neutral

visibility

freezing time

devoid of people

human beings in an imperfect world

multiple intelligences

how we think, IQ, SAT

evolve

dummy: lying/telling the truth

belief/not believing

normal behaviour/not

hyperbolic moment

violence of nature

mortality of nature

fiction to produce reality

fixed relationships

sensation

arrangement

awareness

part where u cant see, making drawigns of that

geography v. psychology/culture

voyeur

girl becoming a woman

“There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some
kind of abstraction, hut there is no real me, only an
entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold
gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping you
and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably
comparable: I simply am not there.”

“It is hard for me to make sense on any given
level. My self is fabricated, an aberration. My personality
is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is
persistent.”

http://feaverishphotography.com/blog/

fargo/me&you

-kid and sun/early morning
-man woodchipper
-midwest accents
-shoes, feet
-poop, butts, internet
-punctuation
-art, digital, communication
-winter
-neutral
-underage girls, sex, blow jobs
-neighborhood, community
-cancer, lonliness, psycho
-death, snow
-police woman, norm, painting, pregnant
-money
-true story

“Had it not been for the Tartars I would not be alive today. They were the nomads of the Crimea, in what was then no man’s land between the Russian and German fronts, and favoured neither side. I had already struck up a good relationship with them, and often wandered off to sit with them. ‘Du nix njemcky’ they would say, ‘du Tartar,’ and try to persuade me to join their clan. Their nomadic ways attracted me of course, although by that time their movements had been restricted. Yet it was they who discovered me in the snow after the crash, when the German search parties had given up. I was still unconscious then and only came round completely after twelve days or so, and by then I was back in a German field hospital. So the memories I have of that time are images that penetrated my consciousness. The last thing I remember was that it was too late to jump, too late for the parachutes to open. That must have been a couple of seconds before hitting the ground. Luckily I was not strapped in – I always preferred free movement to safety belts… My friend was strapped in and he was atomized on impact – there was almost nothing to be found of him afterwards. But I must have shot through the windscreen as it flew back at the same speed as the plane hit the ground and that saved me, though I had bad skull and jaw injuries. Then the tail flipped over and I was completely buried in the snow. That’s how the Tartars found me days later. I remember voices saying ‘Voda’ (Water), then the felt of their tents, and the dense pungent smell of cheese, fat and milk. They covered my body in fat to help it regenerate warmth, and wrapped it in felt as an insulator to keep warmth in.”

http://nymag.com/arts/books/profiles/58865/

With this work Duchamp formulated the question of
whether there exists between the designations of art and anti-art a third possi-
bility-a locus of indifference in aesthetic specification. The work of the artist
begins at this site of indetermination, out of the not-deciding, as movement, a
movement that-”as critique of painting”6-becomes an open-ended passage
from the center to the margin of the field of determination in art. Duchamp
spoke of a “great delay”-a process which in no way refers to production. It
doesn’t have to do with the time or tempo of the creative process, but rather
with the movement itself as the structure of representation. “Delay,” as end-
lessly slowed-down movement, replaces
the appearance of the image. Move-
ment becomes image. In the notes to the Green Box (1934) Duchamp wrote:
“Use ‘delay’ instead of picture or painting; picture on glass becomes delay in
glass-but delay in glass does not mean picture on glass” (in Sanouillet and
Peterson I973:26). Thereby neither the category of the presentation itself (art
as the representational form) nor the genre (picture, painting, sculpture) is
nameable: Time, which can in no way be fixed, alone steps into the gap of in-
determination-”A delay in glass” (Daniels 1992:73). Delay, referring to what?
Correlative sizes of the site, the relative time, and fixed coordinates are not
discernable. In terms of the motionless and static connotations of glass, this
formula of retardation works like an ironic reversal of the dynamism of the
avantgarde (the “Dynamo” of the Futurists,
for example)-the process of end-
less slowing down until the melting point is reached.