18 August 2023

Lightning, suddenly becoming aware of everything—everything that I have put beyond my defense mechanisms, the abject, and the thunder, a symbol of the emotional impact, rolling through my being.

Flickering and snowing, vacillating, destabilizing, threatening my idea of a unified and stable self-image.

The snow should cool the anger. You are angry with me every day; you call me to sanctification, to becoming more like you—not more like the law, more like you, not less like the law, more like you.

Will this bout of destabilization make me more like you? The pervasive vertical pattern makes my vision flicker, snow, and shimmer. It vibrates at a certain rhythm. The brushstrokes laid down at a certain internal rhythm manifest as a vertical pattern in this painting, this work, this art. The flowers seem like plasters, patches, round rubber things, pleasant round rubber things, plugging up holes, leaks, or obscuring things, creating a barrier between me, the abject, but also between me and you. They obscure so much of my view; they protect at a price; they cover things that I should not see, along with things that I should see.

My acceptable anger and my unacceptable anger. Untie the knot if you can. I dare you.

My being as a cracked vessel, patched up with fake plastic flowers.