Thursday, October 15, 2009

PDX Art: Under a coat of armor or why “Nature” is still a dirty word by Richard Schemmerer







DIY: inclusive – exclusive –
Under a coat of armor or why “Nature” is still a dirty word


A slate, a giant square, a raw piece of rock cut like a human organ from earths body chiseled with tormented labor as a symbol for patience in resistance; an act of futile creation squeezed from a mind that hides its ideology under a coat of armor with its concealed weapons of mass consumption.

Art has not always been seen as an unworthy pursuit but of late is judged as a pursuit of someone with a weak disposition.
It is easy to see why somebody could see Art as an lame escape route from a system that offers mostly creative dead-ends of spirit and mind and indulges in trivial pursuits in avoidance to acknowledge the souls ability to bunchy jump at every corner and leap frog aroung any moral construct.

Life is not as simple as a cup cake eating contest.

The renaissance of men has a resurgance this time in the visual fields as poetic aspects still struggle, still lamenting on the wailing wall of the masses waiting for the people of the world to turn off their silencers.

Artists have to live with the stigmata of being on one hand revered in envy and on the other despised with jealousy. The only escape route is mockery and self flagellation.

Better be eyeless & senseless than mindless because instinct is just a heavy handed whip but intellect is like a wind that can take flight no matter the circumstances.

Synchronicity is only available to a fine tuned mind.

"Too much of a good thing can be a curse" goes the saying but it is easier to reduce and rather difficult to exalt if you don’t have it in the first place.

Neither hot nor cold nor plant or animal the artist survives as a meat loving hybervore constantly attempting to kill of his inbred common-ness.
The mind-brain-intellect is a creation chamber where nuclear fission breeds with solidified ideas.

What was once forbidden is now in main-stream circulation rushing down commercial media streams like absolute vodka in dainty Martinis.
Life has become a perpetual Happy Hour offering up bits of pieces of our soul in sliders and on skewers.
Religious tensions are artificially inseminated with fanatic fervor and brim stone rhetoric.
Mental health is sacrificed to the highest bidder while E-bay is worshiped like a portal to Gods Kingdom.

Mickey Mouse has outgrown its pre-adolescent comic book character and has grown a pair of fangs while sporting claws on greedy callous paws.
The cross is turned upside down with a female Christ in extasy showing genitalia and breasts.
Actionism has led to new circles. God has come back down to earth and is just a prayer call away.

“Caution: Art” stickers make as aware of what is or is not Art.

Oral traditions have assumed a whole new meaning as the interest in archetypical stories has been weaned out of hipsters bred by Fathers with Viagra pumped up appendixes and being fed on mother’s milk from silicone enhanced breasts.

Painting lives on like a never ending death like a passion play played in a loop on Quick Time.
Visual fields are reduced back to their pixel matter blurring around the edges of surrealism combining urban aesthetic with pop sensibility.

Landscapes seem closer to hallucinations like in a David lynch movie rather than the Judeo Christian idea of a Garden in Eden.

"I paint so I am" has morphed into "I conceptualize so it is".

Nature is still a dirty word; still at fault this time for selling out to our weakness.
We have won, we conquered, we scavenged, peed on every corner of it and now we are whining how easy it was and that Nature never was a worthy formidable opponent and even though we won’t stop until the Universe collapses we are not to blame but Nature and we are never going to be part of it.

We want an Ultra reality that is able to repair itself and can heal all the wounds we are inflicting on it.

We brought sexy back and we melted the ice caps while we binged on hyperbole and over-charged our civilizations future.
As long as it will last we’ll keep sucking out the balloon our fore-fathers inflated for us.
Regrets are for pacifist new ideas are for the next loser generation with their own set of addictions and locker room mentality.

Misogyny is thriving in tattoo parlors with their borrowed images of a kitsch invested past with it’s handed down ship harbor whores logo-ism.
Echo’s of past empires spill out like viruses on a hacked brain infesting by a mind that lingered in safe mode for too long.

Sing me a lullaby play me an I-tune; mix me a media cocktail or slam me a line to remember.
Text me an acronym and tweat me a momento I can cherish and share with my grand children when they ask me when I first knew that I loved my self more than I do you.

Fragile is only of concern for Fed Ex; my body and me are going on a ride on this Earth for what it’s worth.
Life is a performance and my ticket has been pre-paid by my ticket master and charged with my pay pal.
Fatalism and pluralism have banded together to become exploitatioism indicating a trend towards capital idiotism.

Over accelerate the possible and the impossible will blow its lid off exposing a naked ass that smiles with eye popping candor at the metamorphosis of our ignorance we created in the name of Art & Science.

With one megalithic breast stroke the past has become a thing of the past not worth looking at any more like a designer outfit from the 80ties whose only purpose is to remind us how ridicules over-over-sized shoulder pads really looked like on our humble bodies.

Artifacts are housed in save places called Museums where the geeks of Nostalgia congregate to ogle what the hip can Google now into their living rooms.
Instead of living we reference instead of engaging with nature we convert the suburban basement into a designer man-cave.

Instead of being we search the internet for gratification.

“Gravity has lost its pull in a flood of Pathos” these are words that already sound as dated as Dinosaurs and their meaning is none-relevant to us just like Einstein’s theories.
Now that we have spell check we can stop worrying as coming across as stupid and copy, cut and paste is the best tool ever invented.
We Photoshop our future right into our portfolio and airbrush away all the blemishes that could limit our chances on E Harmony dot com.

Survival is not an option.
Fractured pieces don’t create a lucid memory or a healthy whole.

We are still trying to catch a ride on a fractal wave to find the missing link, the key to our worth which will lead us to the answer of the question
“What will keep men-kind alive”.

DIY is the latest hype dug out from grave yards of societies past but we are past that option and are diluting our potential while the planet dies species by species.

Death doesn’t become us no matter what the churches claim but you can proof read me wrong.

When will we finally realize that size doesn’t matter but opinion does.

I wrote this because I care about you
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