Bill Viola

[camrogers]

My whole life long I’ve sharpened my sword
And now, face to face with death
I unsheathe it, and lo –
The blade is broken –
Alas!

- by Dairin Soto, died in the year 1568 at the age of 89

eyeseedepths and I went and saw Bill Viola speak last night at ACMI. Ran into a bunch of people, totally by fluke: redcountess, drewgs, blithespirit, my housemate who probably thinks she dreamed my moving in I've been so absent the last month.

I'm not that familiar with Viola's work, but what I saw resonated. Really resonated. If you're in Melbourne go see some of it. It's good for the head. And he wasn't anything like the NY art scene type I was expecting. A quiet, unapologetic sentimentalist with Zen Buddhist leanings and a warm relationship with mortality. I really loved a lot of the things he had to say, and if you ever get the chance to see his work or hear him speak I highly recommend it.

His approach to the hows and whys of creating art is right on my wavelength. It's all about questions, not so much about answers. The same thing David Lynch once said regarding his own work, and for my money it's bang-on. That and the notion of suspending thought while working, just letting it roll out of you. No Thinking. The idea was anathema to me at one point, but now I actually get it. No Thinking doesn't equate to Don't Think, and certainly not to Be Unintelligent. It's a very Japanese take, to hear him explain some of his experiences, and makes a world of sense to me. It's something I've been cultivating just these last few weeks and man, what a difference... both in quality and output.

He quoted Proust at one point: "A work of art which contains theories is like an object on which the price tag has been left." I think I know what he meant by that, rather than what it literally sounds like. It gets back to No Thinking. Train, know your craft, build your skills, then forget them. Any work of art - for me at least - that is the equivalent of someone yanking down a whiteboard, telescoping a pointer and clearing their throat... oi vey. Enough already. Get back to me when you've got some deft.

He spoke a little of Japanese death poems: the tradition of people using their last iota of strength to leave behind one last thing, one final idea. He said some could time it just right, so that as with the final ink stroke they expired. They're quite beautiful.

Links to pages on the subject are here, here and here.

So I went and bought Sanka's computer. It's pretty nice having a decent screen to work with. Realising the shortcomings of editing photos on the Eee. Not bad all things considered, but they look noticeably different at a huge size with decent colour and luminosity. I feel like I'm stepping back into some of those places.

Quiet night. Installed Open Office. Do some work, relax, watch something. It's been a week.