Recent Works III (Med-Lg Format)

Recent Works II (Medium Format)

Recent Works I (March-May '10)

One Time, All Time, One Moment, This Moment

One time, I dropped acid that bathed me in light. I have no doubt about the visions that subsequently I was invited to have. My hand discovered its natural ability to reveal truth. My pen is my sword is my magic wand. Its fire is purple and green. Its air is orange and red. Its earth is brown and black. And its water is blue and gold. It embodies the irreversible rotation of the mandala of earth around the sun. A straight line is just a circle viewed from zero degrees. I see things, beautiful things, everywhere, and they only belong to me through the transitoriness of the succession of moments. There is nothing to fear because there is nothing to lose. My identity only exists through a shattered mirror, reflected in the pieces of other consciousnesses looking outward. Practice looking through the mirror inside one self. It is called clear light, and it is undifferentiated. The unity of one is the unity of all. I have siddhi, but I don't know how to use it. Oh, but I do. Through my pen. The pen that is held in a hand that begrudgingly rests. It is bursting with creative energy. It wants nothing more for ever than to be put to use. When my brain stops working at what to say and gives the hand freedom to say whatever the paper reveals, that is my pwer. My magical power of pen and ink to reveal what is already always present and ever obvious.

***

I spend too much time unsuccessfully telling my thoughts what to think. They don't decide what they do, they just do it. By attempting to ignore a thought, it only becomes all the more obvious. I'm listening to my thoughts and feelings and expressing them, and I feel incredibly calm, and content, and energetic. Sometimes the weight of cosmic responsibility collapses on me. I must turn that collapse into expansiveness. I am trying to, from within to without, the opposition of macro- and microcosms is increasingly meaningless from day to day. The transition from day to day has become increasingly arbitrary as I train my mind to be present in the singularity of momentariness. Words are just approximations of what feelings sound like. Art is just approximately what the experience of feeling and the feeling of experience look like. My mind has been shackled, but now my writing hand remembers how to be honest and channel all that dark energy into illuminating words, symbols on the paper. The last few years I forgot how to write for myself. I was writing with suspicion, and always the secrets and doubt remained, keeping the truth from myself for fear of discovery by others. It remained, pent up inside, piling up until there was no room left for new feelings. It's about time I cleared things out, internally and externally. Not being secure enough to even express myself in the one way that has always come most naturally... that would make anyone depressed. This feels amazing. I can quite literally feel pent up energy in my neck unknotting through the practice of writing these words. It is a warming, relaxing of tension around my ears where my skull meets my neck. It is an unusual sensation, but it feels good since the discomfort is just the tension draining out of my muscles. Now it is passing through my shoulders, unknotting the tangles between my shoulder blades. I never would have put together that not writing was cause the physical embodiment of my stress. I always assumed it was not exercising. But if I think about it metaphorically, I haven't been exercising my mind or my heart because I haven't been writing. I feel more balanced and relaxed in this moment than I have in years, and as I write this another knot of energy in my right shoulder unwinds itself and passes down my arm into my hand. I'm quite pleased to feel the tension in my back relaxing but I feel that it is happening slowly, and there is a lot of built up tension in there. About two years worth of pent up energy and emotional strain. Why do I always deny myself the pleasure of writing from my heart? In writing and art even pain becomes beautiful through creative expression. Pain is constructive, positive through its capacity to reveal beauty. That is the utility of art, to present ways of seeing beauty that are not always apparent. I had somehow narrowed my expressiveness to such a small portion of how I experience this reality that I forgot how real all those other feelings and experiences are. I am positive that I will sleep restfully tonight, and will dream easily. It is so much easier to just write what I'm thinking instead of thinking in circles about what I am thinking. Better to get all the thoughts out so there will be room for new ones to come in. I feel as thought a drain has finally been unclogged and I am no longer sitting in a tub of tepid, filthy water. All the unclean particles have been washed off, so I can drain and wash the tub so it will be clean for the next time I need to wash my brain out. All of these unexpressed thoughts have been obscuring my vision so much I could hardly distinguish what all the words on all the papers I wrote were supposed to mean. I'm saying what I mean now. My heart is in someone else's care. I am terrified by being out of control of it, and at the same time it is liberating to not have to mind it myself. I know it is safe; I just don't know how much attention, how much love is being shared with it. I sometimes feel that its caregiver resents his responsibility and neglects it, but that he also realizes its vulnerability, paying it enough tenderness so as not to inadvertently injure it. It's simply too vulnerable to be transported around. I suppose the place where my heart is right now is its true home, in the place and with the person that facilitated its coming into being, its reincarnation, when its wounds were filled with gold and closed with golden stitches, and forever watched over by my third eye, a wide-open sparkling green iris... and finally sealed with a reverse S, the mirror image of my Self. I can't bear to ask for it back, because it isn't worth the risk of harm. But I know he feels its beat. My magic is real to those who know how to recognize it, and I feel he does even when my thoughts doubt him. And I must ultimately obey my feelings, because they are true no matter how I might rationalize them. My heart is out of my hands, and I must obey them, obey his touch.

