and there will be trouble

I will not be, however, if, inside me,

the crop does not keep sprouting,

the shoots first, breaking through the earth

to reach the light;

but the mothering earth is dark, and, deep inside me, I am dark.

I am a well in the water of which

the night leaves stars behind

and goes on alone across the fields.”

(Pablo Neruda, excerpt from “I ask for silence.”)

With the departure of material restraints recently in my paintings, a rapid return and development of an abstraction that centers on the body has come into the work. This is where poetry and my imagination enter the dialog. I love art and cultural theory, but I adore poetry. There are things that I need to be alive and romantic ideals are one of them. Not romance, but romanticism. I find in other’s words camaraderie for my own thoughts. I need Neruda, Rilke, or Solnit. I need to be lost, physically and imaginatively, and poetry reminds me of that. In the space of not having to know, in the permission to be lost, I find things my own mind is incapable of conjuring up. The most powerful aspect of Neruda is the ability to evoke the landscape (as something real and physical) and imagination or intangible aspects of being human into one poem. The thread that connects the concrete to the flight of the spirit, to an imagined space, many times the space of our emotions and imagination is the same thread that compels my practice and desire to make things. In my studio these are the experiences I bring to bear on my work. Color, composition, shapes, and space all work within this expansive place. I sometimes think, “If my work could function like one line of Neruda, I’ve been somewhere special and sacred.”

In A Field Guide to Getting Lost Rebecca Solnit writes about the “texture of longing. ” Her words echo my affinity to the poetic imagination and the experiences of my emotional life. Questions I ask in the studio often start from the poetic. How can I give a shape the texture of longing? How can color trigger nostalgia or memory? How can a shape whisper to another? How can I impart poetry into my shapes? How can I give each piece a different tone or pitch that is familiar?

“HeadBasher” in progress.

Neal Medlyn took up residence at The Kitchen this past weekend with his badass show Wicked Clown Love. Based on the Detroit rap duo Insane Clown Posse (ICP) and their followers, known as Juggalos and Juggalettes, Medlyn performed with his two main sidekicks, Farris Craddock and Carmine Covelli, and a cast of Juggalos. This is a continuation of Medlyn’s performance work in which he takes pop music icons, such as Beyonce, Britney Spears, or Phil Collins, and creates an entire piece based on them. ICP provides ready-made mythology and rituals based on their highly developed sub-cult following. Medlyn serves it all up: lunatic clown aesthetic, Faygo showers (ICP drink of choice that’s constantly sprayed on fans and themselves), and recreating their yearly music festival gathering in the woods complete with wrestling and other debaucherous activity. Everything in the world of ICP happens in The Dark Carnival, a space in which the battle between good and evil is proselytized. It’s a space centered upon male bonding and shared knowledge of rituals. At one point in the show Medlyn creates a safe circle for any member to step up and share about anything they need to get off their chest or throw out some rhymes, but first he purifies the space with a spray can of Old Spice.

Breaking character, Medlyn diverged into stories of his early 20’s in Texas, like writing hot checks at Wal-Mart in the middle of the night while high. The structure of his work is very closely tied to that of performance artist Ann Liv Young. They both share a love for singing over other people’s songs, using those songs as a story telling means to push along a narrative, and they break into highly confessional personal monologues that implore the audience to feel a close connection to their lives.

 Half the performance is based on watching Medlyn be a karaoke king in his own show. His persona is extremely convincing and he’s actually a good rapper. Whether you can get into his topic or not, the story he’s telling through ICP is one of camaraderie and the human need to connect with one another. Aggressive and nihilistic at first the story gives way to transformation and miracles. Faygo showers are given the power to turn energy from negative to positive, clearing away the past to give way to the future, that sounds like a good ol’ baptism to me. What becomes clear by the end is that the carnival is a space to encounter God, to make a choice between good and evil, and to participate in a community. Through the story telling structure of the six Joker Cards, you are lead through a personal and social battle of whether you can judge your moral behavior by the ultimate end point of entry to heaven or hell. ICP has oscillated from confirming and denying the intentionality of their “God message”. Medlyn made it very clear in one of his monologues that he wanted to talk to us about negation that night. Having vaguely encountering ICP culture in high school, Medlyn’s performance creates a safe space at which to be a second hand voyeur of his re-enactments of Juggalo behavior. I was only too thrilled at the real life Juggalos in the house.