tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20653289683823443502024-03-21T20:33:59.585-05:00\\ ♥ //Randall Garrett...not fade away. <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/plushgallery">art</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/plushgallery/videos">video</a> <a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/plushgallery">sound</a> <a href="http://www.facebook.com/randall.garrett">facebook</a> <a href="http://www.twitter.com/randall_garrett">twitter</a>Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-21854569783303854102021-10-29T17:14:00.000-05:002021-10-29T17:14:12.190-05:00Social Performance<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><u>Social Performance</u></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Impression Management—A technique used to analyze someone’s performance in social situations, and the effort they make to influence other’s opinions of themselves. It includes the elements of setting, appearance, and manner.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Setting—The environment, such as a home, public space, or vehicle, in which a social action is performed.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Appearance—The clothing, hairstyle, makeup, and accessories that a person uses to create an impression.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Manner—The body language, movements, gestures, and expressions one makes in social communication.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Front stage—In social performance, the space and manner in which a person acts to a public audience.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Backstage—The private space in which a person acts, when alone or toward those with whom they share some intimacy.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life—by Ashley Crossman<br /></span><a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/the-presentation-of-self-in-everyday-life-3026754" style="font-family: arial;">https://www.thoughtco.com/the-presentation-of-self-in-everyday-life-3026754</a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In “The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life”, Erving Goffman looked at life itself as an act of social performance, breaking down the actions that people take in social situations into three main elements, what he called Impression Management.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">These include: Setting / Appearance / Manner</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">By looking at social interactions through the language of theatrical performance, Goffman showed how we use these moments to perform our identities. The first element, setting, is constituted by the physical space and objects that are used to perform a social role, the environment and attributes we work with. For example, the workspace of an office is setup to show the differing roles of each employee.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Most of the workers may be situated in the front of the office in cubicles, informal spaces that are easily accessible by others. The manager’s office is usually in the back, making it more difficult to access, and is often more formal in appearance. And, the executives of the company are often set up in a different part of the building, only accessible remotely, or by appointment. The furniture and design of each area work together to demonstrate the hierarchy of roles in the structure of the workplace.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Goffman’s Front Stage and Back Stage Behavior—by Nicki Lisa Cole, Ph.D.<br /></span><a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/goffmans-front-stage-and-back-stage-behavior-4087971" style="font-family: arial;">https://www.thoughtco.com/goffmans-front-stage-and-back-stage-behavior-4087971</a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The element of appearance relates to how a person presents themselves through their choice of clothing, hairstyle, makeup, and accessories. The way in which you dress to go to the gym is different than how you look to go to an interview, or on a date. This points to the differing expectations of each role. Working out at the gym is a more informal practice than interviewing for a job, and so you will dress differently for each of these social occasions. But, each one is still a social performance, a reality which has been highlighted by social media and the ways in which an influencer presents himself or herself to their fans.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Manner refers to the ways in which someone uses body language, movement, gestures, and facial expressions to communicate socially. In his performance, Sometimes Making Something Leads to Nothing (1997), artist Francis Alys pushes a block of ice through the streets of Mexico City, until it completely melts. He uses body language to convince viewers that he is a worker setting out on the mundane task of moving a block of ice. However, as the action progresses, we see the absurdity of his project, as the block of ice melts while he is pushing it through the city streets. In this work of performance art, he is playing the role of a worker to bring across a deeper concept related to life and the meaning of work.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Francis Alys performance, Sometimes Making Something Leads to Nothing (1997)<br /></span><a href="https://youtu.be/ZedESyQEnMA" style="font-family: arial;">https://youtu.be/ZedESyQEnMA</a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This scene from Scarface, in which Al Pacino’s character, Tony Montana, is working at a Miami diner, El Paraiso, can be analyzed using Impression Management. The setting of the tiny kitchen in which Tony works is contrasted with the luxury of the Little Havana club, just across the street. The emphasis shifts to appearance, as Tony and his friend Manny, in their work clothes, take a break to watch the party people leaving the club, dressed in suits and cocktail dresses. Tony’s manner is one of agitation, as he demonstrates his impatience with being a refugee doing menial labor, and expresses his own ambitions for success.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Diner scene from Scarface (1983)<br /></span><a href="https://youtu.be/pP9qPEHEQTo" style="font-family: arial;">https://youtu.be/pP9qPEHEQTo</a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In Goffman’s theories on social performance, the terms front stage and backstage are used to describe the level of accessibility that the performer gives to their audience. What that means is that we act differently in private than we do in public. When we are front stage, or in a public setting, we adapt a self-presentation that brings in a heightened awareness of our audience, that is the people we are in social connection with, and our performance is more formal. In private, or backstage settings, we act differently, in a more relaxed or informal way, with those whom we are in more intimate contact with.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We may use the concepts of self-presentation to examine our actions in everyday life, to see how they constitute a social performance. The elements of Impression Management work to communicate ourselves to others, through the elements of setting, appearance, and manner. In this scene from Jorgan Leth’s film 66 Scenes from America (1982), Andy Warhol presents himself through his appearance and manner, as both a subtle critic, and participant in American pop culture.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Andy Warhol eating a hamburger, from 66 Scenes from America (1982)<br /></span><a href="https://youtu.be/sUd4L1oSXoE" style="font-family: arial;">https://youtu.be/sUd4L1oSXoE</a></p>Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-70677528567321738192021-08-21T13:52:00.001-05:002021-08-21T13:52:12.906-05:00Pandemic Writings<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> ESTAS VIVO (2020) </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Estas vivo <br />Estas respirando <br />Por lo qué esperas<br /> La muerte llegar para todos<br /> Inclusivo a ti <br />Vivir, respirar, amar, crear<br /> Mientra puedes <br />Todo estan empujando para ser libre </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You are alive <br />You are breathing<br /> For what do you wait<br />Death arrives for us all<br /> Including yourself <br />Live, breathe, love, create <br />While you can <br />Everything is pushing to be free</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> WILD DOGS (2021) </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">What are the wild dogs in your life? <br />Are they playful or snarling? <br />When they show up, do you push them away in fear?<br /> Or embrace them in a spirit of joy? <br />Come wild dogs, play now in my soul. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">MAMA OAXACA (2021) </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I remember how we always talked<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">About going to the beaches of Oaxaca<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">We never made it there, but here I am<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">The sun rising over the breakers<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">The morning air cool on my skin<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">The smoke rising from the fires of the comal<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Mamá mamá mamá Oaxaca<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">I feel you in the air I breathe </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">PRAYER AT THE BREAK OF DAWN (2019)</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As I wake to this new day<br />The chains of convention they fall away <br />And the mother of all she says to me <br />Son may you be free<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />To be yourself <br />Go and express your power<br />Without a doubt may you flower<br /> In all you do<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />May your love shine through and through<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">And you be true to the light within<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Share this truth and love your friends <br />And so I praised her name and kissed her lips<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />And to myself I spoke this riff<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Now go forth and jam on my brother<br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Namaste to this day<br />You beautiful m*th*rf*ck*r</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">CHURCH CARNIVAL (2021)</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Walking downstairs to the basement, the room opened up to glowing neon colors, slowly shifting from orange to green to purple and back again. People passed by dressed in strange costumes, and Mrs. Lover, who never came to church, walked up in a sultry bikini splashed in body paint, holding hands with a man in a furry ape suit, whom he took to be Mr. Lover, fresh out of prison. The Deacon, bright lights silhouetting his wart covered face, squeezed between them in his frumpy wrinkled suit. “Don’t forget me baby,” Mrs. Lover said, grasping the Deacon’s arm with a gleam in her eye.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Just then Teri walked up, wearing an eye mask and cat ears, orange lipstick accenting her smile. “Hey Brandon, what’s up? Let’s go check out the fun.” She took his hand and plunged it into a bowl next to a sign that read, “MONKEY BRAINS.” It felt squishy, and sniffing his fingers, they smelled of spaghetti mixed with tuna fish. Continuing down the hall, they passed booths with signs which read "Go Fish" and "Bob for Apples," laughing at the comical scenes. The Deacon jumped out at them, eyeballs on springs popping out of his glasses. He laughed uncharacteristically, saying, “You guys be good now.”</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Turning the corner, in a dark niche where the portable chairs piled up, Teri grabbed Brandon by the arms, and pinning him to the wall, moved in close. Her breath smelled like bubble gum as she hovered there, a few inches away, looking intently into his eyes. With her lips, she grazed the plastic nose on his face, and pressing them to his mouth, he felt something weird on his tongue. Laughing, she ran around the corner as he pulled a wad of Double Bubble from his mouth. Taking off the Grouch Marx glasses, he popped the gum back in his mouth, and smacking it, blew a big pink bubble.</span></p><div><br /></div>Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-71261866066820519132019-09-19T10:28:00.002-05:002019-09-19T20:20:05.245-05:00Mercado Efimero Contemporaneo / Mexico City<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span class="s1">SEPT 13-14, 2019 / </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">MEXICO CITY</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Mercado Efimero Contemporáneo & Original” art fair took place over the weekend of September 13-14 in the Roma Norte colonia of Mexico City. Organized by Aldo Iram Juárez, director of Galleria Progreso, the event was originally conceived of as Zona Meco, a low-budget indie gloss on Zona Maco, the mega art fair taking place each spring in Mexico City. At the last moment, under threat of unspecified legal action, the name was changed to its current, altered form.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Taking place inside the building of the former Partido Popular Socialista, fifteen art collective and editorial projects, fourteen artists, and eight performers participated, representing a cross-section of artist-run and underground initiatives from Mexico City and the surrounding State of Mexico. A lively scene unfolded in the atrium space, under the watchful gaze of the heroic statue of Vicente Lombardo Toledano, and his epithet, “The Revolutionaries, We Are Sentenced to Victory”.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Each artist and project space displayed their wares on tables spread around the tightly packed room, bracketed by an informal stage with intermittent performances, forming an energetic hive of activity. Around the perimeter of the space were situated the collective projects, with dedicated artist tables in the center.</span><br />
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The BORDO and Mal d3 Ojo collectives, both from Neza, a working class suburb of two million people on the southeast edge of Mexico City, brought a punk aesthetic to the event with an assortment of t-shirts, stickers, and bookworks. Flores Rosa and Cien Pies presented a more neo-hippie / earth friendly vibe with their displays. Flores Rosa had “Cigarros de flores”, brightly colored handmade packages of floral cigarettes, emblazoned with the slogan “Smoking flowers is harmful for the health of the patriarchy”.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Near the front stage was the Mu collective, and their smartly packaged zines and microchip audio files featuring experimental electronic compositions. On stage behind them, a young feminine Jesus figure read poetry from a pseudo-Bible in the performativity of a Bible story guru, as event organizer Iram set up a video projection for the next performance.</span><br />
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the center of the space, an assortment of artists presented their work in more traditional media, including ceramic, painting, sculpture, and photography. Notable among these were the work of Ramsés Olaya and his gestural porcelainware ashtrays and incense holders with images of skulls, ice cream cones, and canines. The process sculptural works of Bruno Martinez included a cast plaster boxing glove in patina, and a Star Wars fighter made of bright yellow DHL freight shipping tape.</span><br />
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The scene did well to manifest its vision of “an event that brings artistic initiatives, independent and of the character marginal. These individual and collective proposals have no figure in the institutional agenda, and do not represent a commercial gallery. Artists promoting their work for themselves.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As such, it presented a counter-proposal to the mainstream mega-fair that its original name parodied, and even more importantly, a fluent cross-section of indie and diy art collectives from across the city.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">(left to right) Aldo Iram Juárez, fair director; scene from the event</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">(left to right) </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">event banner on street; </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">statue of Toledano</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">the BORDO crew: Salve César, Roman Olayo Estrada, Adrián Coss; </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">Flores Rosa presentation</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">(left to right) poet performer; Mu Collective</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">(left to right) Ramsés Olaya porcelain ashtrays; Mu Collective audio microchips</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify;">Bruno Martinez sculpture</span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-71416213575121196112018-11-21T17:34:00.000-06:002018-11-21T17:44:38.524-06:00Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Randall Garrett</span></span></b></div>
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<b style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">FEATURED</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://randallgarrett.blogspot.com/2018/11/mexico-city-2017-18.html">Writing / Video / Sound / Performance</a></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mexico City (2017 / 18)</span></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2017/07/mexico-city-suite.html" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Mexico City Suite (2017)</a></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">New Paintings</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Performances</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://youtu.be/_FgCEQbCBw8" target="_blank">In the Shadows (2017)</a></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Performance Video</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://youtu.be/bXjCf_EUucQ" target="_blank">Shiva Shakti (2016)</a></i><br />Performance with Spoken Word</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://youtu.be/qpW9WANbzp8" target="_blank">Dystopian Dreams (2016)</a></i><br />Performance with Spoken Word</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2015/07/graveyard-swag-performance.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Graveyard Swag (2015)</a></i></span></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Performance and Artwork</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2014/12/inferno-suite.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Inferno Suite (2014)</a></i></span></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Performance</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2014/11/the-bride-stripped-bare.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The Bride Stripped Bare (2014)</a></i></span></span></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Performance</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://youtu.be/rkouX0g7700" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">In the Shadows (2014)</a></i></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Performance</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2014/04/reach-inside-to-see-stars.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Reach Inside to See the Stars (2014)</a></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Performance and Artwork</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Exhibitions</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2014/05/installation-views-solo-show-deep-ellum.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Performance Artifacts and Documentation (2014)</a></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Deep Ellum Windows, Dallas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Artworks</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2017/07/mexico-city-suite.html"><i>Mexico City Suite (2017)</i></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.blogspot.com/2017/05/performance-artifacts-and-objects.html" target=""><i>Performance Artifacts and Objects</i></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Writing</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.blogspot.com/2017/01/writing-2017.html">Writing (2017)</a><br />Dream Journal Stories:<br />Love, Loves, and Half a Love, Frontiers of Flight,</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Unto the Sepulchre,, </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Buster Keaton, Tower of Shiva Tower of Shakti</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.blogspot.com/2016/04/writing-2016.html">Writing (2016)</a></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Ten Days, Sweet Honey in the Rock, The Temple of My Heart,<br />Litany, Paradise is Burning, Round the Fires by the Shore,<br />Explosions in the Sky, Rainbow in a Black and White World,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>At Water's Edge, Flowers on My Grave, The Aesthetics of Healing,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Nightshade, The Taste of His Love</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2015/12/writing-2015.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Writing (2015)</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">incl. <i>Graveyard Swag, Can I Get an Amen, Club Yamantaka, 11:11 (Listening)</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2014/11/writing-2014.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Writing (2014)</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">incl. <i>Apocalypse Poem, Deluge Refuge, Maya on the Midway</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2015/12/biographical-writings-2015.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Biographical Writings</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">incl. <i>Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen (Love, Alienation, Lust)</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Spoken Word</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://youtu.be/EcERxW0pRgM?t=6m56s" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Spoken Word Night at Beefhaus (2014)</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Dallas, TX</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="http://www.randallgarrett.com/2014/04/better-block-spoken-word-set-list.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Better Block (2014)</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Oak Cliff, Dallas</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Randall Garrett is an artist, writer, instructor, and performer. His performance works explore questions of identity, both personal and collective. Using ritual and mythologies of the self, he navigates identifications based on gender, class, sexuality, and other cultural overlays. His works seamlessly mix performance, video, installation, costume design, sound, and spoken word. He has exhibited, curated, and performed in Dallas, Houston, Chicago, New York, Miami, and Santa Fe. In 2000, he founded the critically recognized Plush Gallery, organizing over 75 exhibitions, and has worked as Gallery Coordinator and Instructor of Art, Humanities, and Multimedia for the Dallas County Community College District since 1998.</span></span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-90140793504138256152018-11-21T16:38:00.001-06:002020-05-12T00:32:43.974-05:00Mexico City 2018<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">MANIFESTO</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">No one can ever dictate to you what you should believe, do with your life, or how you should perceive the world. No matter how close to you or respected, whethe<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">r family, friends, or those in positions of authority. The space inside belongs to no one else, you alone have the absolute right to your own definition. Many will try to impose their beliefs about god, to define your sexuality, tell you who you can associate with, and even what you may think. These attempts, no matter how well intentioned, come from a place of insecurity and control. Sharing ideas and experiences is a wonderful thing, its opposite, coercion is not. In praise of each person's beautiful and unique autonomy, and the voice that only you can hear whispering its inspiration.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Everywhere is water, wet and relentless, as clouds gather under a bright sun. The ground it shifts beneath your feet as you walk. All is unstable here: the sidewalks they buckle, buildings sink into the ground, relationships fluid, flow and shift like the rivulets of rainwater along the curb and spiraling into the drain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And down below, the pipes they leak, water seeping out onto five hundred year old skulls of sacrificial victims piled under the earth, mixing with dried blood and dropping further now into that ancient lake bed, where boats ploughed out toward distant shores, and the conquistadors first set eyes on the island city.</span></div>
