I look at what I am making and it feels like a stranger has set the course on the project so far.
It feels as if i have lost all control again over doing what feels right and went straight back into doing what feels expected.
It’s a side-effect of D-Day coming closer I am sure, but in parts I believe that it is also the biggest chunk of material in the project so far which makes it seem like a thing in itself.
I have doubts about whether this is still true to my plan. Whether this is following my gut instinct and creating freely, intuitively, foolishly. It seems to me that playful aspect has left center stage, so has the arbitrariness of the medium itself. Bread was a stand-in, a thing to ponder on when pondering was the part of this process I sp wanted to embrace, look into.
The materiality is of second order. First order were the ways in which the work shaped me, how i reflected, how it showed so plainly the systems I am in - internally and externally. It was an embrace of the failure, an embrace of just doing for doing’s sake that turned all too serious - maybe.
Act 2 - Dreaming
Act 3 - Reconsiling
I believe the three act structure is a bit random for now.
Very traditional.
Thinking of other things I could describe these steps as?
Act 1 is defined by frustration, a search for self that goes unanswered.
A painful attempt at looking around for meaning, as opposed to inward.
But inward isn’t where the fountain of meaning will be found, only relationally outside and in dialogue. Volatile dialogue, made up anew at each fork in the narrative.
A desparate attempt at deciphering any and all arbitrary moments to relinquish control over sedimentary processes of subjectivation.
Act 2 is where the epiphany happens - read prophecy as in Federico Campagna. An abstract, absurd dreamworld opens, one that is eery and relative to lived experience but somewhat ungraspable. The fish appears again, reincarnated, bringin forth the wisdom that dissonance holds space for experimentation, happenstance, experimentation and thus is where fruitful disorientation can take flight.
Act 3 is when that realisation bears fruit. Acceptance is found, not of the self as a fixed idea - an entity with scaffolds of ideals, inspirations, ambitions, reactions, but acceptance of the ever-fluid. A final embrace of the undefined frees the protagonist from their search that drains all energy and enables them to be within their own chaos.
Wells run dry within
Ruins saw it all before
Productive chaos
The day we ate the fool
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There comes a time in a fool’s life where they are made to question their foolery - their craft.
It is not without accusation that we might point the finger here to the fool’s surroundings.
Is it not here they first fooled around?
Is it not here they first were called foolish?
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You see - energy, a fool does not lack.
Neither thought.
In a trifecta with the banal things can turn into sour frustration.
Jest they might for their own cause, but can fool be in solitude?
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At times the all too human befalls fool’s spirit. (Before throwing)
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Foolish to dream and think it only that.
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Fool knows remorse.
Trickster is not too blind to learn.
Fool will only assist in further disorientation. pa
Fool only pacifies the crooked.
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