Art is destruction, reconstruction and everything in between. Like Winnicott’s child the artist (painter, poet, writer, sculptor, etc) destroys in order to create. Through hatred for the object love is found and restored in the object; it is reconstructed into desire, phantasy and wish, the fulfillment of desire, phantasy and wish. The child must first destroy that which he loves, making the object an imagine, bringing the object into the self, the object and self becoming one and the same, possession of self and object as same. A hated object becomes an object of love, an internalized object that is contained within the child, an object destroyed (deconstructed) then held for and by the child, an object to amuse oneself with. My object, my love, my hatred. Mine.
There’s no time like the future. No, there is no time in the future, only the time we project onto it, the present time abstracted to the future, future time in the present, present time. Time out of mind, mindless time, timeless time abstracted from present time, now, now time, the present. This is what philosophers do to pass the time, play with time timelessness time.
There’s no time like the future. No, there is no time in the future, only the time we project onto it, the present time abstracted to the future, future time in the present, present time. Time out of mind, mindless time, timeless time abstracted from present time, now, now time, the present. This is what philosophers do to pass the time, play with time timelessness time.
3 comments:
must, a hair powder made from musk with a kinda funky smell? I suspect musts.
deconstruction of what one loves, to destroy to complete understanding? only if understanding comes. more than to phoenix. more than to Shiva. and less this catharsis, haiku made into essay.
as movie "fans" analyze each frame of scenes to prove to themselves it is acted and contemptible even in a state of disavowal to the obsession they feel with the inadequate word of love. the analysis serves a function but isn't the only possible shape of interest, affection, desire to know and not let pass away that which engaged.
and what am I on about? I almost know.
I recall enjoying a Shiva Regal straight, but that was way, far away ago.
The child separates the object mother from the imaginary mother, reconstructing the mother object into an imaginary object, thereby holding the mother, or mother object, as a...
I have no idea what I'm on about...but you can surely blame Melaine Klein for all this, her Good Breast/Bad Breast. Thanks for dropping by, pearl, its always a pleasure indeed.
S
:)
yes, these platonic ideals somehow keep sticking despite no evidence of them and all evidence to the contrary. the brain is a funny place indeed. we must be hard wired for platonic notions, as much as these ghost maps for expecting binaries of good and bad.
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