manmade muse: brian dettmer/ books/sculpture

[ . by brian dettmer]

amost like an autopsy, he carves into these paper tomes,
revealing and exposing,
but also building into a final cohesive sculpture.


talking about digging into a good book.

[heres a video: the book doesnt really have an obligation or the monopoly that they used to...]

grace cathedral hill: are you feeling better now

[grace cathedral. san francisco]



[acrylic on wood by bruce docker. ]

many years ago, at least relatively so in my current lifetime, a kindred spirit in the world of art and music, an at times murky, almost always sidelined world, shared a song by the decemberists.

while explanations made now for then are usually imagined and hardly ever true, i suppose i was then too sprightly and energetic with my tastes in indie. used to quick turns and complex riffs, i couldnt settle down long enough to let the melody seep in, or put word and word together to uncover picturesque dreams and morphous meanings.

in other words, i didnt stand still enough for this song; anything that didnt leap out at me was forgotten, or worse, never seen or heard.

one must love the speedy informational transactions of the internet then. for it was on its radio that i heard it again. this time, a curious thing: the very first strains dug deep. spiritual-physicists would make some comment on resonating frequencies or something.. but yes. the strains seemed the tumult in my sluggish self, and the timbre the low echo my dragging feet made. the quiet observing voice was the corner i wanted to retreat into, and let the world's going ons, made artful through a steadied frame, be my muse and my preacher.



grace cathedral hill,
all wrapped in bones of
setting sun,
all dust and stone and moribund.
i paid twenty five cents
to light a little white candle
for a new year's day

i sat and watched it burn away
then turned and weaveed through slow decay
we were both a little hungry
so we went to get a hotdog

down the hyde st. pier
the light was slight and disappeared
the air, it stunk of fish and beer

we heard a superman trumpet play the
national trumpet
and the world be
long for you
but it'll never belong to you

but on a motorbike,
when all the city lights
blind your eyes tonight
are you feeling better now?
are you feeling better now
are you feeling better now.

someway to greet the year
your eyes all bright and brimmed with tears
the pilgrims, pills and tourists here all sing
fifty three bucks to buy a brand new halo

sweet on a green eyed girl
all fiery irish, clip and curl
all brine and piss and vinegar
i paid a twenty cents to
light a little white candle

and the world may be long for you
but the world

but-



the images were lightly intoxicating.

but. away from internalities, to a place we can walk and feel concrete on foot: what is the place that this song revolves around? what is the space that the song, in its melodies and silences, seem to echo?

do you hear me, talking to you.

occasionally, the inverse occurs, and mere words string together to invoke disparate thoughts, melding together and calling forth ideas, then teasing out the past -or suggesting a future, finally tumbling into a blossom of images.

a reverse photo-thought like that seems all the more potent, a final birth from vague concepts to concrete reality,

except that that reality only exists in a poignant 2D etch.

and invariably almost, thoughts of individuals, disparate through time and space, conjure up ideas of the bonds among, and in between.



[germany. berlin]
and a favourite appears again. an unassuming stranger who whips out those love-glasses at the last moment, and rather gleefully agrees to having his picture taken.

interesting ad in the back ground.




[germany. berlin]

/ lucky I'm in love with my best friend
/ lucky to have been where I have been


[thailand. nongkhai]
looking across to laos, and people since then.


/ lucky we're in love every way

/ lucky to have stayed where we have stayed
/ lucky to be coming home someday
-jason mraz

watch him do the talk

breaking protocol here. this isnt a photo (clearly), but his face, the strain in his voice, the heat behind his eyes, and the legacy, the memory, of an entire people drumming in the rhythm of his rant, his cry, his statement- it burns a damn clear picture in my mind.

and calls forth a million other images through humanity- each demanding. each demanding we get up, like he has done.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3szc53yb7J0
[oscar brown jr. apologize. ..thanks alecia, for bringing this to the fore]

" i apologise for being black,
for all i am
plus for all i lack
please sir, please ma'am, give me some slack

i apologise for being poor
for being sick and tired and so
since i aint slick
dont know the scope
i apologise

i apologise because i bear
resemblance most black people share
thick lips, flat nose and nappy hair
yes i apologise

i apologise for how i look
for all the lows and blows i took
and lord knows i closed the book

i apologise for all i gave
for letting you make me your slave
and going to my early grave
yes i apologise

i apologise for being caught
for being sold, for being bought
for being told i count
for nought

i apologise for all ive done
for all my toil out in the sun
dont wanna spoil your righteous fun
so i apologise

i apologise and curse my kind
for being fooled, for being blind
for being rude and in your bind

i apologise and curse my feet
for being slow
for being late
because i know its me you hate
why not apologise

i apologise and tip my hat
cos you so rich and free and fat
sonofabitch, thats where its at.
and i apologize

oscar brown jr died, aged 78, 29th may, 1995, of natural causes. he founded the The Oscar Brown, Jr. H.I.P. Legacy Foundation to carry on his work.

twilight-ing.

departing from concrete daytodays for
a dip into fantasy and mystical dreamings..

