the most heartless man to ever own a pulse…

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Jensen Wilder citizen journalist and photographer.

My Hour as Art: The calculations of a Soft Machine.

One must always bare in mind the often overlooked power of a single thoughtful person. Though we are often unaware of the impact we can potentially make, we must attempt to prepare ourselves. This thought was brought to me from my recent experience as a plinther. That is, being a lucky participant in One and Other, Antony Gormley’s new art installation.

Being up on the Forth Plinth in Trafalgar Square was one of the most unprepared moments of my life. It was like approaching one of the seven wonders, or the peak of a mountain; there is simply no way of knowing how you will react.

When confronted by such opportunities, a more refined soul might have gone up with a speech prepared. I might have preached, screamed, recited or otherwise constructed some form of sentiment that would have undoubtedly taken the moment away from me. I might well have run for an hour like a robot, speaking words that I’d pawed over for weeks in advance. Not so for the willful creature that I am.

Instead I listened a little too intently to a small voice from within that said ‘you need only ‘be’!’ I decided to go up, no props, no gimmicks – just a lone soft machine, held aloft for an hour.

I would say even now, that was/is enough.

Art itself (for the most part) cannot alter its form to better suit the audience before it. Once it is produced it is cast in that form. The painting cannot gain another few brushstrokes, to add more colour here or focus the eye there, just because the person seeing it would find it easier to understand. It can but assume a lasting posture and only stand by and weather the praise and criticism it receives with equal solemnity.

I went up there to ask the world questions more directly than most art does, to be a mirror that might allow people to see something of themselves whilst speaking a language they themselves spoke in. I went up there to do what art does, not interact with the audience around me, but to get the audience to engage with itself.

The truth is we make art to remind us of what will always remain important. We don’t make it as a target for our insults, or produce it so that it will locked away. We want it to be shown to an audience, to tell a story, to make a point, to request more of ourselves than is polite to ask in person. We use art to crack open the human spirit.

Of course I am referring to art as generalized art, that of the gallery displays (paintings primarily, or perhaps music also, certainly the photograph), rather than the more innovative methods that artists now engage in. I know full well that art does not stick to its definitions, by definition it is endlessly re-educating us of limitless features.

So, I got up on that stone pillar with the idea that I’d more clearly do what art does. So that I might connect more directly with people and get the message across. My mission was to Raise Awareness for Awareness. I wanted people simply to start asking themselves questions.

Back to the experience itself, once up there I lost my words and almost my balance.

We cannot know our qualities until we have been tested to our limit. So all I could comfortably expect of myself was that I would continue to breathe and that my heart would beat (albeit madly).

When I got up there I had no idea that I would lose much of myself to nerves. There is a lot to be said for the written language (and much has been); however, I more admire anyone who can stand to speak and explain their message with clarity. I do not have the ability to speak easily in public, though I do now intend to improve.

In any case I am happy that, with that small sight of my limits, I was inspired.

I’ve come off the plinth with a renewed acknowledgment of myself, but also of the influence and inspiration I have to offer. I met and spoke with many people and the reactions have been incredible.

People do want to talk, people do want to learn why things are the way they are. Even those who initially became hostile in the face of art, grew later (after conversation/explanation) to understand. They too added their own voice and perspective to the endeavor.

I may have been alone, an example of a young man with a lot (perhaps too much) on his mind; but no-one was unworthy of a place there on that plinth and those who asked questions took their place alongside me.

Now uniquely aware of how much impact a single soft machine can make when placed in the right location. My plan is to go on putting myself in challenging places, to do what I think is good and right and just. To ignore the voices that want me down on their level and to use my own to lift others out of the flood of indifference.

I’ve shaken a dozen hands, hugged people who were strangers, dealt with the irrepressible masses and I have come out of the experience; not better, nor worse, but different.

Filed under: Existence, Future, Happy, Lonely, Love, Sad, Strangers, about me, anxiety, art, hopes, influences, other people's lives, solitary , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

such blissful experience

So where have I been? what have I been doing? I know you are all ears to hear. I’ll reveal all.

