Drift

 In another series of events, C, a body arranged in the bottom of a canoe among flowers, drifts through a rain that is soft and hissing up the river that snakes through yellow-green velvet and intricate tangles of insect trajectories past the chorus of prehistoric herons the size of the trees they stand on that open and fold themselves like jack-knives while they narrate what is happening in a language of clicks and shudders, past the inflatable sea urchin islands that hover just above the surface of the water and disappears among the outside spaces that are differentiated one from the other by the sounds from the network of bell buoys.

Film

1. Like the ending the beginning is silent. 

The screen is a white area inside a white area. The large black dot at the center of the screen is also the center of a network of thin arrows like Medusa’s hair or a subway map of Tokyo.

The camera approaches the screen. The speed of its forward motion never varies. It continues through the dot into a black silent space beyond.

The size of the room determines the duration of each sequence.

2. On the opposite side in an otherwise empty room a viewer sits on a wooden chair.  Her back is to the camera. 

A voice begins again.  The words flicker between garbled and distinguishable.

The viewer’s hair is stop-action braiding itself.  Multiple braids arrange themselves into antennae or the letter Z. 

The camera continues to move forward always at the same speed.  It closes in on the braiding.  It continues through it to a black silent space beyond.

3.  On the opposite side in an otherwise empty room she is multiple, a chorus of viewers arrayed across the frame with their backs to the camera.  On each her hair there is stop-action braiding into antennas and the letter Z. 

A voice picks up that flickers between garbled and distinguishable.

Beyond the viewers words appear on the blank white wall. They neither translate nor stabilize: their graphic characteristics are visual equivalents of the aural.

The camera continues to move forward always at the same speed.   It closes in on the braiding.  It continues through into a black silent space beyond.

 

4. On the opposite side in an otherwise empty room a viewer sits on a wooden chair with her back to the camera.  Her hair is stop-action braiding into antennas and the letter Z. 

A voice picks up that flickers between garbled and distinguishable.  Words that neither translate nor stabilize reappear on the blank white wall.

As the camera approaches words begin to crawl like insects a few at a time.  They head for the unbroken whiteness of the space beyond the screen. 

The camera continues to move forward always at the same speed.  It closes in on the braiding.  It continues through into a black silent space beyond.

5. The sequences alternate between the single viewer and the chorus.

The migration of words transforms the white beyond into multiple versions of the same garbled narrative. Each resembles every other but is not identical with every other.   Each unfolds vertically and is based on a fragment.

The sequences alternate between the single viewer and the chorus and the stop-action braids begin to move through their shapes as antennae and the letter Z extending into lines then to networks made from thin arrows.  They remain within the limits of the screen.  The network of arrows grows denser with repetition. 

By degrees the viewer’s head gives way.

Throughout each cycle the camera continues forward always at the same speed into a black silent space beyond.

6. Like the beginning the ending is silent. 

The screen is a white area inside a white area. The large black dot at the center of the screen is also the center of a network of thin arrows like Medusa’s hair or a subway map of Tokyo.

The camera approaches the screen. The speed of its forward motion never varies. It continues through the dot into a black silent space beyond.

And so in my ordinary experience I too erase glowing zones of yellowish green haze and the arrangements of oval passageways and endings cross-cut with cascades of curved lines that double the descent of the bird songs that originate with out-of-scale elements from crockery & clocks & mechanical toys that have been tacked to the trees and the assembly of decapitated stone angels that presides over the whole in favor of affordances particular to the questionable people who inhabit the “I am here and it, whatever it is, is out there” picture simple world.

 

The most interesting aspect for me, composing exclusively with patterns, is that there is not one organizational procedure more advantageous than another, perhaps because no one pattern ever takes precedence over the others.

Morton Feldman (via americansublime)
from Luigi Seraphini, Codex Seraphinianus

from Luigi Seraphini, Codex Seraphinianus

Next

I move through a sequence.  One a Victorian entryway in which perspective lines made from string connect women heavy with the scent of roses to other columns of dust.  Two is shifting densities of lilacs and bees.  Three is an array of identical lawn chairs in which identical people look around not sure how they got to this place they were just somewhere else.  Four is made from shortwave catalogues of mariners and disappearances.

3 4 5 6 7