My work is about human marking, the initial urge, seen as soon as homo sapiens emerge, on cave walls, on an ax shaft, stones, earth, bodies.
We make our mark. The mark of the hand appears, echoing the mark of consciousness. Some of it turns into written language, the rest, no less meaningful, seeps from our depths like the gutteral howls of Janis Joplin, or the improvised riffs of a deep bulerias. Words, explicit signs, are not necessary, not sufficient.
Improvisation is necessary for certain states of consciousness, for certain edges, communal communications, attained, transferred, transformed. A higher determination enters into the improvised moment, a greater presence is demanded; a deeper sense of time.
The heart speaks more directly, free of the planned intrusions of the intellect, the deeper nuances emerge, like music. Witness the play of Imrat Khan, Charusia, Debendra Krishna Chattoppadhyay, Flamengo, Miles Davis, Theolonius Monk, John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman, Dewey Redman, the Sabri brothers. Play emerges triumphant, ecstatic, dancing across the moment, as the eternal Now. The heart of art.
Enter into these visual worlds. Give them time, drift around in them awhile and ask yourself if there is a mark without meaning, a nuance you have not felt?
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