Demented Confessions 1 – Invocation

Invocation

Demented – from Old French dementer or late Latin dementare, from demens ‘out of one’s mind’.

Confessions – via Old French from Latin confessio (n-) from confiteri ‘acknowledge’

Invocation

My Renovation Quest was to become out of my mind. Somewhat in the same way one is out of milk or coffee but more to the point outside of the rational and the drunken monkey, like the Dadaist Buddhists were if they ever were.

I do not welcome madness. I did once or twice but there was no pleasure in it.

Dali said: “The only difference between me and a madman is that I am not mad”.

So I confess and acknowledge what is found. Each work is a confession and a confirmation. I honour each work as an actual act of art made with these hands, eyes, heart and brain.

 It was another hard winter, here in the soft northwest Pacific sense of ‘hard’. Almost endless rain and if not rain then air so loaded with icy moisture one could squeeze it like a sponge and almost get snowflakes. A chilling, foggy dank, cabin fever, mossy, dripping, out of one’s mind Gothic kind of winter as I began these wall boxes. They are a necessary transition from my free standing ‘Renovation Art’ sculptures to that which comes next.

They made me laugh and wonder and ask what, and why.

In the dark hibernation of my winter past, in the name of Renovation, I made my confessions every day and night to all who still lived and listened. Did you hear my sins? Did you enjoy them? Did you hear my invocation? Must there be sacrifice?

Self-indulgent revelations in the fur and fire of the cave.

Invocation. Mixed media relief wall box by clinock. H.8″ (20.32 cm) x W.8″ (20.32 cm) x D.2″ (5.08 cm).

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13 thoughts on “Demented Confessions 1 – Invocation

    1. Although I believe we must never forget the horrors we are capable of inflicting on each other, with all my heart my intention was far from reminding you of such painful images Carl. At the same time I thank you for reminding us that such powerful art exists at Holocaust memorials and in thousands of other sites of remembrance. These art works sink into the soul and remain, as they did for you. In comparison my wall box art is small, whimsical, ego driven and entirely open ended. However; it’s made with honest bones.

      1. Not to be sorry. I also see kids raising their hands for the teacher to call on them for the answer. I always knew the answer and blurted it out so the teacher usually made me sit outside during such a session. If people see different and even surprising things in art even beyond the intent of artist , that means the work and the artist have been very successful. Happens in poetry too as you well know.

  1. holding my stillborn son
    was difficult to
    aknowledgeknowledgepeace
    with grief
    and let go
    ~
    I do not welcome madness
    I did once or twice
    but there was
    no pleasure in it
    ~
    I’m sitting in your circle
    and
    I’m listening …

    1. I listen to you listening Geo. We are sitting together in the same circle. I hear you and share your hauntings and am touched beyond heart. Others beyond number sit in this same circle. Our tears tighten our drum skins and our singing makes the fires burn brighter. This is the invocation of the children.

    1. Hi Debra and thanks. Hardly a ‘harsh’ winter in Vancouver though despite all my complaining. It was just wetter, colder and longer than ever before since time began! I was tested, tried and found wanting. I lost myself in demented confessions. To be continued…

      1. To a Southern California gal I picture Arctic cold! 😀 I will look forward to another installment of demented confessions.

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