CosmiKnot

  Eye in the Sky   Kimey continues along the edge of the playing field and passes a swing wrapped around its own frame. How odd, he thinks, that the loan company had chosen to reply to him on paper. Weirder still that he had decided to open the envelope. No need to look at the screen. The drones are hovering close by. He catches the merest waft of the vestige of an idea of Sunday lunch from one of the nearby houses. All sealed up. The self-important wood pigeons patrol the air like Napoleonic survivors. Unable to find any statues they have decided to become them. That smell Kimey thinks, what is that? Then he’s remembering, it’s the inside of his grandfather’s suitcase. One of a pair his mother had presented him with. An empty suitcase. A mystery. Not because it led to an unknown life but because it led nowhere. Was this smell escaping from the black upended suitcase he had just passed? Left out by a bin standing on its side slightly ajar to deter any opportunist peddlers. Col...

  Be more Organism My screams will articulate a feeling of infinite longing for the “expression” model to re-emerge in a culture of feeling adorned with a filigree of ornate concepts.     Whilst walking with my two sons to ward off depression, anxiety and in my case fibromyalgia, the eldest turned to me and asked, do you think you could build a nest with your mouth? I thought for a bit and was understandably taken aback. How do they know how to make the structure in triangles he went on? I’m not sure they know how we consider knowing to be. They don’t have an instruction manual to follow. It’s more a case of the knowledge being part of their body. My son started to say something about them being programmed. But who is controlling them he asked? At this point I felt that this idea of control is perhaps the greatest stumbling block to expanded empathetic thought that there is. God used to be the controller so who or what is in control now that he is dead? This dialectical m...

This programme “The One” distils or reduces love and human identity to a DNA codification. We seem to have wholly accepted, like evangelical science Christians, an idea that our perceptual sense of self is shaped by a code akin to the algorithm which conveniently shapes our human relations. The very idea that there might be other factors in the cosmos beyond the hard-wiring of DNA and the genes seems to be a heretical suggestion. The suggestion that that we are not individual units of power shaped by a numerical sequence is again akin to saying I believe in leprechauns or even God. perhaps the code has replaced God. I would say that this faith in the rational shaping of code is a clinging to the raft of Medusa as the ship of progress sails into the sunset. We apply our Botox whilst devouring each other’s limbs. It is faith we have in binary switching systems and we find it cleaner and more wholesome to believe that our one true love could be shaped by the pairing of our DNA-sequence st...

This artwork questions the idea of art as a form of interrogation of habitual patterns.  Art is not a mode of questioning. To make it so is to rob it of its status as otherworldly form within the worldliness of things. You wouldn’t greet an indigenous culture with hello and thanks for your role as questioning my habitual patterns of living. It may have that effect on you but to introduce the culture within this hierarchical framework is literally madness. I’m not sure art has a role or a message. This is how it frees us from the hegemony of habitual patterns and traumas of thingness accelerated by digital cultures effective dissemination of pure functionality. Digital culture can be used effectively e.g. showing patterns of bowling deliveries in a test match but its rather less wholesome when defining identity. Unclasping from linguistic meaning is what art does best. This functions by leaving a vestige of the linguistic striation and offering a simultaneous nomadic freedom from...