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But he writes beautifully, and his diagrams are like my poems. The point at which language loses any pictorial quality and becomes structure. I am attempting a literary form in visual terms. Reading and transcribing. But after gathering comes sorting. A brief-scrawled sketch. Composing, like a score, by field. In the second draft, the ‘I’Continue reading “NOTES TO MYSELF”

All of the items here are unnamed; I need an environment where I can breathe, and think, and move about more freely. They are without dates or chronological order; I have to find a landscape to protect me from the brutality of the world. This exhibition, which also doesn’t have a title, is a regrouping,Continue reading “Fernanda Gomes; or a hinge in white”

‘It’s Something Else’ Dull and watery to start, and blindly in this way, Enamelac on corrugated board, quite fuzzy, VI and VII (1969), it feels quite different from the choppy horizontal rhythm, the thick oil paint of the Winsor (1965) series on coarse linen, different from the swathes of matte enamel of the Standard (1967)Continue reading “Robert Ryman (monologue in jazz)”

It’s my mood that’s ill. It’s a disorder because maybe my mother and I were too bonded inordinately bound A bond            an attachment            that was fatal and the word ‘smoke’ makes me shudder gives me a stomachache too As well as the word ‘field’ and the word ‘earth’ Or even ‘plains             of earth’ IContinue reading ““Aujourd’hui, maman est morte.””

to the people of new york city (a sketch in pieces) Oak leaf never plane leaf There’s a filling of the page out from non-consecutive arrays gathered            feldspar             phylotaxis It was just an enormous amount I think it covered everything Words, spoken words, turning into sounds Something to be gathered Something to be arranged BeginContinue reading “‘I will sketch out a novel in pieces’”

I am after that sense of America (the way that Uwe was), and I am reading Walden now and ‘time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains.Continue reading “EVERYTHING “AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL””

She was sitting with her paintings in the dark. She could not see them but she knew. The sun had burned so miserably so earlier this morning and right as now as it was finally getting dark. So here exactly here where she was, and even though they were no longer visible she knew sheContinue reading “‘I send you my words from the fat darkness of my obscurity.’”

TWO LITTLE BOOKS FOR CHILDREN WORD BOOK by Ludwig Wittgenstein A book allowing children to commune with words. Die Flucht, or an escape. Montieren, to assemble and to write. Kleben, to adhere, and not forget. TO DO: A BOOK OF ALPHABETS AND BIRTHDAYS by Gertrude Stein An alphabet book, a naming book, a book ofContinue reading “‘Some find it harder to decide about children what kind of being they have in them’”

I keep my files from New York City all around me. “It is strange” Warps – Grooves – in Passing “that the most intangible [page break] thing is the most adhesive. I can almost remember his thumb, see it making a shape along the wall. I tell you Clark. The things I like to paint.Continue reading “‘Always a reader goes on with little and great hops’”