Secret Lines

As I sat in class today, the overwhelming urge to weave a map of the universe arose. I had no choice but to retrieve my loom and thread it with the fibers of flaming feathers. The fundamental nature of my heart has been awakening, a love of all things, an appreciation of the beauty of all phenomena. From that awakening has spawned a drive towards selflessness, a need to give to others; a need to give love, all my love, unconditionally. Whenever I weave this fabric, I stretch the limits of my self. Mapping the universe, I map the route to my heart. In forgetting myself, I remember all those without whom "I" am nothing. All I hope is to teach all those I love how to read my map, so they can likewise follow the secret lines to the hidden treasures of their hearts.

Padmasambhava, the Lotus Born

This painting is tantric in its indulgent sensuality. Even though Padmasambhava is sitting alone on his lotus throne, this aura of mystical energy is exuded through the vibrancy of the color tone. As a vibration of light, there is a tonal quality, a low frequency mantra that one can quite clearly feel. Although the colors in the background are quite subdued blue and red, they remain vibrantly clear. The landscape appears energetic, verging on tempestuous. The clouds appear to be moving swiftly and the water is churning. The trees almost look like fire, and there is a circle of smoke encircling a mountain. It has the feel of charnel grounds. It seems like this is a sublime rendering of the mastery of samsara. The elements of air, earth, fire and water create a 3 dimensional mandala, in the center of which Padmasambhava sits upon a lotus cushion. He has one face and two hands. He is sitting in a relaxed posed. He is crowned, and his long hair falls over his shoulders. In his right hand he holds a vajra. There is a sublime symmetry that is more a feeling than something one sees. The symmetry of it hits the observer along points in ones body. It is a current of energy, a vibration of light that is sound. A banner is hanging from his staff, a sign of victory. The gold adorning his robe erupts with vibrancy from the surface of the image, mirroring the light of the observers mind and returning it on the same current. It is very easy to imagine tantric art in terms of energy wavelengths. There is a palpable presence to the images that is evoked purposefully by a master, or sublime artist, in Thinley Norbu's words. The creativity of the artist is to render something sublime with coarse materials. This painting seems to be a representation of a danger inherent not on in Tantra, but in the rendering of the painting. It evokes both the dangerous potential of Tantra and the sublime beauty of it. Even the air, which feels empty, is simultaneously full. There is a saturation of energy, catalyzed by ritual empowerment that crystallizes in the materials of the painting, its vajra body.

Spring Broke

I haven't been giving Spinoza enough attention over Break. I am a bad philosopher. I will try to make it up to him eventually.

Yesterday I went to the opening of an exhibit at a warehouse in Williamsburg. Tara and I drank free beer, took a few laps around the exhibit, then met some awesome artists. Then we went to Alligaytor Lounge, scavenged some pizza tickets, had a beer then bailed. Tres weak.

