again

YBR_CE_IN_UNI_IM_C

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8th Ship of Theseus

Romancing the #BritishLandscape: exertion as a methodology for re-binding with the ‘out-there’

Running with Intensity: machinic exerting in the #BritishLandscape

Being in the flows: running Romantically in the #BritishLandscape

-being-in-the-flows-|-running-Romantically-with/in-the-#BritishLangscape-

-being-of-the-flows-|-running-Romantically-the-#BritishLangscape-

-and-being-of-the-flows-[fold here]-running-Romantically-a-#BritishLangscape-

-and-being-of-the-#langscape-[fold here]exploring the malleability of landscape, language and the creative act

-becoming-#langscape-[fold here]intra-rupting landscape, language and the creative act

Howard’s Way

Howard Hodgkin: Painting India
The Hepworth, Wakefield
1st July – 8th October 2017

1st July 2017

Working notes

Darkness at Noon contained by ply
frothing green wings and sweeps From the Terrace Bombay
warped blocks of Indian Veg
new ply wave Arriving
acidic Red Sky green
knife cuts sky of Evening
proximity repels
frames, framed, framing
nail holes old frames
turned to face the wall (secrets)
ply Bombay
smell of cut timber gestures

HH_1HH_2HH_3HH_4HH_5HH_6HH_7HH_8

Postscript: I’m pleased to hear that The Hepworth has won Art Fund Museum of Year 2017.

…the loose words leave…

the loose words lose their tongue in the trying. you lose the words in their loose tongue tying. Trying to be them. Unsettles the equilibrium for a moment that is certain. To leave a mark on skin. Surfacing with these words. Propelled, expelled the nuisance of their knowing to you and I and we and they, and all else besides. The crypt of their forgiving, foregoing the air that they need to dwell down in their dingles.

angles formed by trying to fit their limitless dimensions to a frame that has no matter. Awkward angles that jut and poke and pull and scratch and tear and puncture. Punctuate angles, all elbows and knees. Knitting together a part for a matrix. Off spring, out spring words. Dangerous words. Where are they leading? Me. Hear. They are leaving almost as soon as they came. What are we left with? You and I but not the words now. The words know they have been (and gone). To pieces. Two pieces.

The gentle breeze turns the leaves a little and reveals a lighter underside. The blackbird sings.