Tag Archives: Painting

Hemispheric Personality Test

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If A was B and B was A. If each shared their respective crafts, their dreams, myths and imaginations, their observations, calculations and reservations. If logic went out dancing with an axis unknown, if an unknown axis found its pivot, what world would we live in, one of fear and denial, tilted to the curvature of a world slipping off its own edge, or one of love and acceptance, wobbling and counter balancing in daily rotations to find its center.

Does imagination conjure reason in as much as reason conjures imagination?

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Arjan Janssen

http://butdoesitfloat.com

Flipping The Coin

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Are the roots of spirituality, mythology, alchemy, philosophy, religion and science beyond mere self-driven or self-interested improvements of oneself? Is it by our greater involvement of attempting to climb these immense mountains, to become an adept, to learn more of oneself and the self’s place within this world and that of possibly other worlds, implicitly implying that the adepts are wanting to know what is other than themselves. So the seekers can begin to work more symbiotically within these world(s), within these patterns of the human and more than human world(s).

If by wanting to know oneself is simply wanting to know others. Then by creating this narrative the adepts study and practice of science and spirit is the disciplined art of both sympathetic and empathetic relating and connecting with that self and that other. In doing this we are engaging in a form of passionate, driven inquiry creating a form of altruism. Aptly coined both Science-Spiritus, science breathing the spirit, Heads or Spiritus-Science, the spirit breathing science, Tails. We are all engaged in a balance of opposites most likely fully enveloped in a strange, yet relatable living paradox, wether we wish to acknowledge this or not. By accepting our ignorance within the various religions, philosophies, spiritualities and sciences we can and will a have greater chance of succeeding in our search for answers, at least possibly on a individual level.

Spiritus Lenis is soft breathing is the spiritual or mythical internal aspects of oneself.

Spiritus Asper is hard breathing is the scientific or logical external aspects of oneself.

If we allow ourselves to practice both sides or ways of knowing within science and spirit, or find others on opposing sides to remain in constant dialogue with, then we are in  engaging in a process of activism by keeping a bridge between these two worlds. For the betterment of those worlds and all the variable contents within them.

It doesn’t really matter what I believe or what you believe, what matters is that we can keep talking.

-Josh Fleming

Image by: Arjan Janssen

http://butdoesitfloat.com

The search for reason ends at the shore of the known; on the immense expanse beyond only the sense of the ineffable can glide.

We do not leave the shore of the known in search of adventure or suspense or because of the failure of reason to answer our questions. We sail because our mind is like a fantastic seashell, and when applying our ear to its lips we hear a perpetual murmur from the waves beyond the shore.

Citizens of two realms, we all must sustain a dual allegiance…

– Abraham Joshua Heschel, 1990

Conversations

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To take “the winged energy of delight”, to bring it down, from the heavens, to drag its perfection, its clarity, in and through the muddy bog. What it thought it once new, what it wants to remember. Mother Amnesia comes and buries it well in the dark soil, to allow it to seed in its depths, to collapse its light under its own shadow. To root itself in dank forests or branch upward through the slender cracks of concrete in some dirty sulfuric city street, wondering how the fuck it found itself here, shackled in some ghetto wasteland. Somebody else’s war. Somebody else’s disease ridden trough. As bones chew against the wall, as the flesh weakens in doubt, forgetting its appearance. The tumor says that there is not much time, growth is in its final decent. Empires still rolling-roman bones, a wilted dandelion starves to taste the air, as the morning dew still returns, to wash the unclean, settling ever so gently on all things. So if our wings be clipped, if they still be dripping with that thick blood, brutally amputated with the dull rusty blade of indifference, deformed gnarled stumps, where once great mountains grew forth, 10,000 fiery feathers burned inflamed in knowing a presence that cannot be defined or defiled. So, if you find yourself drunk and stumbling within your own chaos, some horrible haunt that wrecks your dreams, look up and look down. As you grew out through the cracks in the skye, the cracks beneath these burial grounds. You arrived to learn, of things that only such a life could teach you. Arriving to restore, some place amongst your ancestors. To cultivate, from where ever they began. To grow out from that centre, to strive, to move towards that conversation waiting to be had. Where once stood a wilted petal, stepped upon and torn, blown out and drifting over desolate places. Until that seed was caught, by your hand and instructed not to fear, instructed to release its grasp on such thing it cannot control, instructed to refashion itself from this seed, to shape itself within this form, to grow within this frame, to know its boundaries and its reason, to work within the patterns, is where you’ll find yourself, yet always keep an ear towards the sea-wall.

