root of unhappiness

I started a long travel to the root of my unhappiness - when I finally found this place, I entered and found it was empty.

SA: at night at the sea

At night, the lights on the sea performed a ballet for the stars.

Project: finding the place where art ends

True peace does not come from the mind, it does not come from politics, it does not come from concepts – it only arises where the mind rests, and all concepts cease.

Ok – so what will happen when art ceases; what will arise? To find out, we first need to find the place where Art ends. So far I’m not sure where this is.

I think we need to try a few things, see what happens. And then correct our way.

We could start with the following approaches:

1) Produce non-conceptual non-political non-artistic art.

This will be difficult. All ideas I had so far may still bear some sort of concept…

-         cloths: grey swimming cap, white cloth

-         projects: blindly taking a stone in the night

-         taking stones from one stone pile to another

-         exchanging grains of sand

-         counting grains of sand

-         lost and found – moved and lost. displace random objects and then lose them.

-         naming cats

-         taking pictures of your left knee every morning

-         staring at a wall for a short moment
-    3 lights-running with myself
-    standing in front of speed camera

2) Reverse the current order.

For centuries artists have brought concepts and images through their art to the people. We want to reverse this current order; we will therefore bring non-artistic concepts and images from the people to the artists. Let’s see how this goes.

3) Alltags Art

Art presents what is special in life, art makes you think, react. We will try to get rid of all this; we will try to produce genuine Alltags Art (‘alltag’, german, means everyday, common, without significance), hoping that this ends up not being art at all – and brings us to the place where art ends.

For example, we could record 1 minute of sound at random moments in our day. 

W-art

home.never thought it could be you.my.
[view belly?]

Why would they want to learn our words?
[upside down view of either Verdun or nature]

Seeing You & you just smaller
[upside down of doll (torn? eerie?)]

Now the man stops
he looks at his hands, then at his feet
the scent of wet leaves.
[?]

When I'll be king
you'll be the first in my box,
and I will paint the walls.
[picture of slavery, upside down?
picture of Chinese woman + bandaged feet]

Please, please, please don't try to paint me
[woman in distress?]

J'entends des cris qui ne me concernent pas
[?]

Ce n'est pas ici que j'attendrai la pluie.
[?]

April 4th, short version

Old cars often smell alike. I put my bag between my legs.

From the other apartment we had a better view. But this one is so much calmer.
We need to hurry if we want to catch the sunset.

The loose car window vibrates softly.

In a way I understand it;
These guys are so busy. And since he received his Nobel price he is terribly afraid of publishing something that is wrong, something that would allow others to attack him. There are only sharks out there, he says. He fired ten people last year.

Sand gives way to my shoes.

He divorced recently. His wife wanted half of the money.

The sun disappears at the end of the ocean.
Calm rises from below.

I come here when I get too anxious.

We feel that silence. I close my jacket.

You are lucky, there are so many of them now. California poppy they call it.

Spring rain falls.

The Blue Lotus

[...] a dark wooden façade. kanji on red paper lanterns turn centuries, a gate opens in silence, and we descend into

The Blue Lotus

It’s not that I’ve been here before; I’ve been here forever. I know where to put my shoes, I know when to smile. That’s when you take my. Soundwaves, waves of men in grey. On occasion colourful women laugh to please. Just when your hard bits scream. You feel seated before you sit, you feel home before. Time, Underground, and still lower, back in taste, grey men passing. We took our usual place at the bar. Lantern fish swim. The kitchenkids working in steam, parrotpleasuregirls with trays, nothing has changed, or under and ever will. She bent down, visibly attracted by Hiro who talked about Osaka. A teasing smile she radiated at the right moment, in the right posture, nearly touched his shoulder with her graceful hand, and asked what drinks would please with suggesting eyes, deviating looks just in time. The Gods of circular wishwanting ordered beer, rather than local sake. A promising smile, gone. Hiro was left in an advanced state of exuberance, and I thought whatever the price for this evening, we won’t regret it. At least not immediately. 

From: "This Monkey's Gone To Heaven".

April 4th, 2010

The bus stops in front of a park.

From the other apartment we had a better view. But this one is so much calmer. 
We need to hurry if we want to catch the sunset.

Old cars often smell alike. I put my bag between my legs.

In a way I understand it;
These guys are so busy. And since he received his Nobel price he is terribly afraid of publishing something that is wrong, something that would allow others to attack him. There are only sharks out there, he says. He fired ten people last year.

Sand gives way to my shoes.

He divorced recently. His wife wanted half of the money.

The sun disappears at the end of the ocean.
Calm rises from below.

I come here when I get too anxious.

We feel that silence.

No, my boss is very kind. But has no money. We use the other group’s machine. And we found a way to recycle the chips. Ten percent bleach, then some water. We recycle everything. Before he was as famous as the other two. As successful. He changed completely after one of his postdocs committed suicide. I spent over six months writing twenty grants for him. Two got accepted.

I close my jacket.

You are lucky, there are so many of them now. California poppy they call it.

The loose car window vibrates softly.
Spring rain falls.