Wednesday, December 10, 2014

On his wise shoulders through a checkerwork of leaves, sun flung spangles, dancing coins. -
Ulysses by Joyce, p. 36, vintage copy edition or 1961 version

Ulysses, I spent reading for the past four months and read it consecutively three times in a row.  The first time, the humor was striking but by the end of Molly Bloom's Soliloquy, I felt I had simply tasted the tip of the iceberg and wanted more.  Knowing there were few works like this, I read it once more.  I was able to hear the language without reading it out loud except in some parts.  From page 300 to 400, I often would get confused and put the back down, that is, in the past.  After pulling through this difficult arena of thought and prose, I found myself enjoying aspects of humor and grace of language.  His work is difficult and misleading and even sometimes cryptic.  Cryptic in the sense, that real intelligence, as I call it, is ambiguous, bifurcating, misleading one to feel a set of sensations without being able to grasp or comprehend the actual meaning behind something.

Joyce was a man of riddles.  If one looks past the riddles and tries reading without the dictionary, one might at least get the sense that this is not a Homer Odyssey Remade but one day in the life of so and so. 

Buck Mulligan is not a perfect person.  He is gentle, cruel, fragile, vindictive, fun, protective, harmed, hurt.  He is human and all of the other characters in the book are human as well.  Hence, it becomes a work of art because it is able in such a subtle way, to portray/depict the lives of others or those that are passing by as well.

Art has many sides whether it be in writing or in visual arts.  It is layered.  In one way, in order for it to be true, it has to take on all aspects of a "thing", a person, a being, a life.  It does not need to be one thing.  It can be many things.  Ulysses aspires to do the impossible though.  Joyce breaks rules of grammar and spelling to create a stream of consciousness style of writing.  He achieves this especially in the controversial last chapter of Molly Bloom's sexually liberating soliloquy.  She, like the complaints of Medea, screeches out her anger, her anxieties, her sexual fantasies and her need to be sexually fulfilled.

In this case, the book was banned and burned in the States.  The first publishers were fined and temporarily arrested.  It is not in the obscurity that got him into trouble but the label of obscenity since every sentence in the book does something unusual and creative.  Joyce made a book that most would never be able to repeat, let alone fully understand. 

I attempted a fourth time but realized at that point that it became too intellectual for my taste.  I put it down, finding myself pondering too many individual words and phrases, paraphrases and metaphors.


Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Classical nudes are easy, rewarding, boring. 

My eyes water from work, from looking too much.  Two journal entries dated October first, two thousand fourteen at one ae em.

Listening to modern classical: Schnittke, Penderecki, Feldman, Takemitsu.

Painted all day.  Lost myself in the abstract.  Nearly finished two new works.  Studio is growing.  Eyes are weary.  Good night.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Today I composed a draft of something I thought was momentarily important.  Perhaps too much wine.  In the end I have learned rhyme.

"I just learned something new. 
To share it in time due,
If the shadow of gloom
North of the market's doom
Early in the fair morn
Rare it is that I have been torn
A lie that is a moment of night
Raging with a kind of light,
Yestermourn, the sun did rise.

Yesternight I was gone
Enter the magician and
Symposium of light

I will fly

With the kites
Into the sky
Like a shadow
Like an echo

For she loves
Lips like doves
Yes he is on"
-Trius
here is a text I learned from Joyce and in it I discovered the word 'acrostic'.  At first elusive but then quite clear I wrote it down and looked it up and learned a word that would change the light on the meaning of poetry.

acrostic ἀκροστιχίς the greek alpha beta can be fun
A poem or other text in which certain letters often the first in each line spell out a name or message

“What anagrams had he made on his name in youth?
Leopold Bloom
Ellpodbomool
Molldopeloob
Bollellopedoom
Old Ollebo, M.P.”

Poets oft have sung in rhyme
Of music sweet their praise divine.
L
et them hymn it nine times nine.
D
earer far than song or wine,
Y
ou are mine. The world is mine.

POLDY
and what does this mean?

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

To be a "free-thinker" in a world that does not think presents a few problems.  First of all, the world is not thinking; it is taking and taking thoughts of that so as to turn it into money.  The harsh reality of economy is a no-brainer.  To be a genuine thinker does not, by any means, sell on the first night.  So after the 'sail' of the first "cheap-looking" painting is made, one does not want to think that one must think once one has begun personal and private ownership of such and such a piece.   Has one begun to think?

A question must be asked.  The average security guard next to the 'wonderful painting you have been observing' is taking orders, not giving them.  So to ask him a thinking question will only confuse and frustrate him and perhaps after he beats you, will cause you to think.  So in the end, the oppressed, those that think, will turn into sheep once their flock is directed in such and such a direction.

Immediate success of such and such an art piece is not decided by the public but by the people deciding whether they should sell and promote the "thing" or not.  What if it has no value and they promote it anyway?  Perhaps it has no value.  But if it can be sold and even then make millions, it must have some value, right?

The dollar sign or the universal money sign is the god of every art dealer.  That is my art statement.


Monday, March 25, 2013

I am the silence of the night of the dream.  My songs mourn for you, child.


Thursday, October 18, 2012

Cutting my way to abstraction.


























All copyrights reserved by the artist Trius Fernsler
The third in a series of Light Drawings.  These are finished in the past two months.



















All copyrights reserved by the artist Trius Fernsler