frozen with anticipation
as I wait.
Hesitating situations
lick palpable palettes
of granulating verbal laxatives.
Living for genuine moments of silence
and
expressed measures of peace.
Still I wait.
No clarity.
No peace.
Nothing.
The chaos of a mind stuck in the gridlocks of thought. Poetic prose intertwined with literary outburst of unorganized thought structure delineate the mind state of this confused artist. Run-ons bleed dry the ancestors of a bloody imagination. The civil war of unrests rages in between waking dreams of new ideas. These concepts were not taught, but learned and burned into my retina from sights hidden to the naked eye. Knowing not how I write or why I, only that I must. Art, be it the same culprit that induces me into a secure state in which I let go of the material and bring in the unthought, prolific mind fat that I swore to never intellectualize.
This is why my head hurts... There is no form or consistency except for that it has no form or consistency makes it all completely consistent unto itself. Such weird thoughts mean I am trying to figure out too much... Maybe I'll stick with poetry... It flows much better through my steady streams and rivers of consciousness.
Shutting abstract doors
and
opening concrete locks.
On a silent sun
expires the tension between strokes of sandpaper to zebra wood.
Spring is new
fresh
and my step had become rusty.
Where there is form.
There is none.
Broken jigsaw thoughts parade in a Pow-Wow of tribal anarchy. I am learning everything again from subjects I never knew I could learn. Smarter than I was told to be and more humble in the face of those less than intelligent, but it keeps slipping out. This nagging intellectual. "Why? I ask" Never any answers, only more questions.
Subjects beyond my realm of understanding are the tasks I constantly investigate. What man seeks questions knowing the answers he will never comprehend. Delusions of genius, but then again maybe not. IQ is an abstract philosophy built on the concepts of others to gauge one's intelligence in accordance with their own standards.
Measuring intelligence is a measurement of soul. There is no true tool that can account for all dimensions of one's thought. Every muscle gets stronger with exercise. The brain is a muscle. Free thought is it's exercise.
Simply thinking is not enough. Challenging thought is true exercise. To seek answers which one cannot understand is to strength the brain. Thought. Ideas. Creativity. The ability to solve problems that plague the mind of the creative. These exercises are essential to an artist of any sort... Why?
In essence an artist job is to create a problem which has no finite solution. There is no absolute. There is no end all, be all. Though through this self created problem an artist must then ask themselves what the correct answer is to solve this problem in accordance with their own specific individual set of learned skills.
Before answering a problem one must first have a question to answer. In order to create a solution to the problem. This is why a painter can often times be stumped by the "WHITE" of canvas or a writer by the blankness of a page. Most would say that these situations occur out of fear and lack of thought. I believe it to be the exact opposite. I believe during these situations one has complete and utter clarity. A profound sense of depth at a deeper understanding than even they them self cannot comprehend on a conscious level.
The artist or writer is actually realizing at that exact moment is that there are infinite possibilities. An entire universe lay on the tip of their brush, or the stroke of their finger tips. At that particular moment the creative realizes their God-like power in a world in which they can create and will reflect their inner most thoughts and emotions whether they want it to or not. The creative cannot hide this. They cannot under a falsity, say, create something that is not them. The mere act of creating is a part of their being. If they create dishonesty of their craft, it only reinforces the inner dishonesty that lay in their soul. Although truth no matter it good or bad is at the soul of all works. There are no lies in the arts.
The arts can be misinterpreted, misleading, unbelievable, fictional, but they can never be wrong. That is the power of art. In all it's righteousness and downfalls art is ALWAYS honest. The question is can people see what honesty and truths about humanity that particular piece of art is speaking about?
This is the question that artist need to answer. This is why some artist cannot move passed that blank page or white canvas.
I have never had a problem with a white canvas or blank page. It is not because I am the most creative person in the world, nor a genius. The reason is very simple...
I have never asked "The Question".
I only give infinite answers of ambiguity.
-Marcus R. Thomas
(just trying to figure out art... That's all)
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