For the last few days I’ve been having a wicked time living in Liverpool with Nightingale. Three days of wandering by myself, visiting museums and art galleries and shopping. Only bettered by evenings of film and fun with Nightingale herself, home from work. Not merely this but we also managed to squeeze in a takeaway and a french resturant and i’ve readied each to the nostalgic banks of my brainpan.

Arriving back from said few days pretty early Friday morning and the tide is in just the right place for a sail. Again I’ve the honour of steering her, while my father and his friends recline supine with only the burden of watching the distant shore in all its beauty, give way to an ever widening league of calm water.

We raced another yacht and soundly thrashed them even with their attempt to shorten the distance against our stern in a shameful attempt to make us turn off and abandon the engagement.

Afterwards was the ceremonial drinking session, my mother joining us for this particular section of the sailing lifestyle. And there we stayed until the sun dipped itself into the sea behind us and the heady air lessened its sticky grip to the call of a soothing breeze.

There is no way I cannot romantisise such blissful experience, there is no shame in showing how truely blessed you feel to have such opportunity.

This morning saw a small brick sail through the window of my idealised world though. A man, on seeing that I did not partake of communion with the rest of the flock, decsended and started to preach to me. His words laced with the smugness of a self-satisfied mind, I was forced to smell his stale breath as well as to listen to his sermon.

I told him straight. “I have no faith and do not feel myself lacking.” Except that I do feel a lack, just not the lack of a god. It is a god-shaped hole, as I have always commented, but only in that sense of it being a borderless gap. Only in the sense that nothing is large enough, it seems, to fill it.

Regardless, I carried on. “I’m very moved that you came to speak to me, but i’m not going to be a hypocrite and drink HIS blood if I do not agree with the ritual.”

That said, he smiled a sacrimonious smile and said “Son, what’s your name?…” “Son, I think next week you will drink with me.”

“I do not know I will be here next week.” I replied.

“One sunday you will drink with me. I am sorry if I have offended you.”

“No, not at all.” Leaving it here, except within my head rang the words – ‘I’m actually glad one of you people took it upon yourself to speak to me, no one else has and its pretty clear that is the reason that this congregation is flagging.’

The simple truth is that the whole building it apathetic about its faith, afraid to get in the face of the unbelievers. Afraid to say their way is the right way. That’s a shame.

I’m glad people preach, I’m glad there are outreach programs for every system of worship. I don’t see faith as bad and surely if you believed that people you meet were going to burn in torment forever, you’d have a thing or two to say. They’d do the same if you were about to walk in front of a car, and these people believe that hell is as real as that car, so you can’t argue it is bad for them to try help us. Were you convinced of its authenticity enough to be fearful of it, you’d try and help if you had an ounce of compassion. So, they are just fulfilling their duty to their fellow man. As long as it stays as a choice that one makes for oneself then it is great.

Anyway, this guy, the loon, he just smacked of ‘L’ plate christian dogmatic fanatisism, he went a bit far – if only in body language.

Now sitting at the kitchen table, I’m reminded that most of my life i’ve been battered constantly by the wind and wave and zeal of a christian family and I’ve very rarely faultered in my own conviction. That only being that God does not, as far as I have experienced, exist. I guess that I’m desensitised to preaching, that or bull-headed. Maybe both. Maybe neither and I’m just more open-minded than my parents. I don’t know, or care. Safe to say, I’m not closing off my head to sooth my heart any time soon.

-=-
My goodness, I’m late getting this onto the net. I’m currently sitting in my seat in front of the 50-inch HD tv, watching a program about rivers. Griff Rhys Jones presents. I love it.
Okay, so. We didn’t get out this afternoon on to the marine lake. It ended up being a slagging match between parents. It ended up being a massive stress which I managed to avoid, choosing instead to keep my focus on the books I’m reading.
Right now the news is on.
Did I miss anything?

