On the notion of things

Would God laugh, if Ged named the artist?

I remember my ten year old self swirling around like a baby dervish while repeating the same word until the carpeting hits me in the face. Then, I repeat the word again and it seems like I’ve never heard it before.

Living in a world which labels to understand, I continue to discover that the negotiation of boundaries mаy not only be a useful discourse in mechanical reasoning, but in the actual understanding of the flexible membrane of knowing.

A word is defined by a notion, capsulated in a system which would be taken a priori in the infrastructure of a theory. Societies rely on labels to create order. On notions to compartmentalize knowledge in capsules which efficiently nurture our curiosities. However, how do we learn to learn progressively?

I’m reminded of Ged - the majestic magi from Ursula K. Le Guin’s “The Wizard of EarthSea”- who finds out that the very act of magic is learned in the capacity to call things with their true names. The one who knows your true name may gain a full power over you. Thus, naming becomes that miraculous act of conception or dissolution of reality, when the tip of God’s finger touches Adam. Would have Adam remained a pure potential - forever contained in the boundaries of his own vessel, if Eve’s vessel hadn’t inquired to communicate?

A sign of ultimate trust, an indirect act of selfless surrender into the eventual mutation of the self, or a sacrificial arrogance of the ego on the scale of the uninterrupted circuitry of life, choosing to share their true name with another, one chooses to be expanded by the experience of the unknown. Permeability becomes a conductor to essence through enhancing our capacity to transmute as a collective being. The ouroboros is not a mere circle solidified in time. It pulsates in a spiral, as knowledge constantly bites its tail through the continuous electrical current of exchange.

How did this whole blog post start anyways? - With a confession.

Although, I have worked in some form of creative expression my whole life, I still flinch to say - I’m an artist.

Society has taught me to say that I’m one. I named my blog “Artist journal”. It is all over my bio. I’ve gone through the blessed suffering of an art degree. I record my artistic process to process it. Then, I chop it - carefully in capsules, to feed my artist statement with nutritious information for exhibitions, proposals, grants, presentations and public events. By all means, I’m all of its parts but am I it?

In my gestalt reality, the work doesn’t know of itself. It interlaces a variety of fields. Trusting the process of its own undoing, the work could be generative. If it wasn’t that insatiable drive for exploration beyond the defined, the artist would have vanished long ago, in the straight jacket of its own container, trying to fit within the common belief that a real artist has to be centered in one specific medium.

While enduring in the compartment of my ascribed definition, the ride unravels numerous opportunities which allow to engage into the beauty of an uninterrupted kinesis. I learn to know order in uncertainty. Recognizing the abundance of meaning where disintegration happens, the learning event takes place in the collision of realities. The rest becomes ripples of hypothesis describing the flow. Echoes of the event which regurgitate material of aboutness.

As the different disciplines of my work and research come together in the creative lab of biomimi healing spaces , my soul definition bears its sole responsibility of expansion, honoring and transgressing its own avowed notions for the sake of the work. If there is still light after that, then, there is another day in the universe of co-creation.

Don't close your eyes and watch the teaser for the latest movie project I worked on over the summer.