The end of the world

“And aware also, sitting in some comfort of body at last, that the lovely sorrowful terraces of Yaramera may contain within them the terraces of Darranda on Hain, roof below red roof, garden below green garden, dropping steep down to the shining harbor, the promenades and piers and sailboats. Out past the harbor the sea rises up, stands up as high as his house, as high as his eyes. Esi knows that books say the sea lies down. “The sea lies calm tonight,” says the poem, but he knows better. The sea stands, a wall, the blue-grey wall at the end of the world. If you sail out on it it will seem flat, but if you see it truly it’s as tall as the hills of Darranda, and if you sail truly on it you will sail through that wall to the other side, beyond the end of the world.
The sky is the roof that wall holds up. At night the stars shine through the glass air roof. You can sail to them, too, to the worlds beyond the world.”
Old Music and the slave women, Ursula Le Guin, The Birthday of the World and other stories, 1999



Drifting, dreaming
In an azure mood
Stardust gleaming
Through my solitude

Here in my seclusion
You're a blue illusion
While I'm in this azure interlude
I'm not wanted, I'm so all alone

Always haunted
By the dreams I own
But though I'm tormented
I must be contented

Drifting, dreaming
In an azure mood
Drifting, dreaming
In an azure mood

Drifting, dreaming
In an azure mood

Azure Mood, written by Duke Ellington, sang by Ella Fitzgerald, 1956


Ocean Chart

"...He had bought a large map representing the sea,
Without the least vestige of land:
And the crew were much pleased when they found it to be

A map they could all understand."
Lewis Carroll, The hunting of the snark, 1876

Henry Holiday's illustration for the 1976 edition


Virginia Woolf / Robert Smithson...

...have both wandered in the british countryside.

Chalk Mirror Displacement, Robert Smithson, 1969


"To the right and left bushes of some sort, golden and crimson, glowed with the colour, even it seemed burnt with the heat, of fire. On the further bank the willows wept in perpetual lamentation, their hair about their shoulders. The river reflected whatever it chose of sky and bridge and burning tree, and when the undergraduate had oared his boat through the reflections they closed again, completely, as if he had never been. There one might have sat the clock round lost in thought. Thought — to call it by a prouder name than it deserved — had let its line down into the stream. It swayed, minute after minute, hither and thither among the reflections and the weeds, letting the water lift it and sink it until — you know the little tug — the sudden conglomeration of an idea at the end of one’s line: and then the cautious hauling of it in, and the careful laying of it out? Alas, laid on the grass how small, how insignificant this thought of mine looked; the sort of fish that a good fisherman puts back into the water so that it may grow fatter and be one day worth cooking and eating. I will not trouble you with that thought now, though if you look carefully you may find it for yourselves in the course of what I am going to say."
A room of one's own, Viginia Woolf


mark vs mike

Mark Dion, New England Digs, 2002

Mike Kelley, The Endless Morphing Flow of Common Motifs (Jewelry Case), 2002



If explanations exhausted my work, it would die and stop being art. [...] The artwork would be no more than a redundant illustration of a theory. It is possible that much of my work is no more than that. But if there is any part of it that survives beyond the reading of this text, it does so because of its inexplicability. Only this inexplicability is capable of an expansion of knowledge. Therefore, we find ourselves again in the realms of magic, of a surprised credulity, of passing mysteries as a validating condition for art. The creative process is lighted by theory, but true art stalks from shadows incompletely evanesced.” Luis Camnitzer, 1986.


Sade/Sacher-Masoch par Deleuze

"Plus généralement, il y a deux manières d’interpréter l’opération par laquelle la loi nous sépare d’un plaisir : ou bien nous pensons qu’elle le repousse et l’écarte uniformément, si bien que nous n’obtiendrons le plaisir que par une destruction de la loi (sadisme). Ou bien nous pensons que la loi a pris sur soi le plaisir, l’a gardé pour soi ; c’est donc en épousant la loi, en nous soumettant scrupuleusement à la loi et à ses conséquences, que nous goûterons le plaisir qu’elle nous interdit. Le masochiste va encore plus loin : c’est l’exécution de la punition qui devient première et nous introduit au plaisir défendu. "
Deleuze, De Sacher-Masoch au masochisme, 1961.