PM_uoʇɹɐɯ_ɹǝıd
PresentMomentPersonalMemoryArchive for Objects
Topor, Le (Déconneur) Prestigieux
L’experience est un peigne pour les chauves/Experience is a comb for the bald. Proverbe Chinois/Chinese Proverbe
“Les Temps Morts” est ailleurs, sur ce blog.
Mike Kelley: 1954-2012 – On Top of The Game Of Art
“Pay for Your Pleasure”
(with the art of a murderer)
From the Los Angeles Times:
“He really wanted to be an important artist, and he worked all of his life for that. He found himself at the top of his game and then found that the world he was at the top of was a world that he didn’t like.”
___
Very sad for his friends…
A group of colleagues and friends including fellow artists Paul McCarthy and Jim Shaw and collector Kourosh Larizadeh sent an email that they said was “for all Mike’s many friends near and far”:
“Our dear friend the artist Mike Kelley (born 1954 in Detroit) has passed away. Unstintingly passionate, habitually outspoken and immeasurably creative in every genre or material with which he took up–and that was most of them, from performance and sculpture to painting, installation and video, from experimental music to writing in a thousand voices–Mike was an irresistible force in contemporary art. For Mike history existed only to be reconstructed, memory was selective, faulty and willful and life itself vibrant but often dysfunctional. We can hear him disagreeing with us. We cannot believe he is gone. But we know his legacy will continue to touch and challenge anyone who crosses its path. We will miss him. We will keep him with us.”
Others signing the email were Kelley Studio and Emi Fontana, Karen McCarthy, Fredrik Nilsen, Anita Pace, Mary Clare Stevens, Marnie Weber, John C. Welchman.
on my END (sur ma faim) [updated: to be continued/against stupidity]
[I can't go on, I will go on. - Samuel Beckett
After more than two years of existence (1740 posts and 37,500 views later), the PM_uoʇɹɐɯ_ɹǝıd blog had stood for what I had found worthy of notice, a sort of time-capsule, more efficient than any tombstone.
I had thought of stopping this, but I will continue]
Those who know me know why I have had to focus on “the stupid topic of stupidity,”
- Stupidity has a knack of getting its way. Albert Camus -
there is so much else in the world but…
- In politics stupidity is not a handicap. Napoleon Bonaparte
- Az emberi butaság végtelen/Human stupidity is infinite/La bêtise humaine est infinie. Hungarian Saying
- La bêtise humaine est la seule chose qui donne une idée de l’infini/Human stupidity is the only thing that gives an idea of the infinite. Ernest Renan
- Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former. Albert Einstein
I had thought of stopping this…
I had hoped to dislodge some of it (cf. Stephen Crane’s poem about pursuing the horizon)… but (criminal) stupidity exists in every corner - and will continue to do so – from the religious to the secular, from the streets to universities, and within every continent, nation, ethnicity, individual, in women and in men, including myself.
I had thought of stopping this…
Our only hope is kindness and to remain humane towards each other – and not just humans.
Let the so-called animals, the mountains, the trees, the plants, the sky, and everyone, teach us.
I do believe that this time here online IS NOT time passed elsewhere or more directly that:
Life is elsewhere/La vie est ailleurs… Arthur Rimbaud
Technology… the knack of so arranging the world that we don’t have to experience it. Max Frisch
I remain available for speaking/writing/teaching and all sorts of creative activities to challenge “what is.”
The Healing Arts Series (Another Preview)
To regain my footing following a “reboot” (major brain surgery), I depend now greatly on vegetable juices.
This growing series of stills proves to me, again and again, how essential it is to practice the most basic open-eye strategy –> what lies plainly in front of us requires NOW our full attention, before it is too late.
Small “miracles” (often miserable ones as Michaux would call them) surround us and most of us are blind to them.
Considering that these unknown universes still need to be explored, I will be looking for astro-science centers and websites to display these.
Any suggestions?
The Healing Arts Series © Pier Marton 2011
The Healing Arts Series © Pier Marton 2011
The Healing Arts Series © Pier Marton 2011
The Healing Arts Series © Pier Marton 2011
The Healing Arts Series © Pier Marton 2011
Don’t Medicate, Meditate… Or The Margins in One’s Life
Whether you call it meditating, sitting or just being, even though gadgets and Hollywood surround us, there is truly no way to escape. As I like to challenge the famous magazine TimeOut, in reality there is only a TimeIn.
I come back again and again to Ajahn Chah:
If you are having a difficulty, what you must do is face it. Go into your hut. Shut the doors and windows. Wrap yourself in all the robes you own. Sit there and don’t move and face it. Only then can you overcome it.
And to Thoreau in “Walden”:
There were times when I could not afford to sacrifice the bloom of the present moment to any work, whether of the head or hands.
I love a broad margin to my life.
Sometimes, in a summer morning, having taken my accustomed bath, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumachs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the birds sing around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller’s wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time.
I grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been. They were not time subtracted from my life, but so much over and above my usual allowance. I realized what the Orientals mean by contemplation and the forsaking of works. For the most part, I minded not how the hours went. The day advanced as if to light some work of mine; it was morning, and lo, now it is evening, and nothing memorable is accomplished.
Instead of singing like the birds, I silently smiled at my incessant good fortune. As the sparrow had its trill, sitting on the hickory before my door, so had I my chuckle or suppressed warble which he might hear out of my nest.
