exploring the third space

between self & other, image & body, subject & object, memory & imagination... curated by: @suliqyre

[soulless-wave]

Otto Piene

[thirdity]

I have never felt any antagonism for or anxiety over the anarchy represented by the prevailing forms of art; on the contrary, I have always welcomed the dissolving influences. In an age marked by dissolution, liquidation seems to me a virtue, nay a moral imperative. Not only have I never felt the least desire to conserve, bolster up or buttress anything, but I might say that I have always looked upon decay as being just as wonderful and rich an expression of life as growth.

Henry Miller, Henry Miller on Writing

[sivavakkiyar]

two more from the back matter to Sun Ra’s “My Brother The Wind”

[suliqyre]

We measure our successes and failures in units of practical value that we call wealth or status or fame. We sometimes even see everything in terms of its practical value, to the point that we see value itself as having a practical foundation.

To instead seek out what is impractical might seem almost quaint, as though it were for someone else — a different person living in a very different world. Sometimes we sense that there might be more to our lives than the practical, but this idea gets pushed out by the chorus of voices telling us to focus always on what's practical.

A consequence of this is that it can sound like madness to insist there are moments when we must completely ignore the practical. Yet it is precisely by going beyond the realm of the practical that we become capable of discovering another kind of value, a value that does not depend on this or that, a value that cannot be quantified because it is immeasurable.

Read more...

[thirdity]

“There is still, upon having seen, the problem of conveying and comprehending it. I think we as a species really have “fallen,” in that we are very cut off, from Ma'at, from justice and order (and the voice of conscience telling us what is justice, what promotes order, what is truth); as Heraclitus said, we are stumbling around asleep, unable to see the logos (that which Ma'at through Ptah has built).”

— Philip K. Dick, The Exegesis of Philip K. Dick

[latex-salesman]

[thirdity]

In reading a novel, any novel, we have to know perfectly well that the whole thing is nonsense, and then, while reading, believe every word of it. Finally, when we’re done with it, we may find — if it’s a good novel — that we’re a bit different from what we were before we read it, that we have been changed a little, as if by having met a new face, crossed a street we never crossed before. But it’s very hard to say just what we learned, how we were changed.

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Language of the Night

[wovi]

* jeanette winterson, oranges are not the only fruit

[thirdity]

“All the resources of our almost miraculous technology have been thrown into the current assault against silence. That most popular and influential of all recent inventions, the radio, is nothing but a conduit through which pre-fabricated din can flow into our homes. And this din goes far deeper, of course, than the ear-drums. It penetrates the mind, filling it with a babel of distractions — news items, mutually irrelevant bits of information, blasts of corybantic or sentimental music, continually repeated doses of drama that bring no catharsis, but merely create a craving for daily or even hourly emotional enemas.”

— Aldous Huxley, The Perennial Philosophy

[iplaycomputer]

the loft from stray (2022)

[thirdity]

It is no longer a question of imitation, nor duplication, nor even parody. It is a question of substituting the signs of the real for the real, that is to say of an operation of deterring every real process via its operational double, a programmatic, metastable, perfectly descriptive machine that offers all the signs of the real and shortcircuits all its vicissitudes.

Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulation

[benoit-bodhuin]

via

[suliqyre]

There's something bothering me that I can't understand. It's a thought, or it's a memory, or maybe it's an intuition. When I try to think about it, it seems too complex to describe, too faint to see, too indistinct to capture. The feelings that surround it are nebulous and imprecise. I want to see what it is, but I don't even know where it begins or ends, or what form it might take.

Beleaguered by my inability to reach the thing, my only hope is to express everything that surrounds it, and see what happens. Through the effort of creative action, something will appear. What that something will be, I cannot say, but this does not mean it's not worth the effort. By attempting to express myself, I create an opportunity for the thing that is currently beyond my understanding to become real.

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[thirdity]

“Man does not exist prior to language, either as a species or as an individual. We never encounter a state where man is separated from language, which he then elaborates in order to ‘express’ what is happening to him: it is language which teaches the definition of man, not the contrary.”

— Roland Barthes, The Rustle of Language

[milksockets]

'gate of hell' by simone moschino, ca. 1580-90 in on everyone's lips: the oral cavity in art + culture - uta ruhkamp (2020)

[thirdity]

Is that the true, the supreme terror, to discover that I am the wizened youth whose cries no one can hear?

Roberto Bolaño, By Night in Chile

[huariqueje]

Bleed for us    -   Thomas Broomé

Swedish, b. 1971 -

Acrylic on canvas, 200 x 150 cm