where art collides philosoperontap

We are moving him into retirement flats at the weekend. It’s a one way ticket. They never make it out again you know. Kiss goodbye to life pop. Sure we will turn up on a Sunday and take him for the occasional spin and he can walk to the post office to buy his paper. When you’re in that place you watch the other occupants die around you. One day you’re talking to them about heating bills and the next they’re gone. Bang! Dead! And then their family, if they have one, moves their stuff out and it all starts again. A new name to learn, and forget.

He isn’t that mobile these days. Sits at the window a lot looking at life passing by outside, thinking. He has a TV. It’s a new one. He had to get rid of the old museum piece because of the digital switchover. Likes a bit of a tipple too and used to get down the pub a bit though that’s mostly a thing of the past. Used to go for early doors with his mate but his pal’s not around anymore. I take him back there once in a while. It isn’t the same really. The staff have changed. Anyway he has a problem with booze now. Prostate.

We are moving him into retirement flats at the weekend. It’s for the best.

5 Es

Encasement – the wrapping in cement for purposes of hiding, disposal or strengthening of very foundations

Encapsulation – the art of concise summary; complete packaging, possibly in advance of launching into the furthest reaches of the galaxy

Enveloping – hugging from behind using strong, manly arms; mechanically inserting hundreds if not thousands of sheets of paper into hundreds if not thousands of purposely manufactured and folded outer covers, almost certainly as advanced preparation for posting

Enclosure – remote drystone square (usually) designed for herding cattle or sheep in advance of branding, shearing or other farming related tasks

Enigmatic – puzzled over this one for some time before deciding go to print

My approach to art and philosophy:

1 I read in Bob Dylan’s autobiography that Woody Guthrie wrote songs about everyday things he saw in the street. This is what I do. Not songs necessarily but short reflections on everyday items. Poems maybe.  I sometimes think that some people think this can be quite boring. No dramatic emotion-filled prose, the product of a tough back street childhood or action packed near death escape from certain disaster. I am into the ordinary, the sunlit street, the view from a café table, the snippet of overheard conversation, the bird fleetingly perched on the garden chair.

2 Time plays a big part in shaping my thoughts. Because I can’t get my brain around the huge expanses of infinity going both forward and back everything for me is of the moment. A spinning coin is a work of art even though the coin will stop spinning after a very short while. The fact that it has stopped is neither here nor there – it was of its time. The act of spinning is art as is its state having stopped spinning.  Lying there motionless it also has a story to tell – not the same story perhaps as when it was spinning.

3 If I were to take a picture of a pebble I could probably invent lots of deep meaning in that image. Erosion of time. Loneliness in amongst millions of other pebbles. It’s too deep.  I leave it to others to come to their own conclusions. Many might conclude nothing. This is no different to the pile of bricks or the unmade bed.

4 I usually like to see words flow easily in the mind. On these occasions it can be almost as if the words themselves don’t matter although it is nice if they both flow and make sense. When considering a subject that is in itself an uncomfortable topic the words don’t have to flow. A hesitant stream not easy to read reflects the difficult nature of the subject. Or so it should in my mind.

Hope that helps you understand the stuff that I do.