MottledAurora

single lady

now the RosenClocks brand has gone bust and i no longer have his name, i am a single lady fending for herself.

the re-production of the image

i tool this image of an older collage of mine and made her a baby:

the synthetic ego as a dress

The RosenClocks brand has gone bust

ive lot my name and visibility. i am destined to die broke

For a short while i entertained the image of tradlife bridal wear, the supportive wifey, nursing the infant at my bosom. I got the sensation of being a child playing dress-up and make-believe. The same sort of mimicry present in much of my art practice. But little anxiety is produced by the imminent failure of pulling off such a deductive costume given i am confident in that i am more than this little dress. A confidence which renews itself every time a man tries to advise me in a very uninspired inhibitive way, “you're not wearing it right”, and renewed is my confidence when left in this space is a plethora of beautiful regenerative ‘things’. Infinitely more beautiful than anything the inhibiting seamstress has pulled together. Splitting at the seams is an artform. Like the surrealists said ‘reality is elsewhere’. The grid will split at the seams.
And im becoming very well practiced in how to not-wear whilst wearing.
My sufferings seem to come from having ‘too much’ of something. And im pained by a restlessness. I want to give it away. My body is acutely aware it is alive. And i am that alive ‘it’.

man-muse

After the breakup with my most recent Ex, i learnt that he had thrown the following art i made him into the trash. fortunately i had photos of it and the distinct feeling i had was that my art was more substantial than the transience of its muses. Attempts to incinerate the personal or have it buried in a landfill for sake of keeping the personal space rigidly regulated here fail as i share these images now. An exposure that i feel would make special sense to a professional psychoanalyst, trained in that sleeping unconscious membrane, threshold. The personal is political, the dream is real. We have a whole documented history of men making muses of women and having that etched into the mass symbollocks. Well here is some from the Ladies corner...

"so far we've got retro-future alien babies and alien hearts.
Astronauts and mutating chess pieces that change the fundamentals of the game - thanks to the dialectics of love-
We've got grids being washed away by the waters of the real but thankfully the womb-painter keeps us swimming":

'The Earth is the moons toxic waste'

"I titled, dated and signed this one which is not something i always do, but i decided that this piece right here is an official artwork, don't ask me how i decide these things.
My free associations of the piece go something like...
the earth is the moons toxic waste
toxic waste is the unconscious
toxic waste is the real
and we're swimming in it honey!
(one of our first conversations you told me you were a swimmer of the real)
The red thing in the middle?
Well that is what we create between us.
That is our alien baby.
It is our retro-future thing.
It is my moving, morphing, breathing and very ALIVE love for you Eliot.
Also, following that, it could be a really creepy cool alien heart.