroix, king of the
romantic school. Delacroix's journal for the 3rd August reads, " Went to
the Exposition where I noticed the fountain the spouts artificial
flowers... I think all these machines ((not "monkeys", machines)) are very
depressing. Afterwards I went to the Courbet exhibition. He has reduced
the price to ten sous (to get in) I stayed there for nearly an hour and
discovered a masterpiece in the very picture they had rejected [
L'Atelier]... I could scarcely tear myself away... they have rejected one
of the most remarkable works of out time... but Mr. Courbet is not the man
to be put off by a little thing like that." Well, what did Courbet, the
proto independent Modernist (*Freeze) say for HIMSELF... since that is
what truly creative people with as Prigogine says it have an eye, ear,
heart and mind for the past, present and future. " I have studied not in
any rote (systematic) way (spirit) but without pre-conceived ideas, the
art of the ancients and the moderns... I have no more wish to imitate the
former than copy the latter, nor have I desired to arrive at the lazy goal
of 'art for art's sake' No! I have simply wished to draw from the
accumulated wisdom of tradition a reasoned and independent sentiment of my
own Singuplexity (oops! sorry) individuality. To know in order to do
(sounds like learning in order to build personal and collective capacity
don't it;-) this was my thought... to be not only a painter, but a MAN
(his caps), in a word (not MSWord) to make a living art, that is my aim."
That, for better or for worse is what the image I had attached is to my
imagination. Something independent of me got into that document while I
was sleeping. When I opened it I had a shock, the central mass looked like
some great cancerous growth. I could not make out from the forest what the
branches, twigs and leaves were saying to me. It was like night had
descended and I was sure that what it contained has meant something
important for me to sit down and have typed it out. So, I set about
opening it up, and played around for a while with my free energy (two
words one thing;-). I have no idea quite what buttons I pushed to get it
back to text but I did and I will make them part of the follow-on to my
reply should any of you, my LO peers show the slightest inter-est. It is
all about expulsions, and the ways, many complex both old and modern, that
we design it so that we always will have those ready and available for
whom we can justify showing our deepest contempt.
Three days ago I attended as a young trainee mortician spoke with beauty
(one word many meanings;-) over the stinking and decomposed corpse of an
old vagrant, a stranger, perhaps a man much like our beloved Diogenes...
and who here remembers the doc with dear Diogenes in it?... Now that would
have to be in the "recycled bin" would it knot;-)... I near cried when he
used just the one word about this heap of putrefaction he had come upon
and gently covered with a fresh blanket... and this is what the young man
said, " -Yes, it appears the gentleman has been here some time in a state
of some neglect." It was the word "Gentleman". One word / many meanings. I
have another word for those contemplating "the edge" of which you speak my
dear friend, Barry Mallis. Everyman. One word / many meanings. Because I
have delusions that I call visions I sometimes think I have been and
peered over that edge. Whenever I have I have always felt accompanied...
as if some 'strange' or 'familiar attractor' was within me (one word many
meanings;-) so I was not afraid but filled with an enthusiasm. Just
earlier this morning I was upset (one word many meanings;-) in my study
room. Outside little Elizabeth was 'counting', "three, four, five...".
Then her mother called out, "Coming, ready or not." And suddenly it was OK
because little 'lilly' burst out in giggles at the suspense of it, the
hiddenness of foundedness in the making of it all. She might be lost to
herself, but she would be found, she would be simply beautifully lifted up
and out, beheld, beloved, now I want to end if I can in a leap of fusion,
to fuse the words of Prigogine to those of Apollinaire. The last first;-)
" Come to the edge" he said
They said, "We are afraid".
"Come to the edge', he said
They came,
He pushed...
And they flew.
Now Prigogine,
"Mathematical physics represents the purest image that the view of nature
may generate in the human mind, this image represents all the character of
the product of art; it begets some unity, it is true and has the quality
of sublimity, this image is to physical nature what music is to the
thousand noises of which the air is full. - Filtrate music out of noise;
the unity of the spiritual history of mankind stressed by Eliade, is a
recent discovery that has yet to be fully assimilated. The work of a
theoretician is related in a direct way to his whole life. It takes I
believe an amount of internal peace to find a path among al the successive
bifurcations. This peace I owe to my wife. I know the frailty of the
present, but today, considering the future I am a happy man."
Elizabeth is not here right now. She has gone to play at the 'playground'.
I did ask if I could go with her and her mummy and daddy and play in the
playground;-) She looked at me from her twenty nine inches and said, 'No!'
Some places are too sacred for my feet. I need my wings;-) Have you seen
them Barry?
Bergson, quoted by Prigogine, " The more deeply we study nature, the
better we understand that duration means invention, creation of forms,
continuous elaboration of the completely new..."
Love,
Andrew
[Host's Note: My apologies to Andrew and to LO readers... Andrew sent this
contribution August 11th, but I have been traveling and didn't have the
right software with me to process it until now. I have changed the date to
8/17. ..Rick]
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