[-from www.mischievousmeg.com/ ]
perhaps our imaginings are truly wider than the circumscribed world around us,
and at least a sense of wonder can suffice for real magic.

magic- merely means the unfathomable, supernatural, the unexplainable.
the unexplained is merely the unknown- to us,
if all life follows a set of laws, a given causation, however random that sequence may seem in itself;
if science has everything explained, and being in awe is seen as a corollary of being in ignorance...
perhaps we should realise

magic

is a factor of being alive, and in awe,
appreciation, gratitude,
and allowing yourself to be engaged and amazed.


[ -from Emsfilm ]
i certainly am amazed by the entire feel of this photo

and the poetry of,

(two shadows merge inseparably,
will time stand still
if its pierced with cold)

twilight descends on our silhouette
how soon
spring comes, how soon spring forgets
... hold time, say it will never begin
old man winter, be our friend.
old man winter, be our friend.

because the more i live,
the more i know:
what's simple is true.

-[jewel]

a layering of places (0706) on events(1107)

travelling as a microcosm of an event:
a three- step process, each with its own phase/demands/questions.


1. embarkation or the constant battle
the bolder the declaration, the greater the faith (usually blind) required.

are you a skeptic.
what practical miracles you do need, and whose authority.
does this god de-legitimise another; how do you settle allegiances.
when do you trust.

[?. munich]


2. the hook or the dance
sometimes you pass by pockets of true romanticism among the landscape of a limpid life; a lilting strain from afar makes your heart beat that much faster, you hear the beat in tandem, and imagine now you are alive, when perhaps you were previously not; youre hooked, whether by a place, a song, a person.
you might stop and jostle for a better glimpse, entranced by the meaning they bring you.

do you stay for the ride.
when will you finally join in- the music only lasts so long.

[?.munich]


3. end
much of the time, we leave because the Ticket says so.
the time-stamp demands we adhere to plans pre-decided. we obey the Ticket in our hands because we stand sober of 1. blind faith, and 2. the strains of music werent enough to lure us back.

(the end is in itself a gaping question)

[munich hbf.]


now id like to know
can we get up and go
by. broadcast 2000

smell of something fresh.

a photo of a full moon near lake powell, utah [by amiran white],
heavy with silent splendor, is enough to remind one of the vast unseen out there; earth's own creations.

the unapologetic acridity beneath a solemn eye on a blank blue canvas
also reminds me of the moist lushness of northern laos, another side of the earth pregnant with green and wet blue.



[?.]
they look like they belong right there, in the warm stream of the earth. have we forgotten how it feels like- to have water, wind, air, the fire of the sun's heat sculpting and reviving our tired urban-clad form?


[vang vieng. namkong river?]


[vang vieng. main street artery]
as if man decided to roll out a carpet for his urban plans and worldly games.


[luang prabang. a nuns' temple at the top of some hill]
beauty within sanctified grounds; both plant and man (or in this case, woman) pointing to something skyward, more spiritual.


[+ 091207]
sometimes we're reminded of our place in certain hierarchies, especially of the larger scheme of things. listen to this song- it says, "first was the earth, then men."

well, we all like a good song which is almost uncouthly direct, and unabashed. here's one singing an awe-struck ode to what must have been a bloody amazing sight of:

these fucking mountains,
white tipped with snow,
cold- blooded colossuses,
electric headstones
stab ferociously
at the lions of these giants.

this impenetrable darkness,
this brooding gloom,
inhaling, exhaling
its native suns.
it breeds gloriously,
needs no illumination
in the wilderness.

this fucking carpet
looks like the sea.
it rolls and sways uproariously
with the trampling of feet.
emperor penguins
and your marriage ceremonies
confound the wilderness
of the mountains

whoa ooh
bababah ooh babababah

this fucking mountain
by the unreliable narrator
[http://www.saidthegramophone.com/archives/celebraate.php .]