Filed under: Drinking, Existence, Family, Happy, Today, about me, hopes , , , , , , , ,

Grab your Côte you’ve pulled

Sailing

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There is hardly a feeling like that of steering the tiller as you lead a wayfarer on its way through the water. Sails are filled lungs, as they drag the blade of the keel and send us clipping along. Ropes are released, grasped tightly and then tied off with what I must describe as ‘passion’ rather than ‘precision’. Likewise the effort of ducking the boom during tacking is one of increasingly comedic value.

Me: “Ready about?”

Father: “Ready.”

Me: “Lee-Ho!”

*THUMP*

We’d lashed the sheets on land, pulled the sail to a snare-drum tightness, checked and rechecked the brace for the rudder and tiller. Dad ran around the vessel, mentally collating the tools needed for a successful launch. Finally connected to the back of the Land Rover, we were away.

We reversed down a heavily crowded slipway and halted the car as the back trolley wheels dipped themselves into the water. Unfixing it was completed after the winch had been secured. We then lowered the boat backwards, click by click into the water.

Once in, there was nothing to stop the stern from drifting and it took a swift mind to wet the feet in time and brace it against the impending calamity. Removing the trolley we negotiated the boat round the slipway wall to the docking area and each climbed in.

The Kingfisher was away, but not quite sailing, as we pushed off from the shore. We hugged the coast unable to catch the wind. Drifting with the current we made our way through fishing wires, cast out by leather-skinned men with angry faces. The lines freed themselves without piercing the sail and we soon caught breeze enough to put some distance between us and the sea wall.

Entering the wider sea we lined up and started sailing beautifully. That is that really. My first self-reliant voyage in a boat. What a blissful afternoon.

-

In other news.

.

My mind is still reeling (excuse the pun). I can’t get it to stop. I’m reading books and books and books. Which isn’t a bad thing! However the ideas they are stirring up are beyond my ability to pace.

In Glyph by Percival Everett there is a quote that runs to explain my current condition.

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“I cannot even say that I am smart, only that my brain is engaged in constant frantic activity.”

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It is a euphoric state you can enter after a while. It is a state that I’m trying to steer away from. Heck, I’d even anchor myself on the idea of brain-numbing medication to avoid the level that theses ups can lead me to.

See, having a brain that is running quickly is a wonderful feeling. Except that after a while you lose yourself slightly at the back of your own mind. Ideas that raced, now flood your brain – which itself is less of a buoy floating on top of this deluge, but rather it is a shipping container dropped overboard – straining against the pressure as it sinks to the seabed.

It will hold out. It will perceiver against the enormous forces met out against its sides. Except there will come a moment when its integrity fails. The surrender is made between the atmosphere inside and the tons of sea-water that seek to replace it. At this point, it is fair to say, I lose touch with reality.

It is a very temporary thing. It might only last a few hours, but I become drunk and irresponsible. I’ll most likely be alone, but if I am with someone then the connections start being verbally translated.

I can remember a very good example of this and it was while on a car journey to Falmouth. I was in the back of the car and talking to the two people beside me. After a few moments of talking about poetry I was flung onto a circuit. I looped over many subjects and began making connections (mostly coincidental) about the people involved. Subjects and dates and ideas flung at them as they came to me. After 20mins I came back to my senses. The rest of the journey I tried to stay as quiet as I could.

It’s a balancing act this. Making sure I can harness the energy that is generated by the reeling (sorry, I love the word) of my mind and also that I don’t fall into the realm of possession. That I’m not abstracted from the capability to see how useful my observations are. That I don’t lose sight of the fact that sometimes a coincidence is exactly that. That sometimes people don’t mean to be distance, they just have their own things to deal with. That there is no logical reason why a person should be privy to the same knowledge that I am. That they are not less valuable for not understanding what I am talking about, because what I am talking about in this state is mostly just irreverent crap.

-

I am reading.

(click books for descriptions).

Filed under: Existence, Family, Reality, Travel, about me, anxiety, books , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

liberation in migration…

This afternoon I went to my writers group and met with TurtleDove, Magpie and our new ‘fledgeling’ recruit – Swift (the long-flight migrator). After many tortuous hours hammering on plastic keys, in an attempt to protract my script, I happened out into a bright sky and a down-ruffling breeze.