“Just as the winged energy of delight
carried you over many chasms early on,
now raise the daringly imagined arch
holding up the astounding bridges.

Miracle doesn’t lie only in the amazing
living through and defeat of danger;
miracles become miracles in the clear
achievement that is earned.

To work with things is not hubris
when building the association beyond words;
denser and denser the pattern becomes––
being carried along is not enough.

Take your well-disciplined strengths
and stretch them between two
opposing poles. Because inside human beings
is where God learns.”

-Josh Fleming

Muzot, Febuary 1924

Rainer Maria Rilke, translation by Robert Bly

Image by: Robert Gutierrez

Kurchatovium 104

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Tortured souls of an unhappy communion, as you lay out your daily bread, the ritual cycles of a breathing breathe brings you no fullness, exhaling in a rasp, a ever collapsing lung wondering when death will come. As if we simply forgot, or somebody stole that precious fire, smoke trying to escape the smelting room of the ruined hearts. Why must we taste the bitter bile, we are the smudge sticks of someone else’s making, bound tight and burned, the ritual parlance of a menial existence, but what if, it was of our own oversight. Accepting an apology from a distant notion. That day that they told you what it was, what was meant to be, that moment you crawled into their shell, ever hanging under Deadman’s Tree. The World is not a place to bleed, the stagnate Hexagram of Ku marked across your sweat and brow, we are bleeding all over. The thinning wind blows low against the skirt of the Mountain, in an image of decay, thus the embodied and the emboldened must rise to stir the heavy winds, that lay fallow in the killing fields, to strengthen the people and quicken the spirit. Crossing back over obsidian seas, to begin the work.

-Josh Fleming

“Decisiveness and energy must take the place of inertia and
indifference that have led to decay, in order that the ending may be followed by a new beginning”.

-Richard Wilhelm, Hexagram 18

Image by: Unknown

The end of the poem was inspired by: The IChing Hexagram 18, Richard Wilhelm translation.

Wovenhand

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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

http://artitious.com/artist/philipp-haager/

 

“Evidence. : Disguised

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[14:12] ..e45 (u-44) ..thousands of worlds apart, deconstructing the real, what happened in 74, .. what fell away, memories vanished, cut from the faculties of by which we apprehend, :::fucked up the transmission…, how beautiful, but who can remember, one world masks by another, to assemble itself, is to take apart the other, language can speak without ever saying a word, a depth-perception denied, circa: 2(3)74 ::: spatiotemporal axis apprehends the occipital, plasmatic manifesto, intoxicated by the confession, spontaneous information re-orders the syntax, historical regression, what does not perish persists, to be held in awe, in an infinite multitude, endless possibilities, to seek no further, to cherish this moment and behold its resurrection, to seek no further, enveloped in perfect stillness, a birds song anchors my belief and shatters my faith, never have I known, such love, a vital up welling centered upon its pivot , the transcendent abides within its abstraction, to feel its motion as your own, to seek no further, in this house is our home, in this kingdom that holds no master, nor servant, walking without distance, one cannot perceive its end, to seek no further-in this house-is our home.

-Josh Fleming

Inspired by: PKD Philip K. Dick, The Exegesis of Philip K Dick

Image by: Christine Odlund

http://www.christineodlund.se

The Clod & the Pebble

 

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“Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”

So sung a little Clod of Clay
Trodden with the cattle’s feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

“Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another’s loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.”

-William Blake

Image by: Ryan Sullivan