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loop

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THIS is how the BEAST enters the EARTH. Soft as morning light, liquid as our dreaming eyes. Subcutaneous. Hunchbacked and beautiful, tunneling through our longing, burrowing beneath the EARTH. Our tongues as transmitters. Memory as shovels.

 

Without maps, we use Dead Reckoning, we devise a process that is haphazard and chaotic. Shambala in shambles. What started as an attempt to map life’s multi-dimensional unfolding has given way to … a process of unmapping. Let’s get lost. Let’s picnic in the tombs. Let’s strip the wires from the firmaments and play in the dark. Stars swim through our blood.

 

Each piece of art has its own trajectory of despair and joy.

 

To begin, the waters must flow. Paint is diluted, viscosity is determined. A spill is launched. Textured gesso, or raw un-stretched canvas, waits, drinks in the manna, begs for more. This is the way continents form. Coloured mud coagulates. Sometimes it blends into the damp waiting loam, sometimes it runs side by side through twisted terrain creating raspberry ripples or cosmic gas clouds. We crouch down close to the canvas, sit back on our heels and watch the paint dry, boredom’s proverbial cliché. We are transfixed. A network of loops. Cells. Catacombs. Cul-de-sacs. Sub-divisions in the desert.

 

Blood must flow for life to continue. Capillaries carry our dreams beyond tomorrow, toward the unknowable. Future generations sail down these salty rivers. Ancestors lurk within microscopic cells, waiting to tell their unfinished stories.  A network of patterns and systems emerge from the mist, mysterious and comfortable. We watch as layers peel away, subatomic, chthonic, geological, geo-political, social, biological. They tell us what we need to know. They show us how to stay safe and how to find our way home.

 

But here… the BEAST returns. Full of rage and power. Full of potential and justice. Full of beauty and surrender.