It’s another beautiful day here, such that we can keep the back door open, which is always a good feeling. I’ve put out the rubbish, and started shifting house plants into the garden for Summer. Good!
I also realized, with a “duh!”, that I need to get back to drawing and writing, as in on paper and canvas, and scribbling in little note books with ink or pencil. Then maybe more painting. That is old, dirty magic, and nothing is like it.
The internet, and digital technology, is great. It lets us see stuff we wouldn’t otherwise. It helps us make contact, find each other (I think that is honestly the biggest thing about the internet), and that is tremendous. It transcends space, but it also transcends physical substance. It transcends a certain kind of work. It’s a very Geminian medium astrologically. Fleet, quick footed, eclectic, various, ephemeral, everyday. But just as it transcends space, it sucks away time. It makes some of the hard work seem unnecessary, but that’s actually a lie. So Mercurial – communication, commerce and theft, but also insight potentially. It could be deskilling a generation at coping with physical reality (though some of us were never that good at that anyway!), though I think that is only temporary at worst. The internet had its radical social heyday during the Neptune in Aquarius years (1998 – 2011 basically), the glamour of technology, when it seemed to be a mind expanding drug. But that time has run out, and the internet has just become a substandard replacement of libraries and newspapers and books (it’s Geminian, not Sagittarian), and largely a kind of organ of gossip with a skewed sense of globalisation, plus a fantastic shopping opportunity. Social media are so successful because they correctly divined the internet’s inherent nature. Pictures of my breakfast and my pets are just what the internet lends itself to, as does chatting with my friends, and posting extended open letters, finding porn and shopping. It’s also why blogs have become a big thing. Web log. Dear diary. Today I ……. That is basically what every blog is, even when it pretends to be a news site. That’s the medium, even if it sells itself as a different message.
And what it basically is, is all fine, but it’s all it is. Enjoy it, gain from it, but don’t expect too much from it, because it isn’t real life. It transcends physical substance in order to transcend space, and life without physical substance is not the same.
Which brings me back to the subject of this post, which is art. The other day I started writing a poem in my head while I was on the computer, and rather than open up a text program, I looked around and found an old notebook I had bought years ago and never used. Just the act of opening up the notebook and writing in it, the committing of ink to paper in the private little book, the need to cross out if I wanted to change it, to write in my own handwriting, in a book I could take anywhere, transmitted back to me the magic of doing stuff for real. It doesn’t matter if it’s crap, it’s your fucking art. It’s messy, unresolved, alive. Every revision you see, like a scar on skin. It is art without plastic surgery. And this is how you do stuff, intimately, for real, throwing yourself at it, with a real, uneditable trail. Like life.
And then I got out my sketch book and started on a new picture of an old demon. Let’s just see. Let’s just try. Let’s open up the wound.
You can find the grimoire of desire and fulfilment, as Austin Osman Spare used to indicate, between the hand and the eye.
Just not online.