Synaesthetic Monk's Blues

Phantasmagoria, magic lantern shows, spectacles without substance. They achieved complete sensory experiences through noise, incense, lightening, water. There may be a time when we'll attend Weather Theaters to recall the sensation of rain.

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Location: Ithaca, New York, United States

The main thing a musician would like to do, is to give a picture to the listener of the many wonderful things he knows of and senses in the universe... I'm using the insides of sounds to move around in a very subtle way which, I think, ends up being inevitable. I feel it's the only solution to that particular problem that I presented myself.

Saturday, September 30, 2006

'So! You take let us assume a third toke; long and slow. You vaporise and you take it in and in and in... and there is a sound like the crumpling of a plastic bread wrapper or the crackling of flame and a tone. A mmmmmmmmmmmm......

and there is this....... There is a cheer. The gnomes have learned a new way to say hooray. The walls, such they be, are crawling with geometric hallucinations. Very brightly coloured, very irridescent. Deep sheens and very highly reflective surfaces everything is machine-like and polished and throbbing with energy but that is not what immediately arrests my attention. What arrests my attention is the fact that this space is inhabited. And so like jewelled self dribbling basketballs these things come running forward and what they are doing with this visible language that they create is they are making gifts! They are making gifts for you and they will say ...'

Saturday, September 23, 2006

All art is dead. All music is an echo. They are surreal and beautiful cadavers which seek to trap and contain a fleeting lapse in rational thought, a lightening spurt of electrical activity which propels the human consciousness to the borders of madness & great phantastic delusions. They are the ghosts - of living transient moments of ecstasy & rapture.

(The divine director's cut frame # ∞: The Holy Moment.)

Art seeks to contain these infinitely ephemeral moments - those transcendantal leaps in our neural activity; and tragically fails trying to achieve that beautiful confusion which started it all; a brief journey into the realm of the senses....

these words, are dead and plastic. strive for that soft delightful madness, not through these words, but through the spaces which bleed in between...

Friday, September 15, 2006

The Masochist's Coffe Pot: binary progressions of pain through splitscreen beauty and liquid clarity.

Would you buy this product in exchange for your soul?

Sunday, September 03, 2006

What visions are these that appear? The Mandelbrot Set is etched pixel by pixel, on the screen. On its edges, strange colors play amid fantastic filigrees. Infinite detail plunges in fractal regress to infinitesimal reaches. A myriad of Julia sets, each a delicate doily born of a single point in the Mandelbrot set, parade across the screen. And now, strange creatures called biomorphs appear, with radiolarian spikes and innards like the ectoplasm of algebra.

How were these visions conjured up?