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That city it's heart still beating, in the bustle of the tianguis, the taxis and micros blasting down the eje, the little children selling chicles on the street, borrachos passed out next to empty jugs of rum, as vendors shout "pasale pasale, todo bueno, todo bonito, todo barato".</div>
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Delinquents huff mona there on the steps of the metro, the dank aroma winding its way up from the platform below, where tattooed musicians and performers enact rites of suffering in the crowded cars, among the working people packed tight in the stifling air as they ride back to Pantitlan, then catch combis on home to Neza or Chimalhuacan.</div>
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You feel it inside too, the blood pushed along channels of flesh out from the beating heart, flowing to the shore of the extremities, dropping into the ocean of experience before it returns again.</div>
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And Tlaloc, the god of the waters, blesses them with rain and flooded streets, trash swirling in little whirlpools, shoes splashing through in wet socks, into mercados overflowing with brightly colored flowers, their petals falling to the floor of the pasillos, and crushed under foot in a continual offering of praise for life, and death.<br />
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CLOUDS IN THE TEA</div>
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Introspective, brought face to face with the ungrounded aspects of life, there in the airport waiting, looking into the faces of fellow travelers and imagining the stories behind those eyes: the successes, the yearnings, the loves, the infidelities. Some youthful and wide eyed, their full life ahead, others older, realism etched onto their faces. He remembers his own youth, not so far removed, and of age looming ahead.</div>
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Loading now, the man smiles as he checks the boarding pass. Walking in a faceless line of people, lost in their thoughts too, now on board the plane accelerates, its wheels lifting off the ground, a feeling of floating and weightless, untethered from any notion or fixed identity. There is a freedom suspended in that space, and a melancholy too, a wishing to be grounded in some identity, some place, tradition, or stability.</div>
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It flashes through his mind, the scene of the man wrapped in cloth, seated on the desert sand, carefully preparing tea for his friends, on the embers of a warm fire, clouds of steam rising from the glasses of tea arranged there on the sand. He wishes to be that man, but also sees the impossibility of that wish, the stark truth of being a nomad on this earth, of finding solace in oneself and in connection with some others in the true nature of solitude.</div>
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Looking out the window, as clouds float by, he takes refuge in that thought, the common truth though space is infinite, yet we all share in its vastness. The flight attendant walks by, and stopping says, “Would you like something? A coffee, soda, water?” He replies, “do you have tea?”.<br />
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MORELOS STEPS</div>
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Up and down the Morelos steps<br />
todo la gente viene y se va<br />
each with stories they carry<br />
like texts on their phones.<br />
A guy squeezes in through the exit <br />
as the police looks down at his phone <br />
el olor a humo de hierba hangs <br />
in the air of the Metro entrance. <br />
Sneaker prints left in blood on stone <br />
walking into or out of other dimensions <br />
it's hard to tell as dudes linger there <br />
sube en el callejón y través. <br />
Some working there washing cars <br />
con cubos de agua en la calle <br />
as desultory riders aimless wander <br />
on bicycles too small for their feet.<br />
The alley above these steps <br />
it smells of danger <br />
and respect and laughter <br />
un lugar a salvar y ser salvaje.<br />
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ONCE AGAIN<br />
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America, once again I float on the clouds high above your beautiful land, deceptive in its quietude and splendor. From here I can feel your anxieties, the inner struggle to manage your true feelings, lest they begin to rise and cause you to ask questions, to challenge the way things are with the proposition of how things might be.</div>
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I see the toll it takes to maintain a system that looks down on anyone born different, that puts them through a rigorous process to prove their rightness in the eyes of justice, so they can graduate into the ranks of the just us.</div>
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And yet somehow their creative lights shine through all of the enforced sameness, or perhaps it is the cause for these lamps most different to persevere in burning more beautiful and strange. And I wonder, what will be the next chapter of your story, our story?</div>
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As I wager my life and love with one that is caught up in the realization of your dream, what will be our trajectory, and will you welcome us back to your shores with all the gifts we have to offer? A coupling of two worlds separated yet by a conceptual wall, one that we have decided to bridge and destroy before it can even be built, through the inherent creativity of this partnership.</div>
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So I leave your skies behind for this moment, to return to the work of my own planning committee to the south, touching down with an optimism that we will conquer and in our own way bridge this divide that has risen when we return to your fair and troubled lands.</div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-40946681303283413872017-12-22T08:09:00.003-06:002020-05-12T00:32:26.475-05:00Mexico City 2017<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Randall Garrett / </b></span><b style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Mexico City / 2017</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">America, I fly high above your earth and looking down see the aspirations you hold. And still I feel inside me the anxieties coursing through your veins, your fastidious application of the law, the desires behind your fear to connect with yourself. I hope you can begin to see the humanity of those you purport to represent, and that your systems of justice mean nothing until they do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A little satisfaction for that brother on the street, looking for nothing other than an opportunity to participate in your narrative, or at least a value meal to quench his appetite. A reliable journey to the woman in the chair trying to flag down the bus driver as he rolls past her stop without concern.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A moment to catch their breath and feel the heart beating inside for those in pursuit of a piece of the American pie. And a sense of belonging to that dreamer chasing her elusive future in a land that offers with one hand while taking away with the other.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">America, take a moment and look inside. Your sickness has no other cure, and your potential no other means than to grow up and throw off the chains with which you bind yourself. I wonder of the next time I look down from this sky, if the clouds will grow more dark, or will they begin to disperse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">FRUTAS (LOVE COME DOWN)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I want to feel my love come down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Me gusta todo tipo de frutas.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I want to feel my love come down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Manzana, platano, mandarina.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I want to feel my love come down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Naranja, zarzamora, mamey.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Rain on me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Jaja... cacahuates.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Rain on me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">EN XOLA</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">En Xola, a blue eyed cat, she roams the street.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The bumps in the walk, comida corrida at your feet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">En Xola, un sonrisa, un chiste, y algun chicharones.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">El mesero, el pescadero, y el pulquetero,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tres hombres sin miedo.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">En Xola, the borrachos lay passed out on the streets</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In the most beautiful postures,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">like Caravaggio's friends in contrapposto.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">En Xola.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxw_DVKixdoiNAlrgLi3wZ3sPnBTTlL2nErXM3mtrREb1SGaRzLE5g5L4Abpt0Re9s6sWOlFDdxX0IRzQQTvODsz6zu5a5LRz5c4T67slopZXPs63m-z6ULvAP4hBa8COuBTk_C8adfRBt/s1600/2017_d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxw_DVKixdoiNAlrgLi3wZ3sPnBTTlL2nErXM3mtrREb1SGaRzLE5g5L4Abpt0Re9s6sWOlFDdxX0IRzQQTvODsz6zu5a5LRz5c4T67slopZXPs63m-z6ULvAP4hBa8COuBTk_C8adfRBt/s320/2017_d.jpg" width="256" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">UN ELEPHANTE</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sunday morning the day begins. They sit at the table con un té caliente. Remnants of the party from the night before hang in the garage, talismans of child heroes and battles waged, piles of cake, leftover tacos, plastic cups of tequila, now empty.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Images of the party in full swing, Marta, the hostess, en el baño taking a hit from her bong as the children outside sing a birthday song. "Un elephante", she says as she blows the smoke out the window and onto the street, then taking another hit she exhales, "dos elephantes".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A child swings at the Minnie Mouse piñata as the smoke drifts out and along la calle, the Siamese cat with blue eyes trotting along la banqueta, joining others under the half moon as they begin to call out hauntingly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Upstairs, en casa trampa, he gets up from the bed, his lover buried under blankets in the darkness, and stumbles naked into el baño to pee. Standing there in the half light of sleep, he follows the stream as it hits the water and hears a strange moaning outside, as though of a woman's voice divided into a chorus of three, wailing in an ethereal and sad discourse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The next morning, as they sit at the table drinking té caliente, she says, "have you ever heard la Llorona, the weeping woman who wanders the streets at night?" He paused, holding the tea, as downstairs a voice softly sings "un elephante...".</span></div>
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CROSSING THE RIVER</div>
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Crossing the bridge on the bus, I saw the river I waded in as a child, and beyond that, the bluffs on which I climbed. I knew this was goodbye, and the magic I once felt there was not gone, because it was not located in a place, but that I carried it inside myself.</div>
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And I knew that magic is expansive, that it cannot be contained or limited by the perspectives of anyone: family, friends, or those in authority. The creative act is liberating, without restraint and absolutely free, and with it comes the responsibility to achieve new levels of awareness.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have shown them, the lives of the family I was born from and grew into all that I can of freedom of spirit and how to shine in times of darkness and now I leave them free to find their own way. And I go out into the world, to create furiously, to give and receive freely in love and devotion, and to meet my destiny and the magic that awaits me with new beginnings.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcALFVbVisDm00HZmkqhZEP0TuWATMKoFScPurAuv8kWTdntA_ro0TYDzI0xCcocOgpFa_SAkhLwrGS-L3a6Fa6yrtyYi_Kyr8K0fmoEwSMZoN5l-RhNPlDJAEJV2cqvsAAglgo-KM9gFt/s1600/2017_b.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcALFVbVisDm00HZmkqhZEP0TuWATMKoFScPurAuv8kWTdntA_ro0TYDzI0xCcocOgpFa_SAkhLwrGS-L3a6Fa6yrtyYi_Kyr8K0fmoEwSMZoN5l-RhNPlDJAEJV2cqvsAAglgo-KM9gFt/s320/2017_b.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">COLUMBUS DAY</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">What is the process of letting go of cultural idols, but one of growing up? What, if not the realization of one's own ignorance? Is it an act of courage to recognize the falsities of what you were taught, or just a necessity that the chains of limitation may drop away? Or the possibility to see from another's perspective? Whatever it is, let them go, when the image they portray no longer serves you. To see the reality, the chaos and destruction behind the mask of history. And in the doing, to see yourself (and others) more clearly.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVc7hnnHR9qaYQawCE0oI35ENShxiO_BBv1y0og-ar3BUEi3r6MwcewEr6svj5HWXPHZj1Bo5zpJZG0vhkkZle_MURjFJ2IOAYZoghsvge68boDHZQcdP4TfnBeoJ0SXE2gh0egiLqCt2Y/s1600/2017_a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #1d2129; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVc7hnnHR9qaYQawCE0oI35ENShxiO_BBv1y0og-ar3BUEi3r6MwcewEr6svj5HWXPHZj1Bo5zpJZG0vhkkZle_MURjFJ2IOAYZoghsvge68boDHZQcdP4TfnBeoJ0SXE2gh0egiLqCt2Y/s320/2017_a.jpg" width="256" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">AMERICA</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">America, dónde está tu sombra? It is here, in all of the places where you don't see. In the back alley apartments, in steaming kitchens, walking in the desert heat, handling the food on your own table. Come, find the apparition, make friends with your shadow, or it will become the monster of your dreams, the unconscious dread and violence of your waking life. Dreamer, it is time. Awake.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>MEXICO CITY SUITE </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Works created on the streets of Mexico City in response to the energies of each space. Some of the locations of the itenerant studios included: Plaza de Arcangel San Miguel, Calle Jesus y Maria (outside the Ex Convento), Plaza Garibaldi, Templo de Nuestro Señora de Belén, and Bosque Chapultepec.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWKXePbzME2Q4sVs8JkEKgDHatf7M7YXT0jUvbmcWW9g-4k0bfhKpBaGMYm6_olF_CRmGIPcYSWaBwYquIuK7ay_gZkIEdifphIOE3PruZs6C3HhqR8cb93fDO7ia4MmoNqhfcMPA3Vtd/s1600/20170627_180145_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWKXePbzME2Q4sVs8JkEKgDHatf7M7YXT0jUvbmcWW9g-4k0bfhKpBaGMYm6_olF_CRmGIPcYSWaBwYquIuK7ay_gZkIEdifphIOE3PruZs6C3HhqR8cb93fDO7ia4MmoNqhfcMPA3Vtd/s320/20170627_180145_web.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVN6Zhxz8mTyUZRf-1fkgnGLiJ_gjG42QSEaSa0Eucx_HYjcopN_4_XHlY4tNlMEbKsPfrVZojFh6-M964c_JWzPk9tXrFNRuRsorNuPNjiu2yeu-UXG6XqqZ-lR-7gLCzTtAEBOCDxQvi/s1600/20170627_183219_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVN6Zhxz8mTyUZRf-1fkgnGLiJ_gjG42QSEaSa0Eucx_HYjcopN_4_XHlY4tNlMEbKsPfrVZojFh6-M964c_JWzPk9tXrFNRuRsorNuPNjiu2yeu-UXG6XqqZ-lR-7gLCzTtAEBOCDxQvi/s320/20170627_183219_web.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(all works spray enamel, ink, fumage, and frottage on paper)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiLfFxxq8KeNgRUTweRGjIyBO9acVleYA-L9F-a8sL76kuZiBOrkZUghpbTil_UjfC7gwZ3AXMg5yHWrMcTSzbiCN1zCsmVMhziC_AjpakRUr3hpFJxOGDqhOuP-V75Wz4qZhQtdr3p6lo/s1600/sin_titulo_dreamer_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiLfFxxq8KeNgRUTweRGjIyBO9acVleYA-L9F-a8sL76kuZiBOrkZUghpbTil_UjfC7gwZ3AXMg5yHWrMcTSzbiCN1zCsmVMhziC_AjpakRUr3hpFJxOGDqhOuP-V75Wz4qZhQtdr3p6lo/s320/sin_titulo_dreamer_marco_web.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo (Dreamer)" (2017)<br />22 x 16-1/2 in. (frame)</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTw1CzeHLjQ4bkuImn2dIinPQUo5Q-yIg85adW4Umpxslt9XAa-yO-NOoaCBb267Gk9VZK2a2TGAEtChjKrCZjTTq2tvfoXji74BPWVRaWxLtvOUPXENEL6gYct_IrWk53_ZRIJIlgQqdO/s1600/sin_titulo_aparicio%25CC%2581n_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTw1CzeHLjQ4bkuImn2dIinPQUo5Q-yIg85adW4Umpxslt9XAa-yO-NOoaCBb267Gk9VZK2a2TGAEtChjKrCZjTTq2tvfoXji74BPWVRaWxLtvOUPXENEL6gYct_IrWk53_ZRIJIlgQqdO/s320/sin_titulo_aparicio%25CC%2581n_marco_web.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo (Aparición)" (2017)<br />22 x 16-1/2 in. (frame)</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu4rkun0zJdJXfY6-cziyfJmn1fVyiYtPAyUoX-m1SGi1sEjemhJ5z1ianDwqkIhyqQAdDwAFAlLTS_A3WQHsrf4ymsX4uCG01K_FyhImghkEM9so-luhOqih-7voxd9EQnYcxtoq2bLt/s1600/sin_titulo_mamey_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBu4rkun0zJdJXfY6-cziyfJmn1fVyiYtPAyUoX-m1SGi1sEjemhJ5z1ianDwqkIhyqQAdDwAFAlLTS_A3WQHsrf4ymsX4uCG01K_FyhImghkEM9so-luhOqih-7voxd9EQnYcxtoq2bLt/s320/sin_titulo_mamey_marco_web.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo (Mamey)" (2017)<br />15 x 12 in. (frame)</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWt3hf9BzkLV7b3vSsV4ZpMf-xiG2aoOqyudfo7m0Zzme06hHrcACDASbsRgcplNbuxrxp6ZNj5DameM96J_XfUlRzd7dUh5fo4Ky9YpDJBh0VacjpuWs_48YUMBSObsmFt03fr8tJp1RE/s1600/sin_titulo_confesor_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWt3hf9BzkLV7b3vSsV4ZpMf-xiG2aoOqyudfo7m0Zzme06hHrcACDASbsRgcplNbuxrxp6ZNj5DameM96J_XfUlRzd7dUh5fo4Ky9YpDJBh0VacjpuWs_48YUMBSObsmFt03fr8tJp1RE/s320/sin_titulo_confesor_marco_web.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"</i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Sin Titulo XVII (Confesor)" (2017)<br /><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">15 x 12 in. (frame)</i></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcqxJmE71_mt69Kkc_sX0FbCOYgyi21GNlpimy_X5bIulxb42foXGdMxCLi75bsLALSEUO02mnkGrysufoAg2XB5_ltgWEIGyRaVeN6TpJLYvsuGtW9TD6lH6PpdYIOyQWsvhetEx2JyT/s1600/sin_titulo_sancta_peccatis_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcqxJmE71_mt69Kkc_sX0FbCOYgyi21GNlpimy_X5bIulxb42foXGdMxCLi75bsLALSEUO02mnkGrysufoAg2XB5_ltgWEIGyRaVeN6TpJLYvsuGtW9TD6lH6PpdYIOyQWsvhetEx2JyT/s320/sin_titulo_sancta_peccatis_marco_web.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo (<i>Sancta Peccatis</i>)" (2017)</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">15 x 12 in. (frame)</i></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfGbIR0a-pveEmgCD3igqbkH2YUJC4OD1CwVIK2K2LRRtzsY5NjubpXuZN2b5nUH7nNxl0c5y5Q6cF17U3MpQzDHJQjRlO9mirHxIky_rpMxi-gWmgZPRox-JuscYRLp4sxvDavBljx1py/s1600/sin_titulo_dos_caminos_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfGbIR0a-pveEmgCD3igqbkH2YUJC4OD1CwVIK2K2LRRtzsY5NjubpXuZN2b5nUH7nNxl0c5y5Q6cF17U3MpQzDHJQjRlO9mirHxIky_rpMxi-gWmgZPRox-JuscYRLp4sxvDavBljx1py/s320/sin_titulo_dos_caminos_marco_web.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> </i></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo (Dos Caminos)" (2017)<br /><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">15 x 12 in. (frame)</i></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaf57v_OjhpeGHYHyE-B4ROT9lHG9cZQrbSfIEp83pDhdlpoEE-iDQjItzK1oH0mIOa7VuNxezFp9AyRZ0-ZwXnmVAFR55sJrwVwvQEPM-Fbsg5gAkwAQgyGOU_Gp7cUiA1uNHQQdTjrWB/s1600/sin_titulo_virgen_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaf57v_OjhpeGHYHyE-B4ROT9lHG9cZQrbSfIEp83pDhdlpoEE-iDQjItzK1oH0mIOa7VuNxezFp9AyRZ0-ZwXnmVAFR55sJrwVwvQEPM-Fbsg5gAkwAQgyGOU_Gp7cUiA1uNHQQdTjrWB/s320/sin_titulo_virgen_marco_web.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo (Virgen)" (2017)<br /><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">15 x 12 in. (frame)</i></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDTxIbAcHqCB-OMVuiKhJZcjZUmdEtE8VBpuRdYhL0zPG2ynTTFirl-mu7DhfES5mjvow-a25_M73EOa0s8FsJMKe5i1o2vc6xOcL2azQOpaVNSnpMvVddOxZ1gIl3wJW7IbIz4pTWerl/s1600/sin_titulo_nearing_shore_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDTxIbAcHqCB-OMVuiKhJZcjZUmdEtE8VBpuRdYhL0zPG2ynTTFirl-mu7DhfES5mjvow-a25_M73EOa0s8FsJMKe5i1o2vc6xOcL2azQOpaVNSnpMvVddOxZ1gIl3wJW7IbIz4pTWerl/s320/sin_titulo_nearing_shore_marco_web.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo (Nearing Shore)" (2017)</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">15 x 12 in. (frame)</i></i></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJF3V-OzvzBRrplJUDnj4CGxhqemgsV8oaSQsUYCS9iysWwhc5tnD4pH2t-avsLJ3l-m33n2OUwKwN18ijsv9-kYN7u8WHQ0Lo4AW_Kc-AO95vq0j57RbNPoSE4zYLj4LH3fK4tkULSn1a/s1600/sin_titulo_ourobouros_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJF3V-OzvzBRrplJUDnj4CGxhqemgsV8oaSQsUYCS9iysWwhc5tnD4pH2t-avsLJ3l-m33n2OUwKwN18ijsv9-kYN7u8WHQ0Lo4AW_Kc-AO95vq0j57RbNPoSE4zYLj4LH3fK4tkULSn1a/s320/sin_titulo_ourobouros_marco_web.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> </i></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo (Ourobouros)" (2017)<br /><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">15 x 12 in. (frame)</i></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO_-6kC31smmjI7oh99vYXEPI-RUVcCNeq-jdNSg4xOfsOdo8MLk4T92Ryg2onqjup1-sL4jAvI1NcfCxi54jOQka3ZgHvN_U5399u4Ow5ZrxVw6_vMNhmTCDhln_6d70UuFdZD5ak-Cw3/s1600/sin_titulo_pussybar_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO_-6kC31smmjI7oh99vYXEPI-RUVcCNeq-jdNSg4xOfsOdo8MLk4T92Ryg2onqjup1-sL4jAvI1NcfCxi54jOQka3ZgHvN_U5399u4Ow5ZrxVw6_vMNhmTCDhln_6d70UuFdZD5ak-Cw3/s320/sin_titulo_pussybar_marco_web.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo (Pussybar)" (2017)</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">15 x 12 in. (frame)</i></i></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl8RolmdcVcZzfdZALtipMQDPaQLqA2oi7hWwA2TgswNeb0Ae-7KTz00lGdgKlvrvrAGjPkcisn-_gkfQ5Hyf_A1u43YBF_nTtceoSSmuotTyRNhFmUF68v5LPE3sSSUaAh97SqkV5GnVz/s1600/sin_titulo_scar_marco_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl8RolmdcVcZzfdZALtipMQDPaQLqA2oi7hWwA2TgswNeb0Ae-7KTz00lGdgKlvrvrAGjPkcisn-_gkfQ5Hyf_A1u43YBF_nTtceoSSmuotTyRNhFmUF68v5LPE3sSSUaAh97SqkV5GnVz/s320/sin_titulo_scar_marco_web.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo (Scar)" (2017)<br /><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">15 x 12 in. (frame)</i></i></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-70374191245762783792017-07-19T12:24:00.002-05:002017-08-29T21:55:47.719-05:00Mexico City Suite<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Randall Garrett</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Mexico City Suite 2017</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"Desde la Calle" solo exhibition<br />Taller Danubio, Cuauhtemoc<br />Mexico City / August 2017</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWKXePbzME2Q4sVs8JkEKgDHatf7M7YXT0jUvbmcWW9g-4k0bfhKpBaGMYm6_olF_CRmGIPcYSWaBwYquIuK7ay_gZkIEdifphIOE3PruZs6C3HhqR8cb93fDO7ia4MmoNqhfcMPA3Vtd/s1600/20170627_180145_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWKXePbzME2Q4sVs8JkEKgDHatf7M7YXT0jUvbmcWW9g-4k0bfhKpBaGMYm6_olF_CRmGIPcYSWaBwYquIuK7ay_gZkIEdifphIOE3PruZs6C3HhqR8cb93fDO7ia4MmoNqhfcMPA3Vtd/s320/20170627_180145_web.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVN6Zhxz8mTyUZRf-1fkgnGLiJ_gjG42QSEaSa0Eucx_HYjcopN_4_XHlY4tNlMEbKsPfrVZojFh6-M964c_JWzPk9tXrFNRuRsorNuPNjiu2yeu-UXG6XqqZ-lR-7gLCzTtAEBOCDxQvi/s1600/20170627_183219_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVN6Zhxz8mTyUZRf-1fkgnGLiJ_gjG42QSEaSa0Eucx_HYjcopN_4_XHlY4tNlMEbKsPfrVZojFh6-M964c_JWzPk9tXrFNRuRsorNuPNjiu2yeu-UXG6XqqZ-lR-7gLCzTtAEBOCDxQvi/s320/20170627_183219_web.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(all works spray enamel, ink, fumage, and frottage on paper)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_KiPIAyVNUadMrFsNRU4ltJ9nfbRuGCO-GN4gVXZ6UiVTH7WrduHaezVA3vNDJQSMN_t4gDtDRbSVS_GifCh0JNc_khTJHULCWzbgBchoGtYKXhYpLmmFrhalagd-xHLVHvtluJhyH_QJ/s1600/sin_titulo_dreamer_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="819" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_KiPIAyVNUadMrFsNRU4ltJ9nfbRuGCO-GN4gVXZ6UiVTH7WrduHaezVA3vNDJQSMN_t4gDtDRbSVS_GifCh0JNc_khTJHULCWzbgBchoGtYKXhYpLmmFrhalagd-xHLVHvtluJhyH_QJ/s320/sin_titulo_dreamer_web.jpg" width="218" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS7G75OvV-VDhzHD2n8QQKlTlH7xUU06oMIRHZZGeA55KVpvmlrqC008mh_K9mceM3JLQxRyZAXw2us05g-hCvFXLXFumx73GVMSYPLBRlgXkqpnqvdIqiB0x0Zlydgxty8yLtNYMsJ-Mc/s1600/sin_titulo_aparicio%25CC%2581n_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="820" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS7G75OvV-VDhzHD2n8QQKlTlH7xUU06oMIRHZZGeA55KVpvmlrqC008mh_K9mceM3JLQxRyZAXw2us05g-hCvFXLXFumx73GVMSYPLBRlgXkqpnqvdIqiB0x0Zlydgxty8yLtNYMsJ-Mc/s320/sin_titulo_aparicio%25CC%2581n_web.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Sin Titulo (Dreamer)" (2017) </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo II (Aparición)" (2017)</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo II (Teeth)" (2017)</i></span><br />
