The Curve and the Absolute Possible-Exploration (ii). Critical and creative writing. Crystal Fischetti
Shaping the landscape through body mass, shape. A demand, a protest to environmental action, awareness. The Feminine.
A connection -a need to be with nature, within nature, buried in it, even.
To feel Her warmth, caresses of comfort and love, knowing that I have been cradled all along and The Others were always watching me: The ancestors now part of the Absolute Possible.
A digital exploration session obsession to call-in Earth- Terracotta, roof materials found in Italia, dirt, smudged on the hands, it stains sometimes, hands become dirt.
To dry linen and clothes on a line, to dry cloth and canvas art onto trees by the beaches and forest beds across Calif, Hawaii and Italia, naturally. We are nature. I am more than Pollock ever could. He pushed too hard, never truly resolving the power of his own ego that was never really his, he let the beast take over and Fame take precedence. Why does Woman feel this? bowing down with humility? Head down, heart open. O-pen. O.
Floors are industrial, concrete, hurts the back. hard hard hard. Merge to blend. Blend the hard to nothingness like sand and dust that we are originally.
LA again. Photos from there. Angel wings made by collected Trader Joes shopping bags. Broken wings. Wings open nonetheless.
I like to sit and stand in my work feel the connection. Recent canvas framed creations have limited me to GET IN and feel, be and sense. My own work made in the perpendicular 4d square frame rejected me. No. No more thank you.
Like the coca leaf used to cleanse in ceremony now taken and extracted from nature made in a laboratory to make others high.
High in the 70’s and so forth.
No longer its own essence, authenticity.
Nature extracted and raped.
No. I will not lie down on my art work.
To pretty your view.
Indian Cove, J Tree the Joshua Tree landscape.
Mountain beings felt their presence.
Made in the desert.
Sand and heat and winds picked up over the land to create the me- a reminder of what I was after the emotional deluge.
Cleansed after all.
Also around this time of year in February.
Also around this exact time frame.
Time meets itself but not always again in the same way.
A call for retreat. Peru. Women circle. In nature. Change and recharge the DNA. Made in the land, from the land, from Pachamama.
Sand mainly- sea creature am I. Bring it in, Bring it into the work. A memory of fish smells and shells. Ocean sure sounds coming in and out. The menstrual moon cycle.
Circle the square, circle off the line perpendicular.
A new heroine made in Benglis. She knew like I knew that the soft is strong. Pussy power is power. Lived across and still lives across nations rich in culture. Connected to the sacred.
Over the work splattered. Yes
A yes to the no ‘tradition’ made up by the Ancient Greeks who fashioned the term ‘civilisation.’
A yes to her for being radical at the time. It is in the work.
A yes to the no of the Pentagon.
That erect penis monolith a cheap shameful adoption of the Egyptians. They knew but ‘they’ don’t know what power means.
Over pour, purr, soft protest.
Humble yes bows to She.