dream_art epitome of incomprehensibility One artist had painted over another's painting, in a more modernist style. The original was a forest landscape, realistic but with an impressionist mosaic-like twist to the brushstrokes. The newer part was blocky and offered narrow geometric pyramids of trees. It didn't really work with the rest, especially where a brown building in the middle was concerned - the textures were so different. I felt the later artist should have done their own thing, not cover up an older one's work. It wasn't fair, and I felt sure they had some snobby rationale, something that would put them metaphorically above the other art as well as literally over it. But then I found that the newer artist's additions were on a paper that could slide of the original painting, leaving it unharmed. Still I wasn't sure if the approach was justified. 230518 ... e_o_i *slide off, not slide of. rrrgh 230518 ... raze would that my hands could paint what my mind's eye has seen in every thought-provoking dream — the impossible architecture, the sapphire sands, and every face i've loved and fought against_forgetting. 230614 ... e_o_i J.M.W. Turner, when faced with unreasonable rules, responds with a quick protest painting. It ends up as a detailed caravan with elephants and camels linked together by cords, in mainly gold-orange and dark blue - imagined, ornate, Orientalist, and quite unlike his other work. 230713 ... tender_square he had broken into my apartment; switched the side where the door knob resided, wood split and shifting in its frame. with his most dexterous finger, he penned a notice on a surface of spent cells. a misworded message beside a thicket of books his eyes would never wander through. he formed bits and bobs of cast off things into two broken figures, mirror images of the other, with phalluses as long as legs, and headdresses as wild as game. 230713 ... e_o_i Night before yesterday. David and I are at a café and the owner points out a painting. At first I don't notice there's a painting at all. It's not really separate from the wall, it seems, but juts out of it at an angle, diagonal, breaking through. The canvas blends with its surroundings: white with clouds of grey. 240226 ... epitome of incomprehensibility When Stanley Kubrick shows up at my house, I'm not going to let him help me with the cinematography of my student film project. He's content to draw penguins on my poster backdrop, and he draws them in couples, kissing - at least, their beaks are touching. You think he's cynical but he also has a goofy sense of humour. This means he is Slavoj Žižek, who is briefly raze's father before turning into Stanley Kubrick again. But if he's Kubrick, he's supposed to be dead, right? I ask what it means that he's supposed to be dead. My parents know. He has terminal cancer and is getting a fatal injection tomorrow to go out on his own terms. They don't judge this, but it's a sad goodbye. All those kissing penguins. 240421 ... e_o_i An object that looks like a dome-shaped blue lamp or a very large opal is leaking. Its once-shiny half-sphere has turned inky black. When I press the backing of this jewel-like lamp, it regains its colour, but when I release it again, the swirling bright blue fades. Blue-silver iridescence leaks onto my fingers. It glows in the dark. I can spread it on my hands to scare my father, who's afraid it's radioactive or poisonous like mercury. I'm afraid too, but this fear is what I want to hide. I stand in front of the mirror, flexing my glowing fingers like monster claws. 240501 what's it to you? who go blather from