CosmiKnot

According to the curators of the Tracey Emin and William Blake in Focus exhibition, the link between the two is existential pain leading to artistic truth. I'm not convinced Blake was a champion of existential suffering as a prerequisite to creating art. Yes he had an insight into suffering but he was more interested in revealing our access to the creative soul as a means of emancipation from the institutionalised oppression of the goal driven, patriarchal/bifurcated forces that shape society. My Bed in some respects is the ultimate in turning art/life into a fixed object rather than the process of living event. The subject object split is the error at the heart of the mechanistic model of the mind that leads to human oppression. To think in terms of fixed substances is useful for certain forms of processing such as shopping lists or auditing of munitions but is a completely dysfunctional mode when it comes to addressing metaphysical matters (see how an elephant becomes an aspirin

The power of a new facial expression SO this week sees the latest change of image from the nations beloved chameleon of pop. What do you make of this new incarnation? Well the shape shifting genius has done it again haven’t they? I mean would you have thought this was remotely possible? I don’t know would you? Is it the trousers or the extra layer of eye shadow that has facilitated this rug-pulling event?   I think is essentially something more superficial than that. Or perhaps a combination of the two.   The sleeveless jump suit could also have a major influence in the way the public perceive this tectonic shift though. But it’s not a new thing is it? I mean after all many musician have played with their image and the idea of celebrity haven’t they? Haven't they? Yes that’s true. Take Tony Hadley for instance he started off wearing tartan blankets and then morphed into a kind of city man suit-wearing persona. Or even someone like Toyah who entranced the

You are in the car reception Waiting for your car to be serviced   Your crutch is on the carpet tile covered floor Beside you You glimpse its large grey rubber end on the taupe texture of the tiles Stout and reassuring Is it you or the car that is being treated you wonder The car is having the oil changed It costs an arm and leg You dislocated your ankle on holiday It felt like a chicken bone when you carve the Sunday dinner Schlplop it went as it slid back into place Like a miracle The car that caused your fall then drove off It didn’t hit you Just threw you off balance You can bet they didn’t fancy that litigious look in your eye As you lay flat on the tarmac Then rose like the dying Gaul To stare in disbelief at the new angle of your ankle Then that schplop as it slid back And here you are now back in England Waiting in a car garage for your car Your crutch at your side Mosquito bites on your legs Soaring to strange heights of irr