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| Situation 33: Ok so that was our new character on stage "the girl". Now we have to set up the situration so the stage is clear except for a easal and the woman who walks out to contimplate it; equaly she contimplates the child. |
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| Perreaoult's Experimentsinart Part 5 |
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| I was full of self-doubt I'm still full of it. I know that my paintings are fetishes. There is a current argument that Painting has so distanced its self from the common individual that people feel that it has nothing to do with their daily existence. This is a sad state of affairs. I think that art is precisely about us all at its highest state, that it has every thing to do with our very existence. How else but though its amazing verity could it reflect the diversity of our selves. How else but though its complexity could it describe it? Yet we seek not to accept this thing that is our-selves. Art need not be complicated to be successful, but to seek to make it less than that which it is lies miserably of all that we are. Each new work is a bridge for the next; each work is a reflection of my existence. How could it be other than the cumulative effects of the experiences and interaction with my surroundings and all the things that come with that? Being American could it be truthfully any other than an American expression? Certainly I could practice a craft of some recognized accepted genre. What is the risk in that; compared to the mystery of decoding the ephemeral of our selves? Only in art do I perceive this to be. Everything else feels only to be the products of their parts. We begin a new painting, it is large; this necessary I have a need to move, I need the space to do the things in my mind. It has two parts so far. What am I doing? I have to make money-this painting will never sell. It is too large; no one buys large paintings. |
| NON-Sense! Situation 34: lets see how many characters do we have the boy, Darwin, the colonialist the woman the girl child and at least two stage hands, well I thinks that all the caricatures could give the speech here |
| In this performance there is a small group of people and they all have pacifiers. They walk from one location to the next as a group or breaking up and they read from their script. These very special words… Ikcity ackity ops ah ha! Ikcity ackity ops ah ha! Ikcity ackity ops ah ha! Ikcity ackity ops ah ha! Ah ha Ah ha Ah ha! And ladies and gentlemen for your evening's entertainment we present … Chaos Disorder AND Cloven parted |
| Situation 35: spoken by the males as they confront the female whom back away as if shoved their backs are to our audience |
| Ladies and Gentlemen: SHALL WE DEMONSTRAIT THESE AS SEXAUL TERMS? |
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| Situation 36: our little girl turns to face us she pulls out the crimson she paints her face |
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| I just wanted to send you an email to let you know I was thinking about the art we were talking about. You remember that opening night, where and when, and what kind of terrifying paintings those would be!! Take care and I'll be sending you more email. Ms. Evil |
When you awake, shall you find the answer to fate? in the sorry patches of bristling murder bushes. When you scratch your self in the tangled thorns of hate, water the patches, with some red liquid waste. Will this happen when you awake? Or, on waking will the sun dawn Enlighten your eye to a mourn! Will this cry defray you? In the night past, while you slept... "Was it real or a dream in the night?" Did its mare chase you off the abyss? This cry of morning scared you awake-was it the mare of the night? Crying its failure at your escape... off the abyss to awakening? |
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| Situation 37: I like the idea here of the chorus line with our little girl in front soon joined by the boy and all our other caricatures behind. Yes do include the mannequins and the stepped on drawings but only our little guilt trip gets to do the lines here |
Now what of those murder bushes? shall they break your fall? Scrape you all down to ground? when you awake-these bushes now grown into trees harboring apples fleshy and sweet to be plucked There - those bushes bristling in the cry of a dawn well fed from your fall you see your ground packed about their thorny roots well watered yes! with red liquid waste the risky slitted waste of hated fate well watered and grown tall the mare mourns down abyss a thorny patchy trees...were apples hang unplucked though ripe he mourns a poor castration there you lay asleep -- with nightmares chasing towards a new morn The dawning morn of fate there the abyss awaits deep in its past visitations it's iris of trees grown deep dense and impenetrable there! the mare mourning, Murder! Mourning Murder! it's a poor castration! there you awake to the morn. Deep in bristling contemplation. |
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| End |
| Perreaoult October 29, 2001 Washington D.C. |
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