I’m having a small expo on the 24th of Jan (A week before my departure) with a selected run of prints of one edition at around A3 to A2 size (requests for prints of a larger size should be send to me before the expo so that I can organise them)
bass, rattle, roll
it shakes and quivvers in the core, hunts down, runs aground
click, hi-hat, soul
pierces thin and plays around in sound
hit me
hit me
hit me
hit me where it hurts, my heart.
its been long, this road, grey sullen and full of cheek,
wet to the touch, garrulously smooth, like two day stubble growing on cobblestonesthe body, electric
shocking to touch, locked in
a reaction, Hendrix on the guitar, soaring luminously
the clang of electric thunder, the bow-chord of the sonic.Absorbed by the music, too distraught to contemplate
fallen in
swaying in the kelp
a roadside wheat-field
Some new collages.
Some new work posted in the Painting/Mixed Media section, including some pieces I did ages ago in high school and one of my personal favorite pieces, a collage I did in a drunken state called Flying Dutchman (working ititle, “Untitled” is probably more apt, but I have to differentiate them somehow… titles are often irrelevant anyway) and a Self Portrait from my final matric evaluation in 2001.
Searching for a home
As I run the miles past my own
Hardened heart and full of ice
Shattered, sore, held out at once
at arms length
Away
I’ve come to realise it isn’t people that hurt us but our expectations of them. We set ourselves up for a fall when putting our hopes and dreams into friends, family and the strangers we meet. When we make our initial judgements of people we put our images of ourselves in them. When this image fails, when our illusions are shattered and the stories we have built fade away we are left with the raw and disappointing form that breaks our heart.
Expect nothing. That is something I have a hard time doing. I always have hopes for people, as they have hopes for me. Reputations and social grandstanding have something to do with that. But you’re not what people think you are. You’re not what you think you are. And they certainly aren’t what you think they are either.
rough notes from a talk I did recently at Pecha Kucha… it is missing it’s conclusion (I sort of improvised/floundered) and is probably very different from what I actually said since I went on tangents all over the place and started talking about the art that was shown on the slides behind me.
Art has always been a process of purification, of catharsis for me.
the term catharsis is a medical term used by Aristotle as a metaphor to describe the effects of tragedy on the spectator: “by arousing vicarious pity and terror, tragedy directs the spectator’s own anxieties outward and, through sympathetic identification with the tragic protagonist, purges them.”Art is thus our way of sublimating this ever present life force which exists within us, this constant flow which we only tap into for brief moments that seem infinities long. For long moments that clarity of vision remains hidden, buried. Often it remains remote, aloof, a wolf prowling in the thicket like a scorned lover, then suddenly it flashes clear again. And once we meet it, it becomes this game of tracking, of communicating of releasing this inner tension, this love, hate, fear, pain. Of struggling, of wooing, of coaxing out this multifaceted beast within us, of dancing, of courting, now enchanted, now despairing, each resistance making rendering you more sensitive.
And we are constantly in pursuit of it. This great ingredient will always remain mysterious. It is mystery that we seek to capture.But art itself should not be our goal. To where does it lead? To fame, reputation, money and a settled life, to make pretty toys and tapestries that reflect nothing but vainity and self obsession. To diverting the senses to which alone mystery is accessible. Some art arouses desire for the highest but does not fulfil it because it lacks mystery.
We can choose to drink life to the dregs, to sip at the primordial mother’s breast, shine for a day and rot the next, or choose to build monuments to the fleeting passage of time and thus dull our senses, the only things truly open to mystery.
Life only makes sense if we achieved both. To create, without sacrificing one’s senses for it. To live, without renouncing the nobility of creation. Is that impossible? Can we breathe in while breathing out?We try to overcome this transitory existence by creating something lasting, works of art that outlive us, that speak long after our voices fall silent, when authors names are no longer known and the work is stripped of context. The too will one day perish, will crumble and burn, but they will outlive several human lives, forming a silent empire of images beyond this fleeting moment we call the ‘present’
As artists, this is the closest we will ever get to the role of a mother. We bear this thing for a time, it grows and feeds on us and through often painful or exhausting processes if is borne of us. And like every parent we have to learn to let go, we have to learn that, if it is powerful enough, it will stand and speak for itself. It carries part of us with it, but ultimately is of itself. People will make their own assumptions and judgements of it. It is a relic, a monument, but it is not us. It was once a part of us, but no longer.
And once finished, a few praises and a feeling as empty as the workshop in which the work once resided. People of good will share, but in the end our works, much like children, will often shame us. We have to start again, and each time the sacrifices will have to be made anew. We will give sensuality a soul, of that art is born.And thus we operate as selfish communicators, expressing only what is available to us. We should endevour to remain unfettered by ego or vanity, or assumptions of our identity and role. We are, through the process of art, realizing ourselves.
We live insecure, transitory lives – every other state of being is nothing but an illusion. we are potential, we are still becoming. We will never truly achieve the perfection towards which we strive but, to quote herman hesse, “Wherever we go, from potential to deed, from possibility to realization, we participate in true being, we become by a degree more similar to the perfect and divine”We can never unite what we wish to say and what we wish to be heard. In the midst of heartbreak the lyrics of forlorn love songs suddenly become imbued with deep personal meaning, often entirely different from the message which the musician was seeking to express. Like sting’s every breath you take being played at weddings. Have you ever looked at those lyrics?
Yeah. I sweat bullets through the entire thing, but it went well, I think.
Greetings Friends, comrades, art appreciators and cultural aficionados! I hope this letter of blatant self-promotion finds you in good humour and health! (if it doesn’t I probably have less chance of winning you over. That’s Marketing 101 right there)
Good news:
I have recently relaunched and completely overhauled my website and stuffed it choc-full of content, from photography to collage and digital abstracts.
The webaddress is http://www.edbabb.com and I encourage you to explore it much as possible!
As you may or may not be aware, I will be leaving for a trip to the East before the end of this year, starting my journey in Cambodia – possibly traveling across land to neighbouring countries if budget allows – and then moving to London for an indefinite period of time, to work and travel as best a vagabond without a laptop can manage. I will be blogging as much of the experience as possible (means no promises) and creating a photo essay and possibly a documentary of the journey.
In order to raise funds I am selling prints and original artworks through my website as well as soliciting commissions and freelance work before my departure from Cape Town. Your support would be most welcome and appreciated. Prints are modestly priced and originals will certainly be worth more in the next couple of years – possibly millions if I get blown up while stepping on land mines in Cambodia (for those of you who do buy, please do not wish this upon me – art is a very speculative market…).
If at all possible, I’d like to put on an exhibition before leaving so if you know anyone who would be willing to host or help please let me know. I’d also be interested in collaborating on a show if any of my talented artists friends are interested.
Do it with love
Ed
Almost there. Just some more uploading to do.
Almost.
rattleandhum 
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