Both Magpie and Swift took flight to somewhere far off, and so it left myself and TurtleDove with little to do but to grab a coffee and have a twitter about things.

We talked about scripts and poetry (Anne Michaels ‘Flowers’ to be exact, as it was the only one I could remember even part of) and our favorite types of puppy.

As ever though, I got uneasy with eating up someone’s time. So much scripting has already been avoided, because of your’s truely, that I could hardly expect yet one more to fall from the sky.

So, not long later, TurtleDove’s sensible migratory instinct kicks-in (without the need for suggestion) and I wave her on her way. [Of course, like many times before, I walk her to her stop and watch as she disappears on me quicker than I can motion a goodbye.]

Now at a loss until the gig, that will be happening later on, I wandered the streets like an urchin. Luck finds me a seat in a cafe and I’m able to imbibe another coffee and scribble some sentences down. Before long many others have had the same idea. The place is packed with all sorts of people, most probably down to the Everton match.

(As an aside – MY GOD were people happy with that result or what!?!? I’d already been accosted by a group of three guys with friendly banter and legs a-faulter)

Looking around the cafe, my attention is quickly taken by a lone girl looking lonesome.

Could I help myself? No. Whenever can I?

We’ll call this one Nightingale, firstly because ‘what she had to say was so enrapturing’ and secondly because ‘she had an aversion to one of my favorite romantic poets’. (Which was slightly wonderful, because I like a girl who can have her own opinion.)

A coy little introduction and a graceful landing was made.

Regardless, I took to the next thing on my nut-sized mind.

The inquisition began with a question about the theory of there being a god. I thought it apt to ask the most unanswerable question to test her good graces. With humor she took to it and I was soon challenged in turn… regaled with stories… and eventually intrigued by the occasional pulling back from an awkward topic.

One coffee ends up being three (all in different places) and then we’re on to 7pm.

We got lost in well-spent moments.

The thing with Nightingale is that she is too smart for her own good. Having understood that I was only interested in prolonging our meeting – she saw fit to extract every possible truth from me. Until I’m flat-out admitting that I find her attractive beyond measure. Even to the point of telling her my feathers were being ruffled by the attention she was getting from a rival male.

I don’t think I was unduly honest, though I get the feeling that I might have said a few things that would have been better left unspoken until a bit later on.

In the end, rather than being tongue-tied, I found myself spilling my guts about how much I wanted to see her again.

After all the banter, one thing is evident about this latest interest and that is that pace is to be a prerogative.

Filed under: Coffee, Friends, Future, Girls, Happy, Library, Poetry, Strangers, Women, connection, hopes, poet, prose, writing , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

NaNoWriMo

my twitter musings

  • Right then - work tomorrow - then I'm going home with a plan on getting a skinhead because i'm tired of my hair and want a crazy change 57 minutes ago
  • @kolaqube Happy birthday! The wonders of the netwebs means that even tho we don't have a clue who each other are, you still get best wishes! 3 hours ago
  • RT @whatkaitedid YAY, TOMORROW I GET TO SEE @JENSENWILDER! 3 hours ago
  • Flamingos have feathers and can smell blood from a year away! #wildlies 9 hours ago
  • there are some among you who believe in a giant earthworm that created everything from plastics to cotton wool - these people are correct. 11 hours ago
  • @nathanryder off all day - would love to meet xx 1 day ago
  • 5 star rating for The Men Who Stare At Goats -with a pinch of salt it's the purest entertainment capitalism can muster - perfect for my mood 1 day ago
  • RT @clo_e @jensenwilder http://www.whitepoppy.org.uk/ inetresting stuff on there and why I am poppy-less this year for lack of a white one. 1 day ago
  • so, out of the tweeters who have absolved themselves with a rememberance tweet - who actually do fuck all to stop war and promote peace 1 day ago
  • Remember the dead not through silence on one day at one time - honour their memory with a protest at the act of war - promote peace!! 1 day ago

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