Tag Archives: feeling

Have you ever been alive? Curious Sensation isn’t it?


man steps over the couch, into the autumn wind, he is naked yet covered by his own nature…

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Albin Brunovsky

Title by: Marcel Mariën





Art is a Verb, that needs to hear an echo


High Art, I believe you were mistaken in your deceit, of an occurrence bleeding symmetries upon a page. What is praised, is lost , if not gifted and given by an authentic gaze. You call them doodles, scratches against the wall, possibilities for perfection. I think you are to humble, I call them the most High. I say your Art was expressed in a form worth sharing as soon as it left your mind and trickled down to the patient hand that circles its emotive and creative nuances like storms, Great Storms, caught in the eye of some drifting falcon, allowing for errors and triumphs to pool together to invoke a feeling not just in yourself of alignments to steady your flight, but any who would choose to witness the same for themselves. To be so bold and put your Art out into the Great Storms of this world is much better than to cage it and allow to it settle, as many have and always well. Dying in some notebook, left in the dark corners of an attic, only to be revived in the eyes of a child sifting through the tattered remains trying to settle and see why the artist had to leave so soon in the ambulance, before being fully acknowledged for their impressions left upon this world, as we are forever indebted to the ongoing processions of the forgotten artists as they walk across this stage.

-Josh Fleming

Image by and poem inspired by: PMu ink, Echo




Sew my hand into this fabric of earth, so deeply-rooted-that I may feel this memory. This coursing-pulse, this pounding-heart. Rusted stories still cling to backs of our mind. Discursive thoughts vanishing upon the fixed-horizon. To behold—the presence of being. To feel its weight in bone, to remember our presence as its own.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Philipp Haager



The Forensics Of Mind


Time, what exists as to allow the evidence of decay to peer into its own mirror. To actualize ones own impermanent revelation. Tending to stay in perpetual drift, floating towards a memory, or an idea not yet realized. An inability to identify a fixed position, how we came to be, where we are going? Thoughts and feelings become stuck in rotation, waiting to be heard. Yet in the moment that is sustained, witnessing your own murders and resurrections. As the echo collapses into its beginning, crossing over chalk outlines. Wandering effortlessly upon the Great Knowing.

-Josh Fleming

Sculpture by: Blake Ward