On my way to sit in a cafe, binge on coffee, and read Dante, I was stopped by a pair of individuals. One was South Korean woman and the other was a darkhaired guy who didn't say a word. They wanted to know if I had heard of "the female image of God" in the Bible. Being a religious studies student (I hate the redundancy of saying that), I was skeptical, but I was having trouble figuring out what this woman was trying to say thanks to her accent. I was genuinely interested in what they were saying until she started to say that it was the "end times", and alluding to apocalyptic prophecy in the Bible. Now, I have read the bible, even Revelations. But I read it in an academic setting, as literature not Truth. As soon as they brought in the end of days, Heaven, the one True God, I couldn't take them seriously. If I'd been in less of a hurry, perhaps I would have asked them to show me just where in the Bible WWII is explicitly prophesied. I remarked that prophecy is written so generally that it is easily misinterpreted. People have "seen the signs of the end times as prophesied in the Bible" since the Bible was written! So, I mentioned my studies, and that was when her partner finally jumped in, asking "May I ask what religion you practice?" There was something in the way he intoned his question that made me defensive, so I replied, "I don't practice a religion. I'm a religious studies student." Then he asked me if I'd ever been Catholic in the past. I don't think he meant past lives, but if he had I probably would have answered yes. But I told him no. It was at this point I started backing away. They were desperate to keep me on the hook but I had better things to do than debate with people who seemed to have less understanding of Christian theology than I do. And that is saying something, not being Christian and everything. To get them to finally back off I told them I would need direct revelation to believe in whatever it was they were trying to tell me about. The guy said, "But it says that you have to come to it for salvation, it won't come to you." I said, "It's already coming to me. Don't worry about my salvation," and walked away. About twenty feet later another pair of people approached me, and said, "Excuse me, may we talk to you for a moment?" I answered him with another question. "Are you with those people over there?" and pointed in the direction I'd just come from. "I don't know. Have you heard about the female image of God? We're with the something or other Elohim blah blah blah." "Yep, that's what they said, too." "So you're not interested?" "Nope, thanks!" Then I waved and walked away.

For the rest of the afternoon I ascended the mountain of Purgation, passed through the cleansing fire of realization, entered the Garden of Earthly delights and was baptised in the rivers of oblivion and good memory. Afterward, I went grocery shopping. Trader Joe's is a godsend. I told them not to worry about my salvation. I can find it on my own, thanks.

magnetism

Magnetosphere revisited (audio by Tosca) from flight404 on Vimeo.

Strangeness

People are strange from Denis Fongue on Vimeo.

briefly

Sorry for the radio silence the past week or so. School started up again and I've been very busy with that as well as rediscovering what it's like to have a regular social life. Also, I had an incredibly profound experience this past Saturday that I am still processing and it will take a little while longer before I'll have it sorted out. Some of you who are my close friends already know what I'm talking about. As a result, I've been drawing almost nonstop (for instance, I skipped class today to work on a drawing) so look forward to more of my artwork being posted in the near future.

On a different note, I hope you all of you New Yorkers/East Coasters are enjoying the transition to Fall. I know I am. It is my favorite season, and there is little I love more than the crisp smell of leaves and the chill of a cool breeze stroking my cheeks.

See you all soon, before the trees are bare of leaves.

government warning

This morning I woke up to Katie yelling in my window. I was dreaming deeply of generous vending machines, Professor Arturo, empowering the oppressed with Marx, and ripping pages from their bindings. I spent four hours eliminating duplicate albums and tracks from my iTunes library. Then Katie and John went out, and I fidgeted around and tried to find someone to hang out, but I didn't really want to hang out with anyone if it meant spending money. By 7:20 I hadn't thought of anything to do except eat and watch more American Dad! Fortunately, that's when John returned with his bandmates to practice in our living room. I ate my veggie burger, read the first paragraph of an article in SEED then realized I'd already read it. Once I'd done that, I drew for a little while on the back of my letter exercises as step 3 of applying for this intership/research assistant position with Helen Whitney. I'm not getting my hopes up about it so I won't be disappointed if I don't get it. I know I'm very qualified, and I have Katherine's referral working in my favor, but I'm not sure if I'm the right person for the job. For one, I got the impression I was the only undergrad among the applicants, and that my obligations come fall might make me less desirable than someone who has long term availability. Whatever. I won't know anything until Helen returns from Germany next week. Because I spent so much time cleaning up my music library today I decided to start work on the playlist for the party Saturday. It's going to be my last party until Andy and I move in together in August. I spoke with Dad today and he might drive out here to help with the move. I think Andy and I will manage even if he can't. I don't have that much stuff and I can't imagine Andy having much if he's flying from California. As much fun as I have had in this apartment, I am ready to move out. I've realized in the last month or so, as the move out date has drawn near, that I am only comfortable living one place for about six months. A lot of that has to do with how difficult it has been to find a place that fits me. I've never really lived in a place that was completely my own, that I furnished, arranged, and decorated. Perhaps things would have been different here if I'd had a real bed rather than a loft.

I lie down like a tired dog, licking his wounds in the shade.

I bought color film for my camera the other day. I asked for a film with a deep saturated color, and I'm excited to see how my first roll turns out. Unlike black and white, which taught me how to see in shades, since I bought this color film, I have started seeing things in hues. I now have the full spectrum (of visible color) at my availability, and now that it's nearly summer and the sun will be at it's more intense and colors will be at their most brilliant. I am excited to try this something new.