Scissor Dance: My heart is missing.

 

Scissor Dance My heart is missing

I realized this morning that I hadn’t posted the last Scissor Dance I completed to the Tent Show. So here it is. I took this image with my phone and uploaded it to Facebook, and since I didn’t have that .jpg, or a better one on my lap top, I downloaded the upload, and uploaded the download. Ain’t technology wonderful?

If this blog wore socks, Facebook is the drawer into which I throw it’s unmatched socks; or maybe Facebook is the black hole, the mouth of the wormhole leading to the lost sock universe. All those beautiful socks, lost to their matches in steric chasms* of update stati.

 There is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after.

Ecclesiastes 1:11

*Yes, Spike, I feel entitled to steal that phrase.

 

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5 responses to “Scissor Dance: My heart is missing.

  1. I may update with a better image, but right now I have to walk the dog.

  2. image is good enough.
    Nor does it require any explication.
    Tho a dissertation wouldn’t cover it.
    Visceral, objective, painful.
    Noted the previous usages of ojo de dios
    in Scissor Dances..
    Possibly the good Dr. will acquire a
    fundy following, until, that is, they
    read/look further into his oeuvre.
    And then some will ‘explicate’
    with not so faint damnations.
    Ye have savaged the whole of our
    inherited Hexmas culture of several
    centuries, in order to work your magic.
    But one must ask, what is left,
    left of our Industrial feeling state;
    where are we going in this brave
    new millennium ?
    [ ps, I cannot constrain curiosity
    about the clock hands triskelion
    in that clockwork. ]

  3. Art is more than image,
    sound
    or meaning.
    It is in the sharing
    which is beyond symbol.
    Do not listen to my words,
    my tune.
    Do not scrutinize
    or memorize
    my iconography.
    Art is the transcending of the piece of work,
    the meeting
    which the soul of the audience commits
    with the soul of the artist
    in the void beyond the work itself.
    But, until we are inspired
    together to mount to heaven,
    the work itself must stand here
    on its own three feet,
    concrete, mute and immutable,
    the context of our timeless meeting.
    You see,
    what is real
    is exactly who you are,
    unadorned.
    The only art I can accomplish
    is to meet you
    unexpectedly
    where neither of us
    ever was before.
    (A bright future
    in a dark alley.)

    Nathan Pollack 9-16-94

  4. Well, hello, Nathan. Nice reading you.

  5. Nathan,
    noted.

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