Please note that the poems and essays on this site are copyright and may not be reproduced without the author's permission.

Sunday, 8 November 2009

Postconceptualism (Water Version)


File:Stuckist International Gallery 2003 (shark 1).jpg

I like breathing better than wireless ideation
But strange is the human meat
When it is ripped out of the sky
And arrows are shot into it

Nothing is personal then
And everything is true
Including love's great circumambience
And the skull in the mirror

The mortal intimation
Of souls of beings long since lost
In a forgotten past
And the deep pink nescience

Of the thought evacuated tissue
Glaring back at you
Through the empty eyeholes
In the mask


A Dead Shark Isn't Art: photo by Charles Thomson, 2003
The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living (Tiger shark in formadehyde solution): Damien Hirst, 1992 (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York)


Anonymous said...

I'm not sure why, but this kinda scares me ssomewhat.It's almost like a 'giving up' to me.
'Of the thought evacuated tissue
Glaring back at you
Through the empty eyeholes
In the mask' I am liking this strong image you have put in my brain.

leigh tuplin said...

I hope everything is personal first, even the most distant, cold ideations - lets wrap them around who we are. An excellent reminder of a poem.

TC said...


Yes, that is certainly my hope as well.


Scares me too. Actually the image I had in mind was more, how shall I say it, palpably represented in the alternate draft "Air Version" of this post, which I did not put up because someone with a better form chart than mine in the good taste dept. (it wouldn't take much) adjudged it just a bit TOO scary. After all every night should not be Halloween, even I am able to understand that.

But...the "mask" I was thinking about, last week, was Damien Hirst's $50 m. human skull encrusted with 8,601 diamonds. Beyond scary, that, for so many reasons I don't even want to think of them. (Eight thousand six hundred and one reasons, perhaps, the one being that ridiculously huge pink diamond adorning the former locus of the frontal lobe.)

For the Love of God