Tuesday, January 26, 2016

The Stagecraft of Conceptual Art

Objects, books, and wall-hangings—secret noises, running water, and a constant hammering of steel on wood—people populate the empty spaces.

A classic Hopi pot finely painted with a red and black migration pattern sitting on a narrow obsidian tower.

The Iliad, Mediations on the Tarot, Tao Te Ching, Great Fool Zen Master Ryokan, The Oxford Anthology of Bhakti Literature, Emily Dickenson.

A Mesoamerican rug with rows of emblematic corn woven on a shimmering turquoise field divided by fringed ribbons of pastel-colored stripes.

(“I'm back. I'm home. All the time, it was… We finally really did it. You Maniacs! You blew it up! Ah, damn you! God damn you all to hell!”)

Outside the Merrimack River is flowing from the White Mountains and Lake Winnipesaukee while inside the Powow River is flowing from a shower head.

Vertical two by fours are rising interrupted by eleven windows, three doors, and several other apertures, capped by a roof with a chimney running through it.

The mind is an energetic open space imbued with nothing but the stagecraft of conceptual art intending self-awareness. Aum, Amen, and Silence.

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