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Desde la Calle" (installation view) (2017)</i><br />
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Desde la Calle" (installation view) (2017)</i></div>
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<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Desde la Calle" (installation view) (2017)</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXBScCjLEKgWwOLV-Yt4BDLca9oDodqH-kXQUUfKlg__NTyDFZt2o9kQKTSSYOgyFtMN74AAB58ct7L9fuztj8L0CPnoqLItv1MRzTqsDdCv9Yay7MvGEAQc2sar72ULuGUbxVpima0EU/s1600/sin_titulo_01_sigil_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXBScCjLEKgWwOLV-Yt4BDLca9oDodqH-kXQUUfKlg__NTyDFZt2o9kQKTSSYOgyFtMN74AAB58ct7L9fuztj8L0CPnoqLItv1MRzTqsDdCv9Yay7MvGEAQc2sar72ULuGUbxVpima0EU/s320/sin_titulo_01_sigil_web.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wLYBtqj-OLOcItqPg3Olt3nFYp_IBGVOJhp0zTv6_fhWo5YjMBYtDFZVijvbAivCaygMoz3MznyQH8d0bEFV4vDbpUi7kmBaAEj7uQF5-fKQ7rQo6W9SrZI3JVqAg-poe6vQLigGRp9C/s1600/sin_titulo_02_un_viaje_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wLYBtqj-OLOcItqPg3Olt3nFYp_IBGVOJhp0zTv6_fhWo5YjMBYtDFZVijvbAivCaygMoz3MznyQH8d0bEFV4vDbpUi7kmBaAEj7uQF5-fKQ7rQo6W9SrZI3JVqAg-poe6vQLigGRp9C/s320/sin_titulo_02_un_viaje_web.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Sin Titulo I (Sigil)" (2017) </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo II (Un Viaje)" (2017)</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Sin Titulo X (Flower)" (2017) </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo XI (Puerta del Cielo)" (2017)</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMn4qVcU9zjmhgrkHK2uEWaPR12kLCsTjOhlQtWTN8K4zOaRsP1np6KOQEWVsJ7lBd0w6ps4WatDSpgKpm08s_xwj_SL1fZ5fINw2k27lXoAEUcC_LC07myVeTEE8kKrsmdylPzFFlJh4I/s1600/sin_titulo_15_lips_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMn4qVcU9zjmhgrkHK2uEWaPR12kLCsTjOhlQtWTN8K4zOaRsP1np6KOQEWVsJ7lBd0w6ps4WatDSpgKpm08s_xwj_SL1fZ5fINw2k27lXoAEUcC_LC07myVeTEE8kKrsmdylPzFFlJh4I/s320/sin_titulo_15_lips_web.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ7Q_mc_WreSWuKDcuG44GQ07rqG07DuULoEbC1HH-Ziw6LFHlTzwe37i1KG_nZ_hP35wdNIXZLSY-aNHxgeTPWCBTLBafObZcdmeiGqy0YIuoJct-HHjhxJwuk6qoD23N-r-Xw-8A8ROF/s1600/sin_titulo_17_confesor_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ7Q_mc_WreSWuKDcuG44GQ07rqG07DuULoEbC1HH-Ziw6LFHlTzwe37i1KG_nZ_hP35wdNIXZLSY-aNHxgeTPWCBTLBafObZcdmeiGqy0YIuoJct-HHjhxJwuk6qoD23N-r-Xw-8A8ROF/s320/sin_titulo_17_confesor_web.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Sin Titulo XV (Lips)" (2017) </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo XVII (Confesor)" (2017)</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Sin Titulo VI (Sancta Peccatis)" (2017) </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo XII (Left Right)" (2017)</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Sin Titulo XVI (Virgen)" (2017) </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo III (Towers)" (2017)</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Sin Titulo VIII (Mortal Mi Necesite)" (2017) </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo IV (Paso)" (2017)</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Sin Titulo IX (Nearing Shore)" (2017) </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo XIV (Ride Wit Me)" (2017)</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Sin Titulo XIII (Escalera)" (2017) </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo VII (Salubris Et Cogita)" (2017)</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>"Sin Titulo XVIII (Sonrisa)" (2017) </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">"Sin Titulo V (Destino)" (2017)</i></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-20905141236996314832017-05-11T14:04:00.004-05:002017-05-11T14:04:58.100-05:00Performance Artifacts and Objects<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Randall Garrett</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Performance Artifacts and Objects</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7xwjqVjtic77UBIZD8n5r6eO8xb4i1aRzOxOHy2Lw7hsjJcUd2JGsDAihkSFXigZcrDWLSwxZx6VvfKGVrEdOeOiYX4Q1IxTiCyYuByRpfBvT12qhmGhm_Ea6Vjxw95iYBXb7xxvuFsC/s1600/2016_boy_girl_shiva_shakti_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7xwjqVjtic77UBIZD8n5r6eO8xb4i1aRzOxOHy2Lw7hsjJcUd2JGsDAihkSFXigZcrDWLSwxZx6VvfKGVrEdOeOiYX4Q1IxTiCyYuByRpfBvT12qhmGhm_Ea6Vjxw95iYBXb7xxvuFsC/s320/2016_boy_girl_shiva_shakti_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"Boy Girl" (lt.) "Shiva Shakti" (rt.) (2016)</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinyCwYJf_ML_H1T-EC2RjpuEizYCm4f1ZYk69nWBNVHF8O_WIUI3x0CPHGqZKpKNKDv7E5L3VqPdDB0SmzzYj6nPuGIgElsdjuoD6Fy11jgh7fo_Yfsge3aW0ZZ9hiPf0dHRFKIlKjl86U/s1600/2015_graveyard_swag_i_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinyCwYJf_ML_H1T-EC2RjpuEizYCm4f1ZYk69nWBNVHF8O_WIUI3x0CPHGqZKpKNKDv7E5L3VqPdDB0SmzzYj6nPuGIgElsdjuoD6Fy11jgh7fo_Yfsge3aW0ZZ9hiPf0dHRFKIlKjl86U/s320/2015_graveyard_swag_i_web.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Graveyard Swag" (2015)</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0Y8yLkf49Bua3FrCfvjyhf576qhSYuE0XpWl3I9T-GFUa79-yw6-BVOxKHaVKqQRpYfFuos-8e_4bzxBskxAk1wnlenDgKajgFLZCBUs-k7i0RYDy6eEhENuqMks04f7Qb0p5gVeLKhc/s1600/in_the_shadows_props_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0Y8yLkf49Bua3FrCfvjyhf576qhSYuE0XpWl3I9T-GFUa79-yw6-BVOxKHaVKqQRpYfFuos-8e_4bzxBskxAk1wnlenDgKajgFLZCBUs-k7i0RYDy6eEhENuqMks04f7Qb0p5gVeLKhc/s320/in_the_shadows_props_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Bling" (lt./rt.) and "Stacks" (center) (2014)<br />from "In the Shadows" performance</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU39XghPL1NIAKs3T3YK9eDYVXbzinViL33gZRtUF-FHhPGhJYl6zWXIb4p76VEITvn0pDuwuUK51NMztDGkd67AWxm8kPdMq6_FFbea9ZZzQCz0P6BDUwiTBqSPQ0Piwry3ulhgZYgPQn/s1600/dakini_lamps_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU39XghPL1NIAKs3T3YK9eDYVXbzinViL33gZRtUF-FHhPGhJYl6zWXIb4p76VEITvn0pDuwuUK51NMztDGkd67AWxm8kPdMq6_FFbea9ZZzQCz0P6BDUwiTBqSPQ0Piwry3ulhgZYgPQn/s320/dakini_lamps_web.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Dakini Lamps" (2014)<br />from "Reach Inside to See the Stars" performance</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhRDBN5BCK7DIfYws-uACobTm6YV8DbShVoEy_8Kl5d0M07kTfP0sCS_KCPITKqRe5EbiF9HAruwmQIzokTzRRcMzHbyT4O6U2dqjDhK_eluxMexh2M6EXyqzdMAhbjoXHyxqbApV2LlP/s1600/2013_lost_book_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhRDBN5BCK7DIfYws-uACobTm6YV8DbShVoEy_8Kl5d0M07kTfP0sCS_KCPITKqRe5EbiF9HAruwmQIzokTzRRcMzHbyT4O6U2dqjDhK_eluxMexh2M6EXyqzdMAhbjoXHyxqbApV2LlP/s320/2013_lost_book_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Lost in the Jungles of the Vijnanas" (2013)</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhrzAODE4_gHqYsqoIfcAmxSkKHwCPuxBe-yKNsGGEIcjV73OY4XOEw9B05ic1iDLfBwXGspG9uajfPAL60Dfe3rSLcqT1tPNEJbNXhk6Rz9ehg-ymMFH3ABt3ncqaxdRDn2SSCIYE7z1u/s1600/2012_chains_ii_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhrzAODE4_gHqYsqoIfcAmxSkKHwCPuxBe-yKNsGGEIcjV73OY4XOEw9B05ic1iDLfBwXGspG9uajfPAL60Dfe3rSLcqT1tPNEJbNXhk6Rz9ehg-ymMFH3ABt3ncqaxdRDn2SSCIYE7z1u/s320/2012_chains_ii_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Cross (Take These Chains)" (2012)</i></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-45380148487868464972017-01-09T16:39:00.000-06:002017-01-09T17:04:52.580-06:00Writing (2017)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">WRITING (2017)</span><br />
<b style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> <br />Love, Loves, and Half a Love</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hillside adventures, sitting on a stone wall, he listens to her talk as she takes off her clothes and showers with a water hose, turning toward him nonchalantly as she continues the conversation. They lay on the ground, her head on his arm, then she gets up to go to her house on top of the hill. Erotic intrigue, wearing only a green football jersey as he follows her, tangling herself in a long mesh curtain, as he takes a pair of scissors to cut her free.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Laying in bed, he watches her walk across the room, lithe and tanned, fascinated by the white tips on her cropped black hair. Music plays and a shower runs in the bathroom, billowing in with warm steamy air. Fully opening the sliding door, he walks in to an orgy in progress, white guys naked behind frosted glass in the steaming shower. Closing the door into the darkened living room, he bumps into someone on his way in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Through the dim light, he sees groups of brown and black men and boys lounging on sofas and chairs in the dark. A young man with curly hair and a mustache catches his eye with interest as he walks by, headed back to the bedroom. Finding her there kneeling on the white bedsheets, they embrace, ready to make love in the misty fog from the shower. She stands up, pulls on some riot gear, and playfully attacks him with a baton. He grabs it and wrestles her onto the bed atop him, as they smile and laugh. Forcibly pulling off the gear, he slathers with white muddy clay, looking like icing on her naked body, and notices the strange way she looks sexy, like an indigenous zombie girl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Moving to the table, together they sit. He stares at the wet clay against her skin as she puts a leg under the table, touches his and says, “I’d really like to spend some time together, I think we’d enjoy that”, looking him flirtingly in the eye. He pauses, leaning forward and says “that would be fun, we could watch some movies, or just…” his voice trailing off. Reflective, he says, “I like my highs deep not shallow”, and pictures her flowing like a fountain as he begins to sing “deep and wide, deep and wide, there’s a fountain flowing deep and wide”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Later, asleep, the riot gear strewn across the floor and bedsheets caked in dried mud, he is awakened by a string of licorice dangling on his lips and begins to chew upward. Opening his eyes, he sees her upside down face smiling at him, chewing her way towards him, their lips almost meeting. Her baby girl is at her hip, as she places her on his stomach and the child squeals with delight. She picks up the girl, and they walk outside to the gazebo to her daughter’s birthday party, and he turns to hug her when she says, “let’s do this, on the lips”, as they come together in a tender and extended kiss.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He has a vision of his true female self looking back at him, poignant but coy. Brown skinned face and piercing eyes in the flickering light. Sitting at the edge of the pool, she motions and he swims over to her. Looking in his eyes, she pulls him close once more and says “kiss me”. Closing his eyes, they embrace, then separating, she looks at him again, and points down toward the water between her legs saying, “I meant here”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Frontiers of Flight</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Past) Driving an old wagon through wooded country dirt back roads, he slows down as they approach a group of natives walking in the middle of the road and pass through a huge puddle where they are ritually bathing in the muddy water. Pausing, he notices their long black braided hair and the bones they hold, and horses standing in the water with them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Leaving the puddle, they come upon a huge train of tarnished silver, and a mad engineer who talks about how he is going to take a group of unsuspecting people on one last horrific train ride. They approach the large stockage wall of an old fort, and the gate opens for them to leave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sensing the train on the other side of the wall, he realizes that if they stay, they will be killed when it fires up. They pass people loading onto the train, sitting in open compartments, and realize they are going to their deaths. The train powers up as it prepares to leave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Present) Watching as a line of soldiers moves across the rolling desert plateau, under fire from blue tracers. They move parallel to the soldiers at a distance, the two of them, into enemy territory, and find a stash of shrink wrapped cassettes and two amber crystals. His partner says, “you should take those”. He sees from an inscription that they belong to a teenaged Palestinian girl, so he leaves them there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now, climbing a high mountain pass, they watch as down below Nazi troops come near. Holding his rifle and waiting for a signal from his partner to attack, he looks for bullets but finds none. No signal comes as the troops advance on the high plain, and he makes his way alone, passing invisibly through a wave of attack dogs and their soldier handlers, who don’t see him as they rush to battle. Free again, he runs back toward the border, climbing a steep canyon wall of overhanging stone terraces to get back to his own land and safety.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Future) In the space suit, he fumbles with the pants, pulling them down to take a leak in front of the craft’s window, noticing a circle of people standing outside in the sun looking his way. Embarrassed, he pulls up the bulky pants vowing not to do that again. Still wearing the protective suit, he goes under a misty chemical spray bath. The zombies are taking over. His team is preparing the handmade space vehicle to pilot and capture a metallic moth in space to end their invasion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He prepares to leave his woman behind for the journey, thinking of the seaside cottage perched on the rocks, where they walked hand in hand on that sunny day, the air salty and warm with the spray of water as the surf pounded the rocks. On board now, in a seventies style room, with vintage mood lighting, on the wall a poster of that cottage by the sea. Leaving his fellow astronaut in the next compartment, he flips the switches on a bank of blue lights under plexiglass.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Looking outside, from the confines of their ship that they are in some type of alternate reality. He is hooked up to an intravenous robotic killing machine made from a video game console or cable tv box. Pulling the needle out from his arm, he stomps on it, smashing it to pieces as it attempts to skitter away. He grabs its flywheel brain, tearing apart the multitude of tiny memory chips, scattering them in all directions as his partner yells for him to stop, madness possessing him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Suddenly, a high powered weapon seemingly controlled by an angry being shoots methodically, hitting random targets nearby. He sees that it is a rogue fighter jet of immense scale, maneuvering along above the ground firing blasts from its nose, causing great damage. Now just a couple of hundred feet away, it turns toward him as he moves the craft obliquely, throwing his unsuspecting partner to the floor, and begin to ascend rapidly, moving skillfully into the air, quickly putting distance between them and the killer weapon. High above the earth and holding onto a four leaf clover as he pilots their craft, he descends lightly and faraway landing into a lush green expanse, feeling free and safe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Stepping out, he looks up at a strange evening sky as a blue white asteroid skims by, watching as it crashes into the planet in the distance, a huge dust cloud rising and spreading his way, peacefully considering that it may be the end of this world they have just discovered. Looking down, he sees that the cloak on his suit has a design showing that very same trajectory of the planet crashing down, in some weird kind of prophetic design.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Unto the Sepulchre</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Pushing an old cart along a rough cobblestone street, you stop and goes down into a decrepit cave like courtyard of a haunted church or grotto. You are scared and intrigued as you walk up toward a stone shrine lit by candlelight with creatures embedded on the wall. An open crypt is there in the wall, carved concave into stone. You walk in, thinking to yourself “I came in here to dream a peaceful dream”. Time passes and light shines through a hole at the top of the space, as you remember the dreams of the night. Kneeling on the stone cave-like floor, you look through a small opening down unto the sepulcher of deep water where an agitated sea creature, some kind of shark, is down there looking for prey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Walking along, you notice the floor undulating, as though it is breathing. Fascinated, you walk along its ivory surface, which feels like skin and bone. Kneeling down, you peer into a furnace glowing fiery red, like the mouth of an angry monster. Looking back you see a tall monster approaching in the misty darkness. Heading rapidly toward a stairwell, you see an opening that leads somewhere unknown. Diving in, you float and turn through space to look upon a vast underwater city, of abandoned antiquity, bathed in an amber glow. You float over the building tops, like rocky outcroppings, as though flying above them. Diving deeper, the waters darken and there are more swimming sharks. You see a word seeming esoteric and arranged in a circle on the ocean floor, but can’t recognize it clearly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Warm bright sunshine hits your face as you swim up through billowing ocean waves, other swimmers in the water nearby. You tell them no matter what they see, to keep moving and it will be ok. Moving fast across the smooth waters, you pass quickly through turbulence, and then across the path of a large snake, who rolls across and over as you pass, leaving it behind. Nearing shore and touching the ground below, you walk forward, neck deep, as it gradually becomes more shallow. You feel the warmth of the water, noting the blue color and white foam of the surf, and taste the extreme saltiness of the water as you head toward the shoreline in shallow rolling surf.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Buster Keaton</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Watching a beautiful film that he made twenty years ago. It begins with a fallen native kneeling on the ground, struggling to hold onto the reins of a horse above him as he tries to calm it. In the next scene, he pulls a dead tree across the frame from left to right, wearing only a swim suit with American flag trim, contrasting against his skin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Set in black and white, it transforms into a swashbuckling theatrical production. He slides down a sheer fabric and drops a long distance, but knows he won’t be hurt because it is illusionistic, a story. He unfurls a long white flag with a field of white stars. A young girl grabs, pulling the flag and breaks it from its pole.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The camera pulls back, revealing him now as a clown in ruffles standing blurred in the distance and dancing in slow motion. His hips shake and shimmy, an exaggerated open mouthed smile in black lipstick on white face paint. It pans to reveal a row of clowns all dancing freestyle in a row from tall to short, in blurry black and white grainy film stock.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hundreds of people watch the film in the auditorium. From the top row of seats, he sees himself on the screen, and then, opening a bottle of soda, pours it over his head in a meaningful symbolic way. He does it just for laughs, and the audience applauds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now, the film is over and the crowd disperses outside. Walking home, he notices red flames of light on the dark horizon, and silhouetted bodies dancing before the huge fire, as though performing some type of ritual. Zooming in to the illuminated dirt lot, a basketball player dressed as an African tribesman holds a shaker gourd in his hand as a tribal drummer plays. Sizing up the over the back shot, he concentrates, closing his eyes and tosses the gourd over his shoulder from a half court distance, a perfect shot into the basket.