Stop making sense.
Life has a funny way of giving you what you need at the right times.
1. Stop making sense - Jonathan Demme, a screening at Imax cinema 10.30am 24th of Sep, I was late but didn’t miss a thing. Soy in my coffee with a bottle of water. An ample title for a band so grand in concept.
I whittled away the hours in-between film stubs prowling the city looking for moments into lives I do not live. The city provided what I was looking for. Escaping my duties of study and the like. Note to self, Southbank is a cesspool of civilisation.
2. Nam june paik : moon is the oldest tv - Amanda Kim, an afternoon screening at ACMI, considerably empty cinema, Oat in my coffee and a glass bottle of water.
I walked out of both sessions inspired in different ways, the first instantly reinforced the fact that being an odd ball is ok, curating it is better. The second cemented in my mind that pursuing this is my only option, I have been chasing art for years never truly grasping my medium in my mind. The veil has been pulled aside, I walked toward the exit, an older lady to my left, also heading toward the door.
We both came to an abrupt halt as the door did not open for us. I laughed and said something witty that has since slipped my mind, she laughed, we left via the side door.
There was a warmth as I walked out of the afternoon screening into federation square, my mind was racing.
I feel the energy inside me has a channel. Look insane who gives a fuck.
Record everything, create a purpose for these things. Document the world in my own way, create something new if I can.
If I cannot, I tried.
Aleisha 8am, drop off, gastroenterologist appointment.
I was brewing an idea already, recording my breakfast, documenting it, wearing a suit, suits give you credibility, credibility in a world forever divorced from reality. I hate suits.
Intense light, dial in 88%, 3 cameras different angles, a grey curtain, a pedestal, a radio and a bible, 2 litres of sprite replaced with water and two slices of left over pizza from last night. Cold.
What I created resembles double vision auditory nightmare scene from 66 scenes from america - Jorgen Leth, which was unbeknownst to me at the time, my algorithm fed me that later that afternoon. I was merely creating an art work as a nod to Nam June Paik and David Byrne. An assortment of loose concepts interwoven. The idea has meaning in the sense of the world of internet culture. Loneliness and anxiety fed by the hyper capitalistic world of today. A Mukbang if you will, for a world forever consuming, food and content all tangled into one. Ive always had an issue with my weight and appearance, In doing this I immortalize that pain and stress. Release it in a way. Forever connected but alone, Tuning into pockets of life but not really experiencing, always hungry for it, but what is it?
The bible? Meaning in life? Sure that’s it. Gone are the days of saying grace for most. But if you have forgotten how do not fret, because the internet has you covered. The internet changed the world and where you can look for meaning, just like Jesus did.
Did either of them fix anything? Not that I can tell yet.
Am i having some kind of delusion of grandeur, that my art will culminate into something one day? I want this work to be projected somewhere. Ill start with my lounge room and work on a gallery exhibit. Bring about a new form of spiritualism for myself. Maybe the end goal is to find a community of like minded internet weirdos. I will continue to create this organized chaos to ease my mind. Bringing about a zen like state as I battle against time. Time to create things I care about vs time spent doing life's chores. My true enemy, Menial tasks, Working etc. My true purpose is and always will be creating.
There was more but as always my mind is fleeting and if I do not write thoughts down at the time. Then the sink hole somewhere in the middle of my brain sucks the thoughts right out of my head. Possibly regurgitated at a later date, I may remember more some time next June. But that is for the world to decide.
Sincerely yours,
T. James