Deluge

Separate reason from your thoughts. Allow them, room.

I remember the warmth of our carpets, against the hardwood floors – so Scandinavian and sterile – in the middle of January or maybe February. The sky was so grandiose. Large, and occupying so much of the canvas. In Iran, there are buildings, tall, obtuse, and all set at different angles, against a backdrop of mountains. They do the talking, they’ve seen it all, and they occupy your eyes. Sure the azure sky is there, on a good windy day. But, it’s the mountains, jagged, changing colours with season that command your synapses.

I related this to my mother. She agreed. The sky held sway over low-lying coniferous trees.

Acres of blue/grey,

Thick line of green,

And then ice.

So was the tripartite division of finnish landscape.

And then this:

An object that

tells of the loss, destruction, disappearance of objects. Does not speak of itself. Tells of others. Will it include them?

Deluge.

Jasper Johns

(art as idea as idea)

photocopy on wood