Time, in the middle of the Great Collapse, to post new works and another small poem entitled When the Heart Bleeds; also, some thoughts on Budapest artists, contemplations on fascism and more Brecht.

The new works, Swingeing Spots, can be seen here. What are these circles and why do I keep doing them? They began in 2019 with the Black Spots of Winter and I have been doing these ever since. Am I taking the easy way out by continuing to follow this thread? I do see the obvious referencing of natural structure, reflecting an ailing nature. Now we are at one with nature. But is that enough?

The form and content begin with a simple attraction of the eye. It’s the eye that guides now, not arbitrary yet not consciously meaningful. Is it just automatic form-making? I don’t really need to know this. The point is that I have neither used up these forms nor this particular media, although under different circumstances other forms, other media could do the job equally well. Not arbitrariness but fluency?

But why this apparent invisibility of the hand? There is no brushwork, little gestural mark-making. The application of color and tone, the creation of texture are all created by basic printing processes – offset, relief, stencil, transfer. Is this legitimate? Why not? The essence of a print being pressure rather than duplication (although that sometimes occurs), in this case simple pressure of the hand itself is where manual expression comes into play, the physical assertion of a human hand at work. I am satisfied.

It’s been nearly two years since visiting the Budapest studio of László Alföldi (here) and Éva T. Horvath (here). Éva’s powerful relief collages and 3D constructions and László’s nuanced paper prints both left a strong impression. I was particularly drawn to László’s technique of layering multiple sheets of freshly inked papers under pressure, then peeling the layers apart to create compelling visual textural effects. I don’t know if I have unconsciously revisited his process in my newest work or if I, following my own independent thread, have found myself in an overlapping spot of commonality. I don’t really need to know this either. It’s enough, I think, to point with acknowledgement and appreciation in his direction.

Suddenly and inevitably the mind swings without warning from Budapest back to Vermont – and to what has become My American House Arrest. Being forced to cancel the fall flight (the fourth cancellation) with no idea of plan or future stuns. I have yet to inform my Hungarian friends and colleagues but that will happen next. Alternative ideas for my fall Book of Chaos exhibition at the Nyitott Műhely (Open Workshop) emerge slowly and must be explored.

Meanwhile, It’s always there – an imperative to write about this mammoth realignment of reality. Navigating this new and strange present continuous, absorbing this many-pronged assault consumes an undefinable portion of the psyche. Last night, exhausted by the day’s events, a sense of being unmoored took over. The mind churns in the substrate, trying ceaselessly to comprehend, define and respond appropriately in both personal and political contexts.

What are we facing? What’s going on in Portland, Oregon right now, with unidentified military-clad federal agents sent with no legal justification to violently attack and round up peaceful protesters in unmarked black rental minivans? What do we call it when, called up by one swingeing, careening murderous madman, these mysterious violent paramilitary forces refuse to leave despite being asked to by state and local governments, having never been invited by them in the first place? What do we call the heavily armed and unregulated paramilitary forces our police have become?And in today’s headlines – our Mussolini is apparently consulting with Bush”s dirty lawyer who justified torture, to now scrape filthy twisted interpretations off past legal rulings so as to back up rule by decree!As tenacious as the long American history of oppression and injustice, as brutal as the quashing of past protest movements, this is going somewhere new for us. Hey Dad, are we there yet? Isn’t it time to remember? Now ist the time for everyone to seriously call this out for what it is. Before we can resist, it must be named. Fascism – it’s here.

Ending with another Brecht poem…

– Diane Sophrin
  Vermont (7.20.20)

 

The making of long-lasting works

1
How long
Do works last? They last
Till they are finished.
For so long
as they still require effort
They do not decay.

Inviting effort
Rewarding participation
They will live and last for as long
As they invite and reward.

Useful works
Need people
Works full of artistry
Have room for art in them
Wise Works
Need Wisdom
Those intending completeness
Show gaps
The long-lasting
Are forever on the brink of falling in
Those planned on a truly grand scale
Are unfinished.

Uncompleted still
Like the wall awaiting ivy
(It was once unfinished
Ages ago, before the ivy came, bare!)

Not able to be halted there
Like a machine that is needed and used
But does not suffice
But promises better
Like that if it is to last
A work must be built like
The machine full of shortcomings.

2
When things are to be said that will not immediately be understood
When advice is given that it takes a long time to follow
When we fear human weakness
The enemy’s staying power, the catastrophes that bury everything
Then we must lend our works the power to last.

3
The desire to make works that will last a long time
Is not always to be welcomed.

The man who addresses the as yet unborn
Often does nothing for their birth.
He does not fight, but wants the victory.
He sees no enemy
Except being forgotten.

Why should every wind last forever?
You may take note of a good pronouncement
So long as the occasion may come again
For which it was good.
Certain experiences handed on in perfected form
Enrich mankind
But we can have too much of riches.
Not only experiences
Memories too make us old.

So the desire to lend a work long-lastingness
Is not always to be welcomed.

– Bertolt Brecht
  Uncollected Poems 1927 – 1930

Translated and edited by Tom Kuhn and David Constantine
Liveright Publishing corporation – WW. Norton & Company
New York | London 2019