Drawing. Thinking again. I do not forget.

I do not remember; I do not forget.

Time out. Thinking. Drawing again.

Time out. Drawing. Wittgenstein again.

The world is my world: this is manifest in the fact that the limits of language (of language which alone I understand) mean the limits of my world. (Wittgenstein, TLP: 6.52)

Time out. Drawing.

On a bad day, I can fill a sketchbook: I can draw myself out of a problem and into a problem. I use drawing to think, when linear thinking - brainstorming and list-making - does not help. Thinking with the right side of the brain? It is a very relaxed and fluid process - similar to automatic writing.

I had one of those days today, that resulted in excessive drawing.

Coincidentally, I ended up at Clayton Merrell's  lecture in the evening. I had it my diary, but when I got there, I could not remember what it was going to be. Well - it was about... drawing. Bingo! It was an hour an a half of names and slides of artist who draw. He divided the area into 6 bonkers groups reflecting the diversity within the category:
messed-up neo-realist mannerism
freak folk
cartographic remixes
dirty abstraction
labour-intensive conceptualism
complex generato-techno structuralism.
Each category was illustrated by about a gazillion of artists. A continuous flow of drawings.

Just what the doctor ordered.

Drawing memory absence: I do not remember.

I do not remember. No words obscure my thoughts.










I do not remember things very well.
There is a swing and a budgerigar in the upper part of my brain.
Budgerigar whistles.
I had an MRI scan.

Meltdown:drawing grub all day.

I went into a meltdown yesterday, spending the whole day drawing.

This the my original grub in the pages of the book. A while ago I was photocopying in the library something about Pestival, when I came across this old photo, somebody had left in the magazine. So I photocopied it into the article. As a result, the meaning of the image and the article changed, extended, metamorphosed. The title: Fig.7. Grub in the pages of the book expanded: now it was referring to the underdressed woman, to the photo, to the idea of the pest and the book.
"Things become complicated in arts context" (John Baldessari) - yes, indeed.













Anyway, by the end of yesterday my grub underwent metamorphosis and here is a very extended vision of what a grub is and what it does.

Top picture: Grub in the book flies to the moon. He takes the GHOST along. For company. The GHOST hates the trip but stays polite in front of the press.
Bottom picture: This is not my grub. She came here by herself. To pause for a minute.

Grubs don't go chasing waterfalls. Especially not the ones from the books.

Not profound at all - but I had fun!