Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Talk About Spicy Meatballs

I occasionally highlight the more startling progeny of this de facto Kaleidogram Project to which as many of you know I seem to end up subjecting quite a number of photos and drawings. None have been more startling to me than these, proceeding from "Indra on the Lam".  Talk about Spicy Meatballs. These juicies got sting. They've put my palette and palate in a state of holy fucko.
"Kaleidogram" (Kaleidoscope + Instagram) is my friend Reed Woodhouse's perfect word for what comes out when I run a pic through the Instagram Layout function app, which I employ to divide a single image into various mirror image permutations, with strange new symmetries the outcome. Lately the drawings of my creatures have been doing more than usually disarming and alarming turns on this dance floor: never more than with these 9 kids parthenogenetically conceived by my "Indra on the Lam" progenitor parent. Visuals: (above) that progenitor parent "Indra on the Lam" followed by the amassed nonet of its kaleidogram kids; and (below) solo turns taken by each of those kids.

The strange relation this creates between the putative 'artist' who catalyzes these unforeseeable peculiarities into being (that would be me) -- and the utter untrammeled dissociative freedom from their supposed 'creator' of the aliens who spew out of the deal -- brings me to all kinds of pause. Like, did I do this? Or did a fancy visual pixel-cutting deli counter slicer do it? As it is, I have a hard time claiming anything I draw or take a pic of as "my" work: I only ever feel I'm at that deli counter, weighing and arranging and dispensing something that comes somewhere other than me. (Not exactly that I'm a 'channel' - it's stranger than that.) But applying "my" to this work has never felt more tenuous a business than now, as I see these babies travel out through the unfathomable ozone to say hi. I'm not complaining: in a manner I suppose I'm exulting in it, although even that makes it sound like I had more to do with it than it feels like I did. But then I can exult in the sky or a thigh or a sigh and I didn't make any of those, did I? I hear Alan Watts laughing. "Actually, Mr. Kettelhack, yes, in a manner, you did."

In a manner.

Solo Turns:

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