“FLASH - instant of time or of dream without time; inordinately swollen atoms of a bond, a vision, a shiver, a yet formless, unnameable embryo. Epiphanies. Photos of what is not yet visible and that language necessarily skims over from afar, allusively. Words that are always too distant, too abstract for this underground swarming of seconds, folding in unimaginable spaces. Writing them down is an ordeal of discourse, like love. What is loving, for a woman, the same thing as writing. Laugh. Impossible. Flash on the unnameable, weavings of abstractions to be torn. Let a body venture at last out of its shelter, take a chance with meaning under a veil of words. WORD FLESH. From one to the other, eternally, broken up visions, metaphors of the invisible.”—
“For the function of art is never to illustrate a truth—or even an interrogation—known in advance, but to bring into the world certain interrogations (and also, perhaps in time, certain answers) not yet known as such to themselves.”—
“…in idle rumination I find pleasure in imagining that I am some kind of seed that must be split & germinate into something so unlike what I appear to be that I could not imagine in my wildest moments, but intensely convinced that once the split is complete the absolute Other will take over in this field of doubting multitude I call myself & take a *step* further in evolution.”—
On a busy street one quickly becomes a voyeur. An air of danger, eroticism, and crushing solitude play hide-and-seek in the crowd. The indeterminate, the unforeseeable, the ethereal, and the ﬂeeting rule there. The city is the place where the most unlikely opposites come together, the place where our separate intuitions momentarily link up. The myth of Theseus, the Minotaur, Ariadne, and her thread continue here.
The city is a labyrinth of analogies, the Symbolist forest of correspondences. Like a comic-book Spider-Man, the solitary voyeur rides the web of occult forces.