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Walking onto the ball court, he shoots hoops with a dark skinned boy and girl. Arcing the ball high toward the basket, it doesn’t come down. Looking up, he sees that it is balanced atop a power line. The line moves slightly in the wind, and as the ball falls downs, he catches and shoots it again, and once more it balances on the line, as the boy plays a special guitar made in a Mexican village high in the mountains. Its metal body vibrates, feeling like magic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The boy and girl put white paint on themselves in some kind of performance. He walks up and joins them, slathering paint on himself. Now, two heavy set men, old time comedians stand on stage in suits. One of them, the straight man, is covered in black paint. He takes a spray can and begins to spray black paint onto the other comedian’s suit, the fall guy, who is visibly upset. “All in or nothing!” he exclaims, and continues to spray his frowning companion, who flails at the air in protest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The children’s mother walks up, and pulls the boy and girl away from the chaotic scene, as he follows them. Together they run along the open landscape, as the atmosphere takes on a peculiar quality of intense light and storm clouds roll overhead. He senses that lightning is about to strike and tries to stay calm as they come to a cleft in the ground, and drop down into the crevasse for safety. Finding a sofa there, he reclines with the mother and children as the storm passes up above, and she says to him, “let’s do something creative”.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Finding a mic stand and guitar stashed behind the sofa, she puts on a black fur coat and begins to play crunchy slow heavy metal style chords, as he dons a silver metallic face mask and channels dark lyrics “unto, unto the sepulcher” into the mic with a growling voice. The boy and girl watch, as he continues to sing, now dressed in a pirate costume. “Well this looks familiar”, she says, unplugging the guitar as they walk through an opening in the rock into an underground cathedral with huge stained glass windows.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is an ancient indigenous church, carved from stone, and at the altar an old woman performs blessings for those waiting. The young girl walks up to her, past those in line, and drawing an object to her face inhales, moving the smoke from the pipe over the old woman’s body in a ceremonial ritual. Pulling incense or sage from a basket, she gently blows it toward a blind baby, held by its grandfather in the line, as a sacred act of healing. Stirring now, the baby crawls toward the basket as coals glow a low fire inside it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Watching the baby, he gets the distinct feeling that he is on fire and burning, but in another dimension, like a ghost or spirit being that cannot be easily seen. Falling to the ground, he yells out, “help me! help me!” as someone walks through and passes over him. He wakes up in a hospital bed, next to a black man wrapped in bandages. His friend, a hoodoo healer man, walks up and lays hands on him, as bright lights begin to flash in his field of vision. Getting up from the bed, he pulls the sheets and mattress away to reveal an arrangement of objects underneath, small tin milagros, swords and hearts placed in the shape of my body, and realize they are amulets placed there by his former lover as a form of protection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Tower of Shiva Tower of Shakti</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cascading waterfalls of pink light against a dark sky as irregular orbs rotate sunlike above the horizon from left to right backlit in the distance. Shimmering blacklight shines your way, rotating like a searchlight beacon at the end of a long undefined field in the dark. In the distance, a tower rises, columns of light stacked haphazard into the night sky, shimmering vision fields of indigo splattered star freckles strobing upward into spiraling magenta ghost flowers that unfold petal by petal, a black diamond sparkle hidden among the creases.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">At its base, you see a set of stairs winding upward without rails, and wondering how you might have the courage to go up. You stand there, picturing yourself climbing up the spiraling form as you sing “close your eyes, close your eyes, close your eyes…”, confident that you have mastered the performance. And somehow you do, ascending the spiraling tower staircase, where you see a majestic lioness guarding the top, and slip around the other side to avoid her. Climbing onto a structure atop the roof, you survey the landscape below. The lioness appears before you, her gaze staring into and through you, brightly colored lights all around her, as she holds her legs out from her body like a tantric deity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Black kaleidoscope facets of light envelope you, rapidly overlapping, as down below you run through alleyways, scenes spliced one into the other, images spiraling fast in sequence, grasping to hold onto one, but they slip through your vision in pulsating fractals so you surrender to the onslaught of sensation. Figures vague but familiar pass quickly in shadow silhouette as though running through a crowd in the darkness. Blurring and indistinct form gives way to neon chakra mandalas illuminating the night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Colors like a rainbow flag hanging in the air just in front of you, bleeding and dripping onto the ground. Feeling light and free, you rise into the air and move through the ethereal rainbow colored space.</span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-90711474077002681332016-04-25T11:21:00.003-05:002017-01-09T17:08:35.663-06:00Writing (2016)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">WRITING (2016)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Ten Days (River of Tears)</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(October)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ten days of tears.</span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tears of sorrow, tears of joy, tears of remembrance, tears of anger.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">A rosary of teardrop beads, each one a prayer that says just keep moving,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">take one step then another and you'll get through.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Floating on a holy river of tears washing away your resistance</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">to what is, </span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">your attachment to what was,</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">the salt water taste of both your denials and dreams</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">dragging you under with the currents.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tears mixing the bitter and the sweet.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Standing in the checkout line at the grocery,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">the thought of her clouding your eyes and burning wet cheeks.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Washing dishes in the kitchen and that song comes on,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">yeah that one, and the muscle memory it invokes brings a torrent.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">For ten days heavy clouds cover the sky a dull aching gray.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then, on the eleventh day, your breath it deepens,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">you feel the space around your heart begin to open, and the sky appears.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just a little, but you know it is there, blue and clear up above the clouds.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">And for a moment you smile, for the first time in quite a while,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">just the hint of a smile, and your eyes begin to clear,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">as the confusion rolling around in your head recedes</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">with those clouds and all they carry away with them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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</span>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Sweet Honey in the Rock</b></span></div>
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</span>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">- for Noah -</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(September)</span></div>
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Sun shines bright in cool air skimming across a sunny desert landscape, to a we are swimming through the depths of the cool, green water. I stroke the surface with him on my back, as we swim into shallow water. Tiny pebbles massage my feet and we come to a rocky overhang, a smooth bluff looming above us. Lifting him up to stand on my shoulders, he reaches into the recessed spaces of the bluff, and pulls his arm out covered with golden honey. Tasting it, lingering and basking in the deliciousness, the honey cascades down his face and onto his body, dripping down to the water and me below. </div>
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</div>
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<b>The Temple of My Heart </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(September) </div>
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</div>
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If my heart were a temple, </div>
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What kind of pilgrim would I invite in to pay homage? </div>
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</div>
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The ones who drop in from out of town, unannounced </div>
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Lighting a candle and crossing themselves before they leave? </div>
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</div>
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Or the holy day crowds, stampeding in coughing and sneezing </div>
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Kneeling down to receive me, their minds distracted by the week ahead? </div>
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</div>
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Or the mystic, deep in ecstatic contemplation of my glories, </div>
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Exchanging blissful energies as they wave incense before my altar? </div>
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</div>
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What kind of pilgrim would I open my doors and reveal my glory to? </div>
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To one and to all, in the outer courts they could kneel,</div>
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</div>
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But to the holy of holies only a few I'd reveal. </div>
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</div>
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<b>Litany (verse i) </b></div>
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(September) </div>
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</div>
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I love Andy, the way we collide like kids on a schoolyard playground. </div>
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I love Kimberly, her voice sultry and seductive lifting me to another time and space. </div>
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I love Ernest, when we dance it feels like being in the arms of an angel. </div>
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I love Monica, a deer in the forest leaping through the fallen trees just out of reach. </div>
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I love David, my twin star brother, wise and deep in the ways of the tantra. </div>
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I love Stephanie, lost in the safe space of her loving heart, laughter and acceptance. </div>
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I love Patrick, a hot mess of creative inspiration, intellect and worldly passion. </div>
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I love Nero, though we’ve only met once, in her eyes I see the searchings of my own restless heart. </div>
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I love Reuben, riding high on the waves of conceptual knowledge and self-deprecation. </div>
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I love Bethany, feeling her creativity, innocent and loving heart, especially in her absence. </div>
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I love Noah, engaging the wisdom of the shadow self, funky bass, self-love and soul healing. </div>
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I love Vanessa, wild child tossing my hair and taking me into the mosh pit of her energies. </div>
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I love Bill, playing a fool to absurdity, and lifting my spirits as his guitar gently weeps. </div>
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I love Melissa, doe eyed with words soft like molasses pouring through my ears and brain. </div>
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I love Luis, his face framed in eyeliner and jewelry, passionate as Shiva the destroyer. </div>
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I love Malika, holding hands as we watch the world burn to the ground outside our window. </div>
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I love them all with a love that is true, and I love me, and I love you. </div>
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</div>
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<b>Paradise is Burning </b></div>
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(September) </div>
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</div>
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In my paradise, a stream of water it flows, </div>
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through the garden and out from the tree of life it grows. </div>
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There, on those lovely shores I recline, </div>
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with my yogis and yoginis, my deities and dakinis. </div>
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Together we talk and we pray, we dance and we sing, </div>
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And spent we collapse on the shores of the stream. </div>
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And then from outside the walls, a cry we heard, “burn it down” they said, </div>
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before they take us over, deceive us and our children are dead. </div>
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A flaming arrow was shot, first one and then two, landing amidst the resplendence,</div>
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they battered down the walls, and with steely resolve pushed through the gate. </div>
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Smoke and the sound of carnage arose from the garden, </div>
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until nothing but ashes smouldered on the shores of the stream. </div>
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And all grew quiet as the hordes moved on to other conflicts unresolved, </div>
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In the garden nothing stirred, but raindrops fell like tears on the ashes there. </div>
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And the yogis and yoginis, the deities and dakinis, </div>
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Were nowhere to be found among the ruins. </div>
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As up through the ashes a green shoot emerged, one and then two, </div>
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and the rain and the sun it nourished and they grew. </div>
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</div>
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<b>Round the Fires by the Shore</b></div>
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- for Noah -</div>
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(August) </div>
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</div>
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circumstances they ebb and flow, </div>
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the waters have been like this </div>
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as long as anyone can remember </div>
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people yeah they come and go, </div>
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wearing away at the shore </div>
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putting lines and stories on its face </div>
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but high up on the beach sits a </div>
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temple not made by hands where </div>
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the flames of the true self reside </div>
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i see the kids round fires in the night </div>
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exchanging bottles and stories there </div>
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a still place a refuge inside</div>
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they go out and surf those waves </div>
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where the waters they crash </div>
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and find new stories </div>
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to bring back to the shore </div>
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some stories of loss, </div>
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hopes dashed on the rocks </div>
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and others of gain, new </div>
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treasures brought back </div>
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to share with their friends </div>
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in the lights that flicker </div>
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you can see in their eyes </div>
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the experiences they've had </div>
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as together they laugh </div>
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and sit round the fires </div>
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of the temple by the shore</div>
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</div>
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<b>Explosions in the Sky</b></div>
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(July)</div>
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</div>
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Lots of great conversations around freedom these last few days, all the differing perspectives and observations revealing so many varying realities.</div>
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</div>
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From his experience, freedom revolved around autonomy, creative expression, and finding the confidence and safe space to express himself openly. He had learned early on the safety of practicing invisibility in a normative environment. And the judgement of others when he let his guard down.</div>
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</div>
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But expression can never be happy in seclusion, for it is social by nature. And thus, to his point of view, freedom is expansive, challenging him to ever greater transparency and openness, not only with himself, but more importantly, with others.</div>
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</div>
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All this crossed his mind as they got on the elevator, the mostly white guy with tattoos and a glossy new pedicure, following his black friends Dez and Trey, and the cute queer mixed race girl from the Indies.</div>
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</div>
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RIding up to the roof to watch the fireworks, midway a white couple gets on, headed toward the laundry, the woman saying to her man as though he and his friends couldn't hear, "we should have taken the stairs".</div>
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</div>
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Trey looks down knowingly at his friends, wry smile on his face, familiar with experience as the couple gets off, taking their dirty laundry with them. He and his friends ride up one more floor, walking out onto the deck, explosions in the sky as patriotic hymns play from the bandstand down below.</div>
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</div>
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And he remembers someone saying one time, "freedom don't mean nothing until everybody's got some". He sings along with the songs in an exaggerated voice, "for where'er you go, you will always know, that those caissons go rolling along", sincere and parody all at once, and looks into his friends smiling faces in the colorful glow of the rockets red glare.</div>
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</div>
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<b>Rainbow in a Black and White World</b></div>
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(June)</div>
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</div>
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White, white, white, white, white, white, white. </div>
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White is the color of the new-fallen snow. </div>
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</div>
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Black, black, black, black, black, black, black.<br />
Black is the night of lovers under a new moon sky. </div>
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</div>
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Brown, brown, brown, brown, brown, brown, brown.<br />
Brown as the river mud squishes between your toes. </div>
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</div>
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Anthropology, criminology, ethnography, phrenology,<br />
Oppressors and oppressed dance in revolutionary fervor. </div>
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</div>
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Separations, reparations, declarations, inhalations,<br />
Fictitious fictions of nineteenth century pseudoscience flags unfurled. </div>
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</div>
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Boy, boy, boy, boy, boy, boy, boy. </div>
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Flags on a rocket ship shooting to the moon. </div>
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</div>
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Girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, girl.<br />
A meadow full of flowers shining in the sun. </div>
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</div>
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I'm a boy, I'm a girl, I'm a boy, I'm a girl.<br />
I'm a rocket ship shooting from that meadow in the sun. </div>
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</div>
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Black clouds cross the sky, white hail stones dropping down,</div>
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Brown earth, crushed flowers, scattered petals on the ground,</div>
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</div>
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The ice it melts, the clouds retreat,<br />
A rainbow springs from mud beneath my feet.</div>
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Bereft of nuance and without sight, the world sees things in black and white.</div>
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Yes, I'll continue to expand my view, and maybe even challenge a thing or two.</div>
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</div>
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Along the way, like Marvin Gaye, singin' "What's going on? What's going on?"<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I tell you what's going on. A rainbow is forming above this stormy land,</div>
A rainbow made up of us boys and us girls, and us boy girls too,<br />
<br />
But you my friend and me it's true we see the rainbow, an expansive view. </div>
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The black, the white, the brown, the me, the you.</div>
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</div>
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<b>At Water's Edge</b></div>
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(June)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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working hard, harder than you should.</div>
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but that's the price you pay to dream,</div>
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the realization of imagination's spark.</div>
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a funeral pyre burns at water's edge,</div>
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the steps you take to enter the stream,</div>
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and before you know it the flow is become a holy river carrying you away</div>
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caught up in something good for once</div>
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something that feels like an old habit</div>
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from way before those distractions took hold in the back of your mind,</div>
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a corner turned a dark alley left behind.</div>
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your jewelry and makeup on point</div>
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as you slip into the water's invitation,</div>
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sadhus and temple dancers,</div>
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elephants and tigers adorned in sacred garments</div>
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follow you in procession along the muddy ghats</div>
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chasing yourself, rest in the stream</div>
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your truth your realizations your dreams.</div>
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</div>
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<b>Flowers on My Grave</b></div>
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(May)</div>
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</div>
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Holding on tightly as the bouquet falls apart in your hands, petals dropping to the ground, those moments of caring too deeply. Yet nature is true to its calling, calling lost sinners come home.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A gandharva’s voice sings softly somewhere from the great beyond, “lay down all thought surrender to the void”. True nature says let go, let all return to the elements from which they are made. All of it, the memories, the joys and especially the pains.</div>
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</div>
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Remember thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return. But until that day, I'm gonna boogie, I'm gonna boogie oogie oogie til I just can't boogie no more.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You see, here's the thing. No matter how hard I try, this time around, I know you'll never love me just for who I am, in all my crazy, freaky goodness. And I’ll never be that man created in your image. It's taken forever, but I've learned to love myself, to water the flowers on my own grave, watching them bloom, wither and fade, and bloom again, and again.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So thanks for all you taught me, I guess this is where we leave it, leave it, leave it, nature having its way with us, scattered in ashes here on the charnel grounds. And love, love it goes on in those ashes blown to the winds. I will always remember you, until life picks up those pieces and makes them into something new.</div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITJr8gsGWImBUQEiN42fYGphwqeSQhEAG9XP5kn_hi7g27NrX3zVl5cAa1bL5a3YhbYOdEcAjDi8TmYttMEGlUygv_-WILQbKNkYxnH09XlpWz8RaFPSnbey6qXYVBN1q1qKzalJyrjAj/s1600/randall_blur_web.jpg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITJr8gsGWImBUQEiN42fYGphwqeSQhEAG9XP5kn_hi7g27NrX3zVl5cAa1bL5a3YhbYOdEcAjDi8TmYttMEGlUygv_-WILQbKNkYxnH09XlpWz8RaFPSnbey6qXYVBN1q1qKzalJyrjAj/s320/randall_blur_web.jpg" /></a> </div>
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</div>
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<b>The Aesthetics of Healing</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(April)</div>
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</div>
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The aesthetics of healing. </div>
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The ascetics are reeling. </div>
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Lip gloss and eyeliner in the mirror, </div>
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Lips that say to yourself, "you're beautiful". </div>
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The thrill of lust without sex. </div>
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The ecstatic space of unresolved desire. </div>
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The lure of the dance floor </div>
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When you're feet won't follow your heart. </div>
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The sound of blood in your veins, </div>
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That rushes like water to the sea. </div>
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The taste of a drink on your lips </div>
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As you spit it out like poison. </div>
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The comfort of a hand held close, </div>
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An exchange of trust, eyes open now closed. </div>
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The reverie of a long lost memory </div>
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Dropping down as though from heaven. </div>
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A beautiful voice from the dead </div>
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That sings love songs in your head. </div>
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Om shanti shanti, hallelu hallelu, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The words unspoken are the ones that are true. </div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Nightshade</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(April)</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Full moon hangs there in the chill night air, lighting the scene as though in a dreamlike haze. Its light piercing through to hidden places of the heart, a wound that deepens knowing naught else than to speak words sincere, words both open and true, saying fear not the motives of revelation toward that which you love. Like the nightshade which opens its flower only to that light, revealing its strange beauty oft kept hidden there in the darkness. It knows no other path nor calling than to be true to its very nature, which beckons it bask in that love which is its font of inspiration. What other face could turn its gaze other than that which calls its name? Open flower! Reveal thyself.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The Taste of His Love</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(March)</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I imagine him falling, stumbling there on the rough stone path, the weight of the world on his shoulders.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sweat glistens on his skin in the mid day sun as he struggles back to his feet, shifting the heavy load he carries.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And I see her too, brown skin shining in the sun, watching her watching him, love in her eyes, magnified through my gaze.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I don't know how to love him, what to do, how to move him. But, Jesus loves me, this I know.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I see them, before the world took him away, back in the darkness, lying in a soft embrace, tender is the night.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Now I hold him, and he looks lovingly into my eyes as I stroke his face and kiss him softly on the cheek.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He draws me near and time dissolves into tears on my brow as I lay my head upon his bosom.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I don't know how to love him, what to do, how to move him. But, Jesus loves me, this I know.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For a moment I am his, music plays and time stands still, shadows dancing in candle light.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And just as sudden we are back in the hot sun as I struggle to regain my senses, caught between ecstacy and delirium.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
People pushing to get a glimpse, I see him through the crowd, hanging there, suspended between heaven and earth.</div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I don't know how to love him, what to do, how to move him. But, Jesus loves me, this I know.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
His body glistens as I press through the crowd there at his feet, and look into his eyes once more.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And I remember that night, washing his feet with my hair, tears mixing with the smell of precious oil.<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Leaning toward him, I hold and kiss those feet, as sweat mixes with blood and grime, the taste of his love on my lips.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Outro) Close your eyes, close your eyes and forget all about us tonight.</div>
</span></div>
Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-46027249493574185402015-12-04T22:16:00.000-06:002016-01-25T22:17:33.154-06:00Writing (2015)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6wa7nUz6hUg00liXg_41-kHEsoOph7rrbcVOUgxxNl8t0IfptEbxoTC2hGdX8Zlh572GHtG8dMP29U3srW9ttkY7Q_4E9bScjMJFNv3xGxLYPVWEOqjRhrEO-F2rirIgKs3einmIs3cO/s1600/rg_cemetery12_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6wa7nUz6hUg00liXg_41-kHEsoOph7rrbcVOUgxxNl8t0IfptEbxoTC2hGdX8Zlh572GHtG8dMP29U3srW9ttkY7Q_4E9bScjMJFNv3xGxLYPVWEOqjRhrEO-F2rirIgKs3einmIs3cO/s320/rg_cemetery12_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Graveyard Swag (v. i.)</span></span></b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://soundcloud.com/plushgallery/graveyard-swag-v-i" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">https://soundcloud.com/plushgallery/graveyard-swag-v-i </span></span></a><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="_39k5">
<div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Trying to say something smart when there's nothing to add to the conversation.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Trying to practice equanimity, to remember this illusion, our own creation.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Beginning to hate, questions and doubts, beginning to love, more questions, more doubts.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Beginning again, again, again, twist and shout, echo, echo, faint, ever fainter, fade out.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Swagger wearing a scary mask, that hides a lack of self-confidence.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Swagger inspired to the task, that loves to flaunt it when you notice.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There is no need for you, for true, when I see my flag in the wind unfurl.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There is no me, there is no you, no place for art in this righteous world.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Power that pounds on your door, complicit, no sense of irony.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Power that gives itself away, that hates its place in history.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Violence, a pendulum that swings faster, in an ever quickening cycle.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Violence that cuts through flesh, through blood, words slicing, a revival.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Love that looks its enemy in the eye with an open heart and a smile.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Love from the sweet bye and bye, ready for the kill, or to hold you a while.</span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Can I Get An Amen</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://soundcloud.com/plushgallery/can-i-get-an-amen" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">https://soundcloud.com/plushgallery/can-i-get-an-amen</span></span></a><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Put away your mobile devices this morning and for a moment contemplate the potentialities of this world unfolding before you. White supremacist bigots toting guns outside of mosques signify the dying gasps of an historically monolithic power structure. The people will not remain silent to such foolishness.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Like the politician demagogues they court, their voices becoming more shrill as its grip gives way to the future, a land of ethnic complexity, governed by the oppressed and open to the entire spectrum of all the magnificent colors of the rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and indigo. A rainbow shining down that asks, will the royal road to the future be a smooth one?</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Brothers and sisters I cannot say, but that these are moments of clarity. For every time a voice is raised in hatred it will reveal itself for what it is, and every time a little baby is born into this land, it will breath the air of change and new life as sure as the sun rises in the morning. Can I get an amen?”</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdyd-lpjKju8zlhAfb30iFmhx8g6undvXprefFRSeShcXmEOPvDtSbrBkJxPWPMx72XYpzftLs7w7Z84owzhSO-d0lbo5giFO78bLQnXsN7escd1mkaMmTSCjdXKNsZh8KJIPiGfCQdYO8/s1600/yamantaka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdyd-lpjKju8zlhAfb30iFmhx8g6undvXprefFRSeShcXmEOPvDtSbrBkJxPWPMx72XYpzftLs7w7Z84owzhSO-d0lbo5giFO78bLQnXsN7escd1mkaMmTSCjdXKNsZh8KJIPiGfCQdYO8/s320/yamantaka.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Club Yamantaka</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="_39k5" style="text-align: center;">
<div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Heavy rains subside as the full moon rises high above the landscape, littered with bottles and cans in pools of mud standing outside the club. Like used up bones and blood of some charnel ground, where stacks of the dead are offered in exchange for the living.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Your companion looks back your way, a fierce glimpse that for a moment seems the most wrathful of the Buddhas, fearful destroyer of death itself. "Come", he says, taking you by the hand and stepping through the muck along the broken sidewalk toward the scene ahead.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You pass by hordes, costumed in the half light, swept up in the mass of flesh and sensation, feeling the pleasures and pains all around as they press into you, pulled along imperceptibly toward the gaping mouth of a dark tunnel that swallows all takers. "What... what?", you ask as he pulls you along.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Entering, in deep shadows your guide puts his hand to your chest, and you feel your own beating heart, and the subtle beat of love that loosens chains, entanglements of fear and desire and attachment. He looks you in the eyes and whispers, "Trust".</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Pulled into the darkened mouth of the club, propelled along by the mass of bodies, laughter and whispers give way to the struggle of bodies dancing and writhing through the sweaty haze and fiery hot lights of the club. You lose his hand, loose your way in the crowd.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Caught up in the insistent rhythm, your mind drifts along on layers of memory, traversing inner landscape of loves gained and lost, a revery of emotions until suddenly you feel yourself pulled down into the dancers, more piling on now a mosh pit of people sinking in, ploughed down into the earth itself, and as you go, wondering if you will sink in forever.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then from above you feel the firm hand of your companion, lifting you up staggering through multitudes of those dancing, struggling, sinking past you into the miry clays of blood drenched earth opening up below.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And you grab their hands too, climbing up and pulling them along with you, a human mala chain, like the steady recitation of a mantra, coming up out of the pit below, as it continues to swallow the swarms of dancers.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He pulls you and the others out and away from this abyss. Your ferocious guide leading the way through the hazy dreamlike space, the lights and beats of the club pulling all around into the concluding death spiral of the dance floor.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He pulls you and your new companions out through the chaos of the club, through a back door into the alleyway, shrouded in fog but glowing as though lit by some internal light.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Seeing him clearly for the first time, his wide eyed intense expression framed by spiked hair horn-like in silhouette, you ask his name. "Yamantaka", is his reply.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yamantaka, fearsome guide to free those of the ultimate and fearsome illusion, the jaws of death itself, slips back into the night as you and the others watch, and you gaze around, everything looking different in the new light and untold adventures that lay ahead.</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Waves Breaking on the Shore</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="_39k5" style="text-align: center;">
<div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Swimming through the rolling surf, others bobbing there in the waves, buoyed up for a moment he tastes the wet saltiness in his mouth. White foam billows in the warm blue waters and then washes over him.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Touching ground and stepping on tiptoes, he eases forward, the waters becoming gradually shallower, as the brightness and warmth of the sun's rays permeate the scene all around.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Feeling the sand beneath his toes, he notices the little creatures that usually nibble at his feet are absent, and wonders what else about the scene has changed. Waves breaking on the shore as he turns and walks in, the surf rolling gently across his feet.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">His steps take him through the shallow water, toward a concession stand across the way, people leaning on the counter ordering snacks and standing aimless in ankle deep surf, a young grill chef in sideburns and wearing a folding paper cap takes their orders.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Nearing them, he stirs, tossing like the waves and rolling over wakes up, pillows strewn about in the disheveled bed. His eyes adjust to the dark stillness of the room, and listening closely, he hears the fountain splashing outside in the courtyard downstairs.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Change is in the Air</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This morning another of the funky old frame houses in my neighborhood
bites the dust. A lifetime of memories gone in a couple of hours as the
demolition crew clears the lot, making way for the next oversized
modern McMansion, no doubt. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I haven't seen the diverse
crew of bballers out on the court in the last week, their raucous moves
punctuating the night air, mixing in with the sound of crickets
chirping and frogs croaking.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They've been replaced by
cop cars patrolling the silent streets, shining their spotlights to and
fro, and into my eyes as I walk through the darkness, casual authority
inquiring as to whether or not I belong.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I enjoy the
quiet, the night streets, the sound of basketballs bounced on concrete
courts. Change is a constant, I understand. I also know it's alright to
love what you love. And to enjoy it while you can. Change is in the air.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Notes on Suffering</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">To a greater or lesser extent, we all suffer. It's a natural aspect
of existing in the material world. When in pain, we can choose whether
to inflict our suffering on others, or to let it go and practice
compassion. That's a choice which is available to us all.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Another
choice we have is whether to remain ignorant to the suffering inflicted
on others that is structural or institutional in nature. By cultivating
ignorance, or worse yet silence, we support that collective suffering.
Personal suffering is a by product of existence itself. On a collective
level, however, it is a compound creation of all the solidified anger
and retribution that has built up within the systems that perpetrate it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I don't know if, or how, these collective forms
can be dismantled. However, I think there is a clue in how we respond to
individual complaints. The only way I know of to understand another is
to enter, as much as you are able, into their own perceptions and life
experiences. In that way, you can begin to understand their point of
view, in terms of both pleasures and pains.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You can
also do this with yourself and your own suffering. Enter in, but without
identification. Identification generates karma. You begin to identify
with and believe that "I am" the pain, or "I am" the history, the
distortions. Experiencing the commonality of suffering without
identification brings liberation. You feel the sensations, whether of
pain or pleasure, but also begin to let them pass through you like waves
in the ocean, with the understanding that it is temporary, like all
other phenomena.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of course, I don't want to suffer,
anymore than the next person does, or make light of how difficult it is
to gain the perspective necessary to step out of it. I only hope that I
can do so in peace when and as it visits me, and also to stand with and
alongside those who have been stigmatized on an institutional level, and
with my own experiences, too.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tonight (Intro)</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tonight the park is qu<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">i</span>et, the ball court well lit but empty, ghosts of
the raucous nightly ballers echoing in the silence of the evening. And
out on the edges in the darkness, locusts, crickets and other creatures
of the night make percussive music with their own bodies as instruments.
And walking through the grasses as though struck blind by night, you
move faster, perhaps impelled by fear, struck by the whole dreamlike
nature of waking moments such as this, or exhilarated by the terror of
the unknown, a spiritual thrillseeker calling out the spirits to play
hide and seek with you there. And raising your arms you chase them,
caught up and pulled in deeper to the dream, even as you relish the cool
breeze, pausing there for just a moment between two worlds. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Looking, Smiling, Laughing</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Looking at this form, I laugh at how it is so particular to a certain
time and place, and how earnest I can be about playing that role,
sometimes to the point of being lost in it. But that's how it works, the
immaterial taking on form to find expression, to play with all this
physical and mental stuff, with each other. Being born into this world,
into this body, with this history, this sex, and ethnicity, and
genetics, and cultural conditioning, and privilege, and karma. Today I'm
gonna try and remember that, and smile at the absurdity, and at all the
others having their own variations on this same experience, and at
myself looking back at me in the mirror.</span></span><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Late Summer (Lucky)</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Out walking this evening along the dry expanse of sun scorched grass,
you feel the faintest hint of coolness in the air, mingled in with the
otherwise solid wall of heat hanging there.<br /><br />And looking back, you
see an almost identical post about the same cool air from a couple of
summers ago, and reflect on how lucky it is to be here right now, doing
this again.<br /><br />How lucky it is to be breathing this air every day,
whether it's good times (yes indeed), bad times (thankfully not now), or
sh*t times (times past) they all carry their own wisdom and beauty.<br /><br />And
even the scorching summer heat billows on with the subtlest clues of
its own undoing, gusts of constant change and of rhythms repeated, and
all one has to do is walk and breathe and feel its tingle on the sweat
of your skin to know that yes, you are lucky indeed.</span></span><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Destroy Our Nations</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Many nights, maybe most nights, he dreamt of apocalypse. Sometimes he
watched as massive storms, dark clouds moved in low over the horizon, or
as cities on a mountainous landscape sat engulfed in flames. Other
times it was human violence, tribes attacking one another, fighting to
the death, or more personal, being taken hostage and watching third
person as they finished him off.<br /><br />He remembered the dream
from a couple of weeks back, his car lights shining through the darkness
as police lay face down on the asphalt parking lot, and swerving to
turn away from the scene, lights illuminating through the glassed in
entrance to the store, more bodies piled up just inside. Yet waking up
each morning, somehow it always felt clean, a chance to start over, to
begin again, like fresh snow covering a ruined landscape. He knew it was
all ego play anyway, and the violence just a reminder of impermanence,
how death continually swallows up form and choking on spirit, spits out
the immaterial.<br /><br />Tonight, he channeled that energy, and
standing there dancing with the mic in his hand, it felt exuberant, a
celebration. Singing "destroy our nations... destroy our nations...
destroy our nations... destroy our nations!", his friends joined in, the
four of them shouting and pumping their fists in the air as the rest of
the bar crowd looked on, bewildered at this interruption to their
otherwise innocuous Friday night happy hour revels. Raucous, they left
the scene behind, blasting out into the night, their chants growing
louder and trailing off into the darkness and beyond.</span></span><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblTOiomxOc20A5uwih1aAnlBl60hhb5pZ9VHQhDl2v65l4HvBzdfnSsR7TB8TllwG4OirqEG2eE-zJJ6wj8RDSgNElBWlR9jQOZaGKk0FSt4u6bWQen2X5cjy_urXO7gqee54R6vCYIOA/s1600/apocalypse_mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblTOiomxOc20A5uwih1aAnlBl60hhb5pZ9VHQhDl2v65l4HvBzdfnSsR7TB8TllwG4OirqEG2eE-zJJ6wj8RDSgNElBWlR9jQOZaGKk0FSt4u6bWQen2X5cjy_urXO7gqee54R6vCYIOA/s320/apocalypse_mask.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Apocalypse Mask</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Apocalypse cults wearing a mask</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">for fear of oppositions, of attractions</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> to the unknown, always taken to task</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">for seeds of the other that are sown,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For myths...</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">of heroic traumatized warrior savior deities,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">of grown men killing in the name of god,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">of a god that would kill all in retribution.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In the hope of prophetic usherings</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">of the destruction of an entire world,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">seen by the apocalypse mind</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">unfurled and unready,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">To let go of its tight grip,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">to let go of racism and gender hatred,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">to let go of narcissism and nationalism,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">for fear can grip so tightly.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And fear can seem so real,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">or fear can bring destruction,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">but only of its own illusion and stature,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">and only of its own illusionistic nature,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For illusion and fear are the mask,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">and but a subset of reality and love,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">of what is real and beyond concept of sin,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">of what is hidden deep within.<b> </b></span></span></div>
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja8-pXB0NG3Md1lMmdBuadISMNyysRxlOunCqsuKIJ4zin0Ub3abjDW4V4nrvXvp3EJzpGBEdQ0DFo6QlI2foDgJCwkbivEeWdPHDORc2iSCQkSixd16WpUwF_fXuMSWsBH_PQL0MWsU3d/s1600/moon_in_virgo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja8-pXB0NG3Md1lMmdBuadISMNyysRxlOunCqsuKIJ4zin0Ub3abjDW4V4nrvXvp3EJzpGBEdQ0DFo6QlI2foDgJCwkbivEeWdPHDORc2iSCQkSixd16WpUwF_fXuMSWsBH_PQL0MWsU3d/s1600/moon_in_virgo.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Moon in Virgo</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Symbols that show</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the heart as it feels,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the throat as it speaks,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the head as it understands,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">how it is now and always</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a time of whispered endings,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">of compassion and letting go,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">of new beginnings, new adventures,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">new learnings, new trusts.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And in the dim light, luck is smiling.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">New Moon (Aquarius into Pisces)</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tonight the moon is an invisible disco ball against the night sky,<br />Moving from the air of Aquarius into water and Pisces.<br />Watching below, the Nagas, bearers of hidden wisdom,<br />And with them the children of the New Year, playful and laughing.<br /><br />A smoky trail of sandalwood rises upward, to summon the deities,<br />And signify what if not new life, glamour, and attraction.<br />Moving across the waters, glowing green in the dim light,<br />Rippling up the chakras unto the fourth, Anahata.<br /><br />Green malachite and quartz there for cleansing and clarity,<br />As eyes closed, you scry into esoteric darkness.<br />Visions coalesce and disperse in indeterminate space,<br />An image takes form, a woman determined, gazing out across the blue sky.<br /><br />Her braided hair flowing, it gives way to a translucent heart of stone,<br />And now a lovely and playful dog, jumping, contorting joyously into the air.<br />As the visions fade into the warmth of a pot of lavender tea, and reflections,<br />On love, effortless and free, of giving and receiving and basking only in itself. </span></span><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihz2qgddw2rDQ_y2veg7phwgXq1ksLkqZedsvgfXBYD0srfn8g6zTQD_brtqT14gOJEtQpvllD0hO0j7J6iYRuxNT36ceOnza_vm1cWsjDKOi8Cm04T3TjVroapTWyeKlcbAxb3sxh14wb/s1600/1111_listening.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihz2qgddw2rDQ_y2veg7phwgXq1ksLkqZedsvgfXBYD0srfn8g6zTQD_brtqT14gOJEtQpvllD0hO0j7J6iYRuxNT36ceOnza_vm1cWsjDKOi8Cm04T3TjVroapTWyeKlcbAxb3sxh14wb/s320/1111_listening.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">11:11 (Listening)</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">New moon hanging there taunting,<br />Haunting saying what, what? Are you done?<br />Reflecting on his fatal attraction to that<br />Which is but distraction and the neglect<br />Of his own garden, and quickly gathered up<br />And rather rushed, all he can carry now<br />Throwing onto, into the fire and dropping<br />No hesitation no stopping, the bottle breaking<br />And his son calling, caring, the fire it burns,<br />Inside he yearns he yearns to speak<br />But listening is a such a special skill<br />For real for real they don't teach it now,<br />Cut deep, on broken glass and bleeding,<br />Seeing, it's 11:11 and there too, they see<br />Such is the nature of this tragicomedy,<br />That these, these angels those blessed ones,<br />Such listeners are they, from fathers to sons.</span></span></div>
</div>
Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-9469172239450973862015-12-02T22:26:00.000-06:002016-01-25T22:26:28.253-06:00Biographical Writings (2015)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Twelve</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="_39k5" style="text-align: center;">
<div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At the new school, beginning seventh grade, he felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. Excitement at the sense of freedom, of moving from class to class each period, of walking through the maze like atrium to find his locker, of memorizing the combination on the lock, and turning it just right to feel the gears fall into place and open. Apprehension also at the freedom, of navigating the sea of kids that poured out into the hallways and lingered between classes, of the possibility someone might want to talk to him, of the unknown rules and the attraction of endless rows of books on view as he walked by the glassed in windows of the library.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Lunchtime in the cafeteria faced him with the choice of going through the hot meal line or the hamburger line. Plopping down forty-five cents at the register, he tried the hamburger line the first day, but could not bring himself to eat the disgusting patty of dried meat covered in raw onions sitting next to soggy wet, half-cooked fries. Next time a kid named Ricky offered to trade him his homemade lunch for a hot meal, saying it was a "lamb sandwich". It sounded good. Making the trade, Ricky finished the line by saying, "Spam lamb". Played for the fool, but he laughed it off.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He quickly learned he could spend lunchtime at the bandhall, practicing and mastering the etudes, short repetitive tunes he played on cornet. During band practice, he would disappear into the music, feeling it wash over him in waves of sound, and forgetting about being self-conscious for a moment. He felt for Cathy, the clarinet player who contracted an incurable bout of hiccups when she was called on by the band director to play a solo part. That was really the worst thing of all, to be singled out from the anonymity of the crowd, and so he cultivated his invisibility.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Little things gave him comfort, like eating a tasty Zero candy bar at second period break, or walking home through the old cemetery after class. No one else wanted to go there, after all. The striking blonde English teacher, Ms. Schriver, introduced him to the writings of Don Marquis, and he disappeared into the stories of Archy the cockroach and Mehitabel the cat, both of whom experienced humiliating incarnations after having once been human. And, just like that, he fell in love with reading, with the imaginary worlds a writer could conjure up out of thin air.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In music class one day, as they sang "This Land is Your Land", a girl fell to the ground, convulsing uncontrollably. Confused, he watched as the teacher held her, among the students crowding around trying to see what was going on. Teacher said the girl had "epilepsy", which seemed like something mystical, a secret esoteric power. Later in that same class, they put on a talent show, and he gained a small degree of self-confidence performing a simple card trick for the other kids.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">His father had been gone that year, working out of state, and he spent his time after school at home alone, listening to the radio, drawing, or reading. The week before spring break, he overcame his fear and walked into the library, checking out "Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry Finn" to read. As spring break dawned, he brought them along as he found himself on an overnight bus bound for Amarillo to visit his grandparents.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">His mother had packed a box of pastries for he and his brother, and finishing one, he licked the moist sugar glaze from his fingertips and began reading. As the night progressed, lights flickering by on the highway, an older boy introduced himself from the shadows saying, "I'm Johnny, this is my sister Lisa", pointing to a younger girl in the next seat. He shook his head, continuing to stare out the window as the bus slowed down for a stop.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Hey, you know what I like to do", Johnny said, winking as he motioned to the gasoline station outside. "Pump gas, I like to pump gas", making a quick back and forth motion with his hand down between his legs. He didn't really know what Johnny was talking about, but knew it was adult stuff. Like the feelings he got when he hid behind the couch looking at the underwear models in the Sears catalogue.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Spring arrived, and as he sat in the gym at the end of year school awards assembly, he heard himself being recognized as Best Band Member. Walking out on the gym floor to accept the award, hundreds of kids in the bleachers, it felt like a dream to be singled out like this. He liked that feeling even more than invisibility.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Just before school let out for the year, he went to the dentist and received an unwelcome gift, a mouthful of sharp metal braces. The pleasure of playing the cornet became painful, and he felt like a trick had been played on him. At the band hall on the last day of school, his mom picked him up, saying they would be moving to Amarillo for the summer. Looking back at the band director, he said, "I'll be back in the fall", feeling they would need him, and not yet realizing it was wishful thinking.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b>Thirteen</b></span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When they moved to the new town, his friends from back home came to
visit once that summer, but that was it. No real friends, only an
outlier here and there, one like himself who didn't have a crew to run
with. There was Eddie the mixed race kid who would shoot hoops with him
while the other students were off eating lunch and socializing. And
Billy who liked boys and wore a big wrist watch that stood out on his
pasty white arms. And Jack, who picked up dropped coins from the
lunchroom floor and tried to hide the anger over his abusive stepfather
behind his thick glasses. They would drop in and out of his day to day
life, as he got moved around from class to class just trying to lay low
and not be seen.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He always ate lunch alone, sitting
as far away from the others as he could, watching the chaos of the
lunchroom, people mingling in cliques, as the vice principal picked off
the ones who stood out, hassling the brown kids with shaggy hair,
reminding them of their place. Walking down the hallway to get his books
from the locker, hoping the trouble makers wouldn't show up, but they
always did, walking behind him, saying "hey dork, what'cha doin' dork?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The
end of school bell and walking home was a relief. He would duck around
the gang of kids yelling "fight! fight!", as two particularly angry
girls went at it out in the parking lot, and leave them behind, kicking
the dust up on the gravel road as he let the day's anxiety roll off.
Back home, he pulled out his pencil and stack of typing paper and went
to work, drawing stories of his favorite comic book characters and their
exploits.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When evening rolled around, he'd pull out a
shiny record album and place it on the turntable, grooving to the music
through his headphones. "I wish those days would... come back once
more... why did those days ev... uh... have to go... 'cause I loved them
so." Night would come, desolate and alone, and he knew that morning
would come and he'd have to face school again.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He began
collecting the NFL pencils at school, hoping to get all 26 teams to
have a complete set. One day in class, Louis Johnson, football player,
tough, asked to borrow his pencil. When class was over, Louis kept the
pencil, walking out of class. He was afraid to ask Louis for the pencil
back, but wanted it, needed it for his collection. Walking up to Louis
at his open locker, and looking up into his towering eyes, and said,
"hey, I need my pencil back".</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Louis looked down at him,
baffled and said "huh?" This was the moment of truth, but he wanted
that pencil back. Cocking his hand back, he delivered a hard frap with
the middle finger to Louis' chest. "I want my pencil back." Louis stared
down at him for what seemed like days, then slightly irritated, pulled
out the pencil and handed it back to him.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The weekend
rolled around and he breathed a sigh of relief at not having school for a
couple of days. That was when he would take his two dogs, out for long
walks, hours on end, out into the rolling plains, nothing but barbed
wire, scrub cactus and occasional herds of cattle roaming the land. His
dogs would take off after jackrabbits and run for miles, showing up an
hour or so later foaming at the mouth. He loved the solitude, the
expansive emptiness and could feel its correspondence to his own heart.
Walking across the desolate land, he knew he would make it, that among
the conflict, there was always refuge in that interior stillness.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7HSIIFQBQejAaTqaqB3DhsBdBNao1QTZ3_mgaKbrmbdR0SzXTSkLi17eAbw5hpBbwbvhebRbxMYi6exeXJHhx_5OxoV1J5VaS23alwsApDfUbdAhd1YJcLSx7KZ2ryD5O6chLJuwlwt2y/s1600/jesus_christ_superstar_iiia_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7HSIIFQBQejAaTqaqB3DhsBdBNao1QTZ3_mgaKbrmbdR0SzXTSkLi17eAbw5hpBbwbvhebRbxMYi6exeXJHhx_5OxoV1J5VaS23alwsApDfUbdAhd1YJcLSx7KZ2ryD5O6chLJuwlwt2y/s320/jesus_christ_superstar_iiia_web.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Fourteen (Love, Alienation, Lust)</span></span></b></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span><div class="_39k5">
<div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Alone in the new town, he walked the dirt roads to school, and learning to avoid the lunchtime bullies, would walk home to eat, then back to school just in time for fifth period. In ninth grade now, he still played the trumpet, but the braces he got a couple of years back added an element of pain onto the pleasure he found in practicing the scales and jazz licks.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There really were no friends in this desolate place, no one to let into his world, so he constructed his own, a fantasy place of love, and lust too. For the fall semester it came in the form of Teena, known as "Boom Boom", the olive-skinned, doe eyed girl with luscious lips who played in the woodwind section of band. Seconds turned into hours when he watched her assemble her clarinet and warm up for rehearsal.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And when the band took an end of semester trip to the city to watch the movie King Kong on the big screen, he fantasized that he was sitting next to her in the darkened theater, instead of her boyfriend Johnny, his arm around her miming the tragic ape on screen seeking romance and connection. On the bus ride back, to take his mind off of her he watched the other boys passing around and taking sips from a flask. When he got home, he drank a little mouthwash to see what it was like. The alcohol irritated his throat, as he shook his head, but felt a little more grown up anyway.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At the cafeteria after church one Sunday, the server looked right past him to the next person in line to take their order. It was then he realized he was invisible. And so he decided to work with that, to develop it as a mystical power. He cultivated this power at school to disappear from the bullies in the hallway, and at home, holding two mirrors together in the bathroom he looked into the tunnel they created and imagined himself disappearing into it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">On the weekend he walked over to the university across town, and spent hours in the library looking at the books on human sexuality. Whole new worlds of the imagination opened up. Delving into the Masters and Johnson studies, feeling flushed and the heat of excitement down below reading the clinical studies of guy on girl, guy on guy, girl on girl, girl on guy on girl, and all the exciting variety of expressive forms that all felt very new and adult to him.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He imagined himself taking part in these games, but really couldn't see doing any of that with anyone in real life. Although, he could certainly fantasize about it. At church staring at the lady with long curls in the choir loft, the mother of one of the kids in Sunday School, he imagined undressing her from the choir robe to see what lay beneath. And musing on imaginary sexual encounters while the preacher at Soul's Harbor, his grandmother's church, stood there on the stage railing on about how Jesus was coming back to judge them all for their sins. Maybe even coming back today to find him out as he sat there indulging the fantasies and trying to manage the uncontrollable tightening inside his polyester suit.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Sometimes he would take his trumpet to church, playing on stage with the rock band, following the lead of the electric guitar and drummer, as the singer banged along on the tambourine, singing, "can't nobody do me like Jesus, can't nobody do me like the lord". Then back home at night, on his trumpet practicing the songs they played, as fantasies of all manner of sexual couplings would crowd into his head, thoughts of getting it on with man and beast alike, heated scenes giving way to visionary nightmares from the preacher man, dreams of the end of the world, of Jesus coming back, angry and violent, of everything slipping into chaos around him.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And that's where the music came in to save him, the soothing sounds of the stereo and his new found love of records. Slipping on the headphones and singing along, "try not to get worried, try not to hold onto problems that upset you now". Now that felt right on the inside, and he really couldn't understand why Jesus wouldn't be down with getting it on too. And his thoughts moved to Jesus and Mary Magdalene making it, passion rising from where he laid his head on her bosom.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Spring came and he got the courage to sign up for track, but since he hadn't played on the football team in the fall, he had to practice running sprints by himself on the dirt track during PE class. Somehow his confidence grew, and he begin to stand up to the bullies when they messed with him. In art class, working on an ink drawing, Wayne, the kid at the desk next to him, knocked ink across his drawing. Feeling the anger rise, he dipped his ink pen in the well and threw it onto the other boy's work.</span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And pushing back from the desk, they went head to head as the teacher came to the back of the classroom and pulled them apart. She called the assistant principal, but he didn't care. He hated the mediocrity and hated them for ruining his artwork, and vowed to never give in, to never fit in to their world. It didn’t matter anyway, he told himself, he had a whole world inside his own head. And it came spilling out in sound and color on the pages of his artworks, the expression of his music.</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-22468659422243068852015-10-21T17:30:00.001-05:002016-12-05T18:08:38.147-06:00Randall Garrett Artwork<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Randall Garrett - Artwork</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgCZnvZ6vIWuDrRXhwJjm-K1Cl-MNOkXbmyHsc0UpoR-UOcw7NMYNisn7dyIct4HKa6dZlUlcXSZm_xSOQJtgjb-mBTpXLrT9Z4JiqqnlB4pttRRCWue-zDeSXX8-EjzvAyC7rYEWy34gs/s1600/r_garrett_centraltrak_i_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgCZnvZ6vIWuDrRXhwJjm-K1Cl-MNOkXbmyHsc0UpoR-UOcw7NMYNisn7dyIct4HKa6dZlUlcXSZm_xSOQJtgjb-mBTpXLrT9Z4JiqqnlB4pttRRCWue-zDeSXX8-EjzvAyC7rYEWy34gs/s320/r_garrett_centraltrak_i_web.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>01. Shiva Shakti</i> (2016)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://youtu.be/bXjCf_EUucQ" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/bXjCf_EUucQ</a><br />performance w/</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">artifacts</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">16:15</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(CentralTrak - Dallas)</span><br />
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<img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKJTbZDHd635D0kh1BXfFo-qZ9puUVwez0EXNKRbdMiopf9Qa3eva00Ggh4OmztqdwonTjArV8ckhbcPljLNJR6xUDbUZ9Uwl3h-kefe_Spy_teWYLcZ81KRySrwUWC2XOgNw7r6iH3cy/s320/dystopian_dreams_performance_102916_web.jpg" width="320" /></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>02. Dystopian Dreams</i> (2016)<br /><a href="https://youtu.be/qpW9WANbzp8" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/qpW9WANbzp8</a><br />performance w/</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">artifacts</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">13:45</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(MFA Gallery - Dallas)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKmTkhF5dZJVpCF3ltUuhXiyzLUZCwoqDt_4yaE8A91F2L1xXN5dbsm98w7z9Dn8SZkuQqtUuECizZf7KEdOYt6Hdswm93kLdY-960dsYc5V7VerjBGVVl6vTHYdG_ZfYf3-ACcQig_clC/s1600/disputed_ideals_ro2_art_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKmTkhF5dZJVpCF3ltUuhXiyzLUZCwoqDt_4yaE8A91F2L1xXN5dbsm98w7z9Dn8SZkuQqtUuECizZf7KEdOYt6Hdswm93kLdY-960dsYc5V7VerjBGVVl6vTHYdG_ZfYf3-ACcQig_clC/s320/disputed_ideals_ro2_art_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>03. Disputed Ideals</i> (2016)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">mixed media installation<br />dimensions variable</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Ro2 Art - Dallas)</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCFhvC6OmK67u85_cWOY0oP1VHKlUOGD24y1w6grH9OntrAGnIkoRdbaCJhGS2MKCHLXdW7KyHnl5Rmta0SMvWas4y3SIVIzclbYiw-Av7YwQEfJnjGhfo2Wom34g8EZMYtAwewBnM6J0B/s1600/shiva_shakti_prosthetic_i_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCFhvC6OmK67u85_cWOY0oP1VHKlUOGD24y1w6grH9OntrAGnIkoRdbaCJhGS2MKCHLXdW7KyHnl5Rmta0SMvWas4y3SIVIzclbYiw-Av7YwQEfJnjGhfo2Wom34g8EZMYtAwewBnM6J0B/s320/shiva_shakti_prosthetic_i_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>04. Prosthetic (Shiva Shakti)</i> (2016)</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">performance artifact<br />dimensions variable</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(CentralTrak - Dallas)</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoVnlwcCy_EAM6b27Ma4YU93m1FIKKcItliyz5ULAi8MriyIGrvBAK9Z_3VbiHMn_afzPLOe5gPcbMxNcENwuNf5DQE5hDHuzBoNRJKJGUlZp-g9ufv_t_z7bic7J709SKguwulRaQvBe/s1600/devil_be_gone_still_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLoVnlwcCy_EAM6b27Ma4YU93m1FIKKcItliyz5ULAi8MriyIGrvBAK9Z_3VbiHMn_afzPLOe5gPcbMxNcENwuNf5DQE5hDHuzBoNRJKJGUlZp-g9ufv_t_z7bic7J709SKguwulRaQvBe/s320/devil_be_gone_still_2015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>05. Devil Be Gone</i> (2015)<br /><a href="https://youtu.be/sWQfv5URxjQ" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/sWQfv5URxjQ</a><br />performance video</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />2:15</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(filmed in New Orleans)</span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQawNJecw7noB6LG4s2FUoPv_i3D8SlauFYAsYnF3WeoykNTyU-j65gAsL14bZGiR1OSWtMTx8ZtEzIRwIgM4mEG0tnYmjvyb4KJOb7yENPj-dk1AclGHX4uT3t8Bc2A5ILjUZHl8KPcU4/s1600/graveyard_swag_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQawNJecw7noB6LG4s2FUoPv_i3D8SlauFYAsYnF3WeoykNTyU-j65gAsL14bZGiR1OSWtMTx8ZtEzIRwIgM4mEG0tnYmjvyb4KJOb7yENPj-dk1AclGHX4uT3t8Bc2A5ILjUZHl8KPcU4/s320/graveyard_swag_2015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>06. Graveyard Swag</i> (2015)<br /><a href="https://youtu.be/u4cQss0sL7Y" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/u4cQss0sL7Y</a><br />collaborative performance w/</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">artifacts</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />7:30 (complete)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Bathhouse Cultural Center - Dallas)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9jseeBrYlQ39ZfkkoEHZhK0ESaDK760rWhA8lyAOSU3rtTowXduLiLA9XQzVmm3hJS-c9qRZmIxsPJx_vHpCqho1hGYG7sRKeIb8462AsWfWvG7NymZIFUTPonHZ-DQNVzS6nj4h23ZgQ/s1600/01_graveyard_swag_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9jseeBrYlQ39ZfkkoEHZhK0ESaDK760rWhA8lyAOSU3rtTowXduLiLA9XQzVmm3hJS-c9qRZmIxsPJx_vHpCqho1hGYG7sRKeIb8462AsWfWvG7NymZIFUTPonHZ-DQNVzS6nj4h23ZgQ/s320/01_graveyard_swag_2015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>07. Graveyard Swag</i> (2015)<br />
mixed media installation </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(performance artifacts)</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />
72 x 144 in.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(El Centro College - Dallas)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLncN5mNd10CaFSVGeyaXVIAmi7w51KB7n54H2hs8rdpp0gPTYLPU28D0lVTdSwRNBY_31xGHdNDzhOj0RnojeN3elUw0m2XVe0d0KP9ddBLcDJxdjrpk0ngMDRI6d08qqs5qb2ViZe47/s1600/02_graveyard_swag_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLncN5mNd10CaFSVGeyaXVIAmi7w51KB7n54H2hs8rdpp0gPTYLPU28D0lVTdSwRNBY_31xGHdNDzhOj0RnojeN3elUw0m2XVe0d0KP9ddBLcDJxdjrpk0ngMDRI6d08qqs5qb2ViZe47/s320/02_graveyard_swag_2015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>08. Graveyard Swag</i> (2015)<br />
mixed media installation<br />
72 x 192 x 60 in.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Bathhouse Cultural Center - Dallas)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkTJSGIxm_WiA1qmrmSilBcamzRM0fBB1z9-yryBIUbNdJztvTT4eib1dM9RVM8hrh-OaaQp-dg_bjYXoPYBnyVjR_qqgV1njaksnPF9uLyFL4TYa1M7pIiM5U36zmdE8IVJoWvXRtwTxV/s1600/03_shiva_shakti_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkTJSGIxm_WiA1qmrmSilBcamzRM0fBB1z9-yryBIUbNdJztvTT4eib1dM9RVM8hrh-OaaQp-dg_bjYXoPYBnyVjR_qqgV1njaksnPF9uLyFL4TYa1M7pIiM5U36zmdE8IVJoWvXRtwTxV/s320/03_shiva_shakti_2015.jpg" width="242" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>09. Shiva Shakti</i> (2015)<br />
tempera on digital print<br />
30 x 22 in.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtEpSLLAV_KbH4RH7q-qyJLNKY7IVbB6m3c8X4u5qHlx19ym6X5qVkq7nj0S7W8QEpR4YR1X_EJ4i9uIP0tiyaE-L8aaYFwYCpjKOon4aFyAiaEx13GEkllJPqZ5-SFgcmUV4z20VPo5jI/s1600/inferno_suite_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtEpSLLAV_KbH4RH7q-qyJLNKY7IVbB6m3c8X4u5qHlx19ym6X5qVkq7nj0S7W8QEpR4YR1X_EJ4i9uIP0tiyaE-L8aaYFwYCpjKOon4aFyAiaEx13GEkllJPqZ5-SFgcmUV4z20VPo5jI/s320/inferno_suite_2014.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>10. Inferno Suite</i> (2014)<br />(w/Reivin Alexandria)<br /><a href="https://youtu.be/UJKCkklg-Fs" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/UJKCkklg-Fs</a><br />collaborative performance w/</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">artifacts</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />15:00 (complete)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(MFA Gallery - Dallas)</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_2qCU-laOYqfC7hbiQeFm_-4gzvobMjlU5xknz6uhGCE-jwhAPsus6JjN53rinTlUZfSbOKEkxXhalJQvNv5tp8aiTO91zDTsp1jujm3k0n6_UCtOH06BtIA-LyBx2YVao59YiRTuCJt/s1600/bride_stripped_bare_2014_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_2qCU-laOYqfC7hbiQeFm_-4gzvobMjlU5xknz6uhGCE-jwhAPsus6JjN53rinTlUZfSbOKEkxXhalJQvNv5tp8aiTO91zDTsp1jujm3k0n6_UCtOH06BtIA-LyBx2YVao59YiRTuCJt/s320/bride_stripped_bare_2014_web.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>11. The Bride Stripped Bare</i> (2014)<br />(w/Reivin Alexandria)<br /><a href="https://youtu.be/KgUICGAizqc" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/KgUICGAizqc</a><br />collaborative performance w/</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">artifacts</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />13:30</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(CorinthPark - Dallas)</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRpisbG2Q113Krn2HYi0fhiZzyM9Z2kbAzIDWgN5KI5lT9Yy2toIbogyXXYJkQVy4_TbfOaWI-UCAnmJDxlbelpXuofWO8T7d7X9mExfWdg0aRJCz_Ega5HtkDLTsxgXZ5Y2IRdHEKtie/s1600/in_the_shadows_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRpisbG2Q113Krn2HYi0fhiZzyM9Z2kbAzIDWgN5KI5lT9Yy2toIbogyXXYJkQVy4_TbfOaWI-UCAnmJDxlbelpXuofWO8T7d7X9mExfWdg0aRJCz_Ega5HtkDLTsxgXZ5Y2IRdHEKtie/s320/in_the_shadows_2014.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">12. In the Shadows</i> (2014)<br />(w/Reivin Alexandria and Melissa Martinez)<br /><a href="https://youtu.be/rkouX0g7700" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/rkouX0g7700</a><br />collaborative performance w/</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">artifacts</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />15:00 (complete)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Kirk Hopper Fine Art - Dallas)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUceKx_p2ivkYpN1qN8zCMDZd7WDb3IhP8UrIMLfzMU7-4SNpKzJnFqhRY9lJZRP7qTX2ReLYrp2aOFW0J4q5293SRFfkeEfuPfB_OhzXwRrumWqUFDhAbowQeaxBhpAQQGcJAnaNxUeeV/s1600/in_the_shadows_artifacts_2014_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUceKx_p2ivkYpN1qN8zCMDZd7WDb3IhP8UrIMLfzMU7-4SNpKzJnFqhRY9lJZRP7qTX2ReLYrp2aOFW0J4q5293SRFfkeEfuPfB_OhzXwRrumWqUFDhAbowQeaxBhpAQQGcJAnaNxUeeV/s320/in_the_shadows_artifacts_2014_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>13. In the Shadows</i> (2014)<br />mixed media performance </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">artifacts</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />dimensions variable</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Kirk Hopper Fine Art - Dallas)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZQshnoI-nJjoOR4r7Vu8bB24ZWHsTmEeMzCY-qwIv_d91TfrLFXgq-dJrH9UCf3VT3weximdDTHciMerWIR05mXiWhTvLrYJ7rfpWx761va1uojQEbgMvmBjiN_ws-PIdxQqL3EXX5qt/s1600/make_it_rain_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZQshnoI-nJjoOR4r7Vu8bB24ZWHsTmEeMzCY-qwIv_d91TfrLFXgq-dJrH9UCf3VT3weximdDTHciMerWIR05mXiWhTvLrYJ7rfpWx761va1uojQEbgMvmBjiN_ws-PIdxQqL3EXX5qt/s320/make_it_rain_2014.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">14. Make It Rain</i> (2014)<br />(w/Winter Riddle)<br /><a href="https://youtu.be/z3khPniT-lc" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/z3khPniT-lc</a><br />collaborative performance w/</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">artifacts</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />5:14</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Eggman & Walrus - Santa Fe)</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVvTCRPzYmNubzq_3xQ9o5iC0er2XTDiUVDf1mom36HWmKiy5Lf3sR8m9Zl-IxsG6WhuM9_pLg_JoYymIGs1STWW7JDgyif_oZd5LFeRyWSCPV4VM0uXh9kBbbBtENwnYnJUx4gsC2C9t/s1600/reach_inside_beefhaus_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRVvTCRPzYmNubzq_3xQ9o5iC0er2XTDiUVDf1mom36HWmKiy5Lf3sR8m9Zl-IxsG6WhuM9_pLg_JoYymIGs1STWW7JDgyif_oZd5LFeRyWSCPV4VM0uXh9kBbbBtENwnYnJUx4gsC2C9t/s320/reach_inside_beefhaus_2014.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>15. Reach Inside to See the Stars</i> (2014)<br /><a href="https://youtu.be/mYRUS-99nI4" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/mYRUS-99nI4</a><br />collaborative performance w/</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">artifacts</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />18:00 (complete)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(Beefhaus - Dallas)</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJaAU1PswLCLKexPWeLsog7JQokL3WhdJKodpjzF27J5751GpIRlXiLy5rwtSXUjwgW_J-gP4obXkGh3mWUFVotJV51FIfsXxjH8DqRKnC_95ooGngGyk91myckj63zxRm2KG_xP455yL/s1600/eating_drinking_500x_2013_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRJaAU1PswLCLKexPWeLsog7JQokL3WhdJKodpjzF27J5751GpIRlXiLy5rwtSXUjwgW_J-gP4obXkGh3mWUFVotJV51FIfsXxjH8DqRKnC_95ooGngGyk91myckj63zxRm2KG_xP455yL/s320/eating_drinking_500x_2013_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>16. Last Dance - The Worker</i> (2013)<br /><a href="https://youtu.be/tpQ6J6I8hBE" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/tpQ6J6I8hBE</a><br />performance w/</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">artifacts</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />9:00 (complete)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(500X Gallery - Dallas)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNQd7XevP3wWnp7eJ-nwXMC40_KIx1pRFZoToCdSjWmkzf8ViLhCg2mVDLhPpwZki6c1nVnJJWO8ZWBcgPBDGQMmKyS9qbA89rzOxugbvtDk3hLi8VNdbHvdjRjA2mEEXzk3TKjt6H58F/s1600/04_year_of_bleeding_profusely_2014_ii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNQd7XevP3wWnp7eJ-nwXMC40_KIx1pRFZoToCdSjWmkzf8ViLhCg2mVDLhPpwZki6c1nVnJJWO8ZWBcgPBDGQMmKyS9qbA89rzOxugbvtDk3hLi8VNdbHvdjRjA2mEEXzk3TKjt6H58F/s320/04_year_of_bleeding_profusely_2014_ii.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>17. The Year of Bleeding
Profusely</i> (2013)<br />
tempera, latex, and collage on canvas</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(performance artifact)</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />
60 x 192 in.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdhHWF17jC4E9MhavvGdfRYA5rbkrBxjQXIzPf-o37WL7ZB1hFAVeK-xcUvynpuis3yt94kVh-l0ZO7yc4kiXHsdXBz_X17A8-YufZGLu5tRjNDlostuzjACwHLIL2Fcef7E36tSVW6j0/s1600/bleeding_profusely_2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdhHWF17jC4E9MhavvGdfRYA5rbkrBxjQXIzPf-o37WL7ZB1hFAVeK-xcUvynpuis3yt94kVh-l0ZO7yc4kiXHsdXBz_X17A8-YufZGLu5tRjNDlostuzjACwHLIL2Fcef7E36tSVW6j0/s320/bleeding_profusely_2013.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>18. The Year of Bleeding Profusely</i> (2013)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">performance video</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://youtu.be/7VTeTKIPLQ4" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/7VTeTKIPLQ4</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">3:04</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1R5bYNvEYwTdY7olGUSmTpWThooOWZFeiE1q03vbZWmbiWsyGlZ8aGfDHwpdc8kb_4kQe-vMJP4IR3ci1hibZmJG7B2T21T77Byak-75pcAG7708sJ666zeQ6puehFmDvWZnr1lVn2PX_/s1600/dissolve_space_2013_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1R5bYNvEYwTdY7olGUSmTpWThooOWZFeiE1q03vbZWmbiWsyGlZ8aGfDHwpdc8kb_4kQe-vMJP4IR3ci1hibZmJG7B2T21T77Byak-75pcAG7708sJ666zeQ6puehFmDvWZnr1lVn2PX_/s320/dissolve_space_2013_web.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">19. To Dissolve Space into Luminosity</i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> (2013)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">performance w/artifacts</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://youtu.be/Rw9p382wxuY" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/Rw9p382wxuY</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">34:22 (complete)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnM3MpdU2HC0zoVoxDNNbGWlLR_T_jW4E8deegKPo-mWzP7ALajKm8tIcflNxQToqkv6KzPSWNX4FSsWlyC9R4VkMKIPc9FNSOC5vwsWXG5DZkZVj_f5wIlwQpxOIoMcAIo_Ds4TsKHxxH/s1600/06_to_dissolve_space_2013_ii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnM3MpdU2HC0zoVoxDNNbGWlLR_T_jW4E8deegKPo-mWzP7ALajKm8tIcflNxQToqkv6KzPSWNX4FSsWlyC9R4VkMKIPc9FNSOC5vwsWXG5DZkZVj_f5wIlwQpxOIoMcAIo_Ds4TsKHxxH/s320/06_to_dissolve_space_2013_ii.jpg" width="317" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">20. To Dissolve Space Into Luminosity</i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(2013)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">latex and collage on canvas</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(performance artifact)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">52 x 52 in.</span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-34072895683414109512015-10-21T00:00:00.000-05:002015-10-21T17:56:54.180-05:00Randall Garrett Examples of Student Work<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Randall Garrett</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Examples of Student Work</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieC1q-2weZLrhVLQmRGu9Dmdr7X-9BSZDjT7hCrK_5hC9EbN4cVYAJSt9z_QrdolscvGhjb3nf7UBoWKiH6Nx4sqVQq17FktjZxK8e89e5Ne36mfuxxo87zHDLh0p2NVeR8D13JnjTFVW-/s1600/01_student_chiaroscuro_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieC1q-2weZLrhVLQmRGu9Dmdr7X-9BSZDjT7hCrK_5hC9EbN4cVYAJSt9z_QrdolscvGhjb3nf7UBoWKiH6Nx4sqVQq17FktjZxK8e89e5Ne36mfuxxo87zHDLh0p2NVeR8D13JnjTFVW-/s320/01_student_chiaroscuro_2015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">01. Chiaroscuro</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">digital photograph</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fr0f4EJxoCUXdf1fIsn-mLOUXjHSum7UtJSBHw0VwNdEoA8E_2jwtKnxZdBLOMXlnyCtj7Q6KAbZI2GOspabwKhyphenhyphenRYV8zwUmgi9uuWfC9v9su0Yzj90frOT7ZsvTRYX454voAr43apwS/s1600/02_radial_balance_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fr0f4EJxoCUXdf1fIsn-mLOUXjHSum7UtJSBHw0VwNdEoA8E_2jwtKnxZdBLOMXlnyCtj7Q6KAbZI2GOspabwKhyphenhyphenRYV8zwUmgi9uuWfC9v9su0Yzj90frOT7ZsvTRYX454voAr43apwS/s320/02_radial_balance_2014.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>02. Radial Balance </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">cut paper</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HyNCwHLq6aRfouwoJ1uK1TUaTp6W0IhSI2zWC1QYDTztQ4_QvZO9nfSPOK-ScxE0uUMupBqEFec8WRgfKoo31UPQLuSk4l8G-rxC8D7YfEgcrRtF67q0Sgyx277aQZVo_2i_d_TDtz5d/s1600/03_line_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HyNCwHLq6aRfouwoJ1uK1TUaTp6W0IhSI2zWC1QYDTztQ4_QvZO9nfSPOK-ScxE0uUMupBqEFec8WRgfKoo31UPQLuSk4l8G-rxC8D7YfEgcrRtF67q0Sgyx277aQZVo_2i_d_TDtz5d/s320/03_line_2015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>03. Line Emphasis </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">acrylic and ink on paper</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8U0kOPoFknVge23um8az6Hy8slZzA9R5VG4iur0waOvTFAmUPtVY5am_CXa83VpaIrPkI0jQOVWyuo_YjVCiY6pk9HlV6YtSF4GyuXllJD7NooASXSj-5ZUX3fjNTjJUyAzHyRdtZKqqo/s1600/04_digital_texture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8U0kOPoFknVge23um8az6Hy8slZzA9R5VG4iur0waOvTFAmUPtVY5am_CXa83VpaIrPkI0jQOVWyuo_YjVCiY6pk9HlV6YtSF4GyuXllJD7NooASXSj-5ZUX3fjNTjJUyAzHyRdtZKqqo/s320/04_digital_texture.jpg" width="295" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>04. Self-Portrait Texture </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">digital imaging</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuUK0V_kIVw7x6IGyWTCtTwpx2WqxgzIMNzch7UJXFSe8G9eMPLHe0C-u8NN7cLrA7BfwwyK-wA8uqXJdCGNRO7ptll4U-Fn0giJfilZawAU4wqblFyNIZjivWhM_33arQdBaYW2E7aFSi/s1600/05_digital_fractal_2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuUK0V_kIVw7x6IGyWTCtTwpx2WqxgzIMNzch7UJXFSe8G9eMPLHe0C-u8NN7cLrA7BfwwyK-wA8uqXJdCGNRO7ptll4U-Fn0giJfilZawAU4wqblFyNIZjivWhM_33arQdBaYW2E7aFSi/s320/05_digital_fractal_2011.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>05. Fractal </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">digital imaging</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8WP7cqfBGpsilaIVRgPc20Q5m-Do0kTo_hlBo7YCUASDpGPpVfOTmLAHuopNEUTYWINdBmiICvK9AbNWcRA8sou8URONcwrr7wPH6Jp-w2Cf5l36rL2xgIPLiQx0W_U2vuVf4eoB6PFWO/s1600/06_color_blended.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8WP7cqfBGpsilaIVRgPc20Q5m-Do0kTo_hlBo7YCUASDpGPpVfOTmLAHuopNEUTYWINdBmiICvK9AbNWcRA8sou8URONcwrr7wPH6Jp-w2Cf5l36rL2xgIPLiQx0W_U2vuVf4eoB6PFWO/s320/06_color_blended.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>06. Blended Color </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">pastel on paper</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAuev392gzVtwwtv715y4h1EfxdfZ5mhGJ7kUlvXd0C_u4SaQosM2lof3niE5x-C5Ew5rXcVdsVo0bWhoSmYxH-CES4mpehlmujVRsusB7KnYdyToTPFEUWrbWRcDqfBZVOA0Zr9PEAflT/s1600/07_2d_design_fall_2014k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAuev392gzVtwwtv715y4h1EfxdfZ5mhGJ7kUlvXd0C_u4SaQosM2lof3niE5x-C5Ew5rXcVdsVo0bWhoSmYxH-CES4mpehlmujVRsusB7KnYdyToTPFEUWrbWRcDqfBZVOA0Zr9PEAflT/s320/07_2d_design_fall_2014k.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>07. Space </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">acrylic and collage on paper</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHzv0AB4zQw3TFYmYFlGi3eFNg_C0_vW465m3_nrXG4qCy4xG-oqbZj3lRJuK6tBS2HVpAX69Fsj_nlEtJ0aSxR2fyZyYs2z6fou_D1O9Q52WctGDBRjMj4UVe_U1imAjPRlmM_Qjbbvh/s1600/08_sustained_gesture_2009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHzv0AB4zQw3TFYmYFlGi3eFNg_C0_vW465m3_nrXG4qCy4xG-oqbZj3lRJuK6tBS2HVpAX69Fsj_nlEtJ0aSxR2fyZyYs2z6fou_D1O9Q52WctGDBRjMj4UVe_U1imAjPRlmM_Qjbbvh/s320/08_sustained_gesture_2009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>08. Sustained Gesture </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">graphite and charcoal on paper</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgds3pvja6C5R1aXtIdrKukzD80xo8ugwPbouiCArNoqzpxI_FkfHiL9WD3O8IBEj-iHjd291d6-E8X-2AZ889mWbYbxbOHqQ9ZunYtRVbNImIGUsJS4enjKhnnsGJr_FnXPzraaeKO8J/s1600/09_value_range_2007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgds3pvja6C5R1aXtIdrKukzD80xo8ugwPbouiCArNoqzpxI_FkfHiL9WD3O8IBEj-iHjd291d6-E8X-2AZ889mWbYbxbOHqQ9ZunYtRVbNImIGUsJS4enjKhnnsGJr_FnXPzraaeKO8J/s320/09_value_range_2007.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>09. Value </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">charcoal on paper</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmPfn7h9lH_8VRPzaB39qZ38dXjDAydMYPuC1tpGiW7GvXf_x6baBI9jXf85H9rP7ioSN5WmQnlPiko917jxQIMiyhGXHCS9Qlfwo1sxkoIC25lBGXygDOHrNlb6gdntjBx6jwfoa62Xw/s1600/10_texture_simulated_2006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmPfn7h9lH_8VRPzaB39qZ38dXjDAydMYPuC1tpGiW7GvXf_x6baBI9jXf85H9rP7ioSN5WmQnlPiko917jxQIMiyhGXHCS9Qlfwo1sxkoIC25lBGXygDOHrNlb6gdntjBx6jwfoa62Xw/s320/10_texture_simulated_2006.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>10. Simulated Texture </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">pastel on paper</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PDqJpB5vXp15TsOsuK_u2Pv9Y2R6YQZkFN7OFy7PSn6GF7NPnh0nGMQlPLwYtYuxpeL669Slgc9ZO-2w-pDkjdoIlDPx8ZhjOEFMxBQmvd_UbrBA_r7Ce4xIzoZNCGDM87kuYdGkOaHy/s1600/11_dazzle_collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PDqJpB5vXp15TsOsuK_u2Pv9Y2R6YQZkFN7OFy7PSn6GF7NPnh0nGMQlPLwYtYuxpeL669Slgc9ZO-2w-pDkjdoIlDPx8ZhjOEFMxBQmvd_UbrBA_r7Ce4xIzoZNCGDM87kuYdGkOaHy/s320/11_dazzle_collage.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>11. CV Dazzle Self Portrait </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">collage on paper</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iTP5giwVfqXCLeryGObVTMwXm79mIlGHNiuCbMXqdu1zg4xL5MNfhglhtBm-HSfP1Vh8VA8485foTQbXbDcWoiXthyphenhyphenjSveR4LSexzPEOUtgW63Jep1aVzVT1Mvbe_JZhpuGOt3itCm2G/s1600/12_line_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4iTP5giwVfqXCLeryGObVTMwXm79mIlGHNiuCbMXqdu1zg4xL5MNfhglhtBm-HSfP1Vh8VA8485foTQbXbDcWoiXthyphenhyphenjSveR4LSexzPEOUtgW63Jep1aVzVT1Mvbe_JZhpuGOt3itCm2G/s320/12_line_2014.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>12. Line Emphasis </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">acrylic and ink on paper</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkyjI3hlB-UXIrDy2I8R8adVtnK3n_P7i40m_WE2we9wAVjLsVGc-H3u8V0jJ1t4UCu7DdWr1OzXWim_h5f_MuBy3Zx2B97X3GkLtruD-uAJo-RhqwFFWupRNJszOv_E533KJZtOu4OzBb/s1600/13_shape_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkyjI3hlB-UXIrDy2I8R8adVtnK3n_P7i40m_WE2we9wAVjLsVGc-H3u8V0jJ1t4UCu7DdWr1OzXWim_h5f_MuBy3Zx2B97X3GkLtruD-uAJo-RhqwFFWupRNJszOv_E533KJZtOu4OzBb/s320/13_shape_2014.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>13. Texture and Shape </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">acrylic on paper</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggl2CS1L1YTBEA8xBxbCOY4SRVgjSLHDYZbUl4vJg_SPQShhWLye2ZIJfZLF9LzWjync1BoK7U6S5_Fnq6DgzrhpnQNnCg29knVz8g4avMnCMsAm7J-GoLQinWDhEHRNr9TbTC8hHZP6_r/s1600/14_layering_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggl2CS1L1YTBEA8xBxbCOY4SRVgjSLHDYZbUl4vJg_SPQShhWLye2ZIJfZLF9LzWjync1BoK7U6S5_Fnq6DgzrhpnQNnCg29knVz8g4avMnCMsAm7J-GoLQinWDhEHRNr9TbTC8hHZP6_r/s320/14_layering_2015.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>14. Invented Texture Self-Portrait </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">acrylic and digital imaging</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmItqx5pgPAfcp18l7HSxaExjChcs-5G2TWqibtBKH2MqY9N7I39LV0AkZ6aNNuHY52Ub_p8dOmkLkQEFyaTiBxbGtPuBcOsQ8UR-S-HLkS24VvmGmVvOVFl6JqZ7T64cSyi9TtEE7Bd5R/s1600/15_invented_texture_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmItqx5pgPAfcp18l7HSxaExjChcs-5G2TWqibtBKH2MqY9N7I39LV0AkZ6aNNuHY52Ub_p8dOmkLkQEFyaTiBxbGtPuBcOsQ8UR-S-HLkS24VvmGmVvOVFl6JqZ7T64cSyi9TtEE7Bd5R/s320/15_invented_texture_2015.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>15. Invented Texture </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">digital imaging and collage on paper</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_WuTtQW1jD3C0BZfgxHhlhQDpibTTy3whkiJU1TD2xNmhyphenhyphen2xFw1QXYej3tRvTYPtp27tc7ehU1rHj8cgpRVQ7Dqa-xUqWEEYVEBHQN7AiK-vKyasaHucHyr7hxvnw9zEbKEGITs2oUM9/s1600/16_pos_neg_space.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_WuTtQW1jD3C0BZfgxHhlhQDpibTTy3whkiJU1TD2xNmhyphenhyphen2xFw1QXYej3tRvTYPtp27tc7ehU1rHj8cgpRVQ7Dqa-xUqWEEYVEBHQN7AiK-vKyasaHucHyr7hxvnw9zEbKEGITs2oUM9/s320/16_pos_neg_space.jpg" width="242" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>16. Positive / Negative Space </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">charcoal on paper</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmMdBKIBB3WGB1hiybh5z727fBVAg8-CsxgXafY8glyXfUGneCfIzJTthRBU-zu4bl1OsIukeIVulGf2p1ScpkXGO7JLtXABs6nrgYmdua9DLhZNjv-U-TMavvUG6-Cu_WSgVnk68hqDp2/s1600/17_student_photo_contrast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmMdBKIBB3WGB1hiybh5z727fBVAg8-CsxgXafY8glyXfUGneCfIzJTthRBU-zu4bl1OsIukeIVulGf2p1ScpkXGO7JLtXABs6nrgYmdua9DLhZNjv-U-TMavvUG6-Cu_WSgVnk68hqDp2/s320/17_student_photo_contrast.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>17. Chiaroscuro </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">digital photograph</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEK1PROmQZOcEO4OXeIJFFeDxnt2oufmkMNpHQXhyphenhyphenx3dc6yZQcpI1L7ky-_hlDr7_uyUilrQcDSMR49yEbFLP5qDWiXyhVozgGozd39CUgSEo2D2_bsNGRT1A_TE9D2IHaC7sFInbC_no/s1600/digital_pattern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqEK1PROmQZOcEO4OXeIJFFeDxnt2oufmkMNpHQXhyphenhyphenx3dc6yZQcpI1L7ky-_hlDr7_uyUilrQcDSMR49yEbFLP5qDWiXyhVozgGozd39CUgSEo2D2_bsNGRT1A_TE9D2IHaC7sFInbC_no/s320/digital_pattern.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>18. Pattern </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">digital imaging</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBKBN-MLUlnlBg5rfDA6p1rlCFbcudCQcF__zLVeoUDFcWLWllcEcC6XK9Arknf9jc5I8eLzkxl3AnDMhfTDWEQumEhLrP4hbVxYcvbdEWOjjXBSexyiljhHEgZ8cRfSn8Au9bhyg45PJ/s1600/19_2d_design_fall_2014l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBKBN-MLUlnlBg5rfDA6p1rlCFbcudCQcF__zLVeoUDFcWLWllcEcC6XK9Arknf9jc5I8eLzkxl3AnDMhfTDWEQumEhLrP4hbVxYcvbdEWOjjXBSexyiljhHEgZ8cRfSn8Au9bhyg45PJ/s320/19_2d_design_fall_2014l.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>19. Line Emphasis </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">acrylic and ink on paper</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj66YmjAxd5uetPgxv2l3eKVgPejdPmic4vmL-iIbcH2Q6IjVOGre9gzZG4TdgW75slXmfICqk9CWkDh7x5daVo290vP5z4syrJ1HHxinJ8KiAuvlzUoO1KLUOEyTSxki1U38_7J4kfjPsN/s1600/20_2d_design_spring_2015v.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj66YmjAxd5uetPgxv2l3eKVgPejdPmic4vmL-iIbcH2Q6IjVOGre9gzZG4TdgW75slXmfICqk9CWkDh7x5daVo290vP5z4syrJ1HHxinJ8KiAuvlzUoO1KLUOEyTSxki1U38_7J4kfjPsN/s320/20_2d_design_spring_2015v.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>20. Rubin Vase </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">graphite and monoprint on paper</span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-55603822965095924312015-07-27T20:24:00.001-05:002015-07-27T21:02:23.204-05:00Graveyard Swag (performance)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b>Graveyard Swag (performance)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b>Bath House Cultural Center, Dallas</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b>July 3, 2015</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnRoznRz6uoAWiYWSVFShwUEu7ll_kp_7n02GXdWODQnbADiNtZ1dYytGPsH1SLQATfFT2tPQ92RJdm0inLSnxr6BQX9I_ztvoIzDHmnA2LsidduPMtF1DfQ0Z6WGMTEO7GGwyLz2xpUW/s1600/zombies01_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnRoznRz6uoAWiYWSVFShwUEu7ll_kp_7n02GXdWODQnbADiNtZ1dYytGPsH1SLQATfFT2tPQ92RJdm0inLSnxr6BQX9I_ztvoIzDHmnA2LsidduPMtF1DfQ0Z6WGMTEO7GGwyLz2xpUW/s320/zombies01_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A performance exploring the subtext of zombie as <i>other</i>, as performative identity and transformation, as loaded revolutionary construct<span class="_5yl5" data-reactid=".m5.1:$mid=11434054411297=29166ac9b495a26de75.2:0.0.0.0.0"><span data-reactid=".m5.1:$mid=11434054411297=29166ac9b495a26de75.2:0.0.0.0.0.0">.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="283" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/od57NbHj-UM" width="504"></iframe>
<span class="_5yl5" data-reactid=".m5.1:$mid=11434054411297=29166ac9b495a26de75.2:0.0.0.0.0"><span data-reactid=".m5.1:$mid=11434054411297=29166ac9b495a26de75.2:0.0.0.0.0.0"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> <i> Full Performance Video (7:10)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />The Reverend - Randall Garrett</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Zombies - Janet Aguirre, Sara Brisby, Raul Rodriguez</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Guest Appearance by Peazy - Patrick Patterson-Carroll</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="283" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/u4cQss0sL7Y" width="504"></iframe>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> <i>Performance Monologue Sequence (2:39)</i><br /> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Sound Improvisation - Thor Johnson and Craig Shropshire</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Videography - Brett Ardoin</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Video Installation - Michael Morris<br /> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEKxyAuTQV7YhMyu77V1ru8oBE7OP6Hji9X_sIbkiusolj6aL-xBCni9a2u8vYspads-YmvLhnh72q6HLDsuZboW17C9d00qb2XD9rfroeTJAdOd4vx4t6vMICuQ9SUq5GBPamyVWbVyK/s1600/performance02_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPEKxyAuTQV7YhMyu77V1ru8oBE7OP6Hji9X_sIbkiusolj6aL-xBCni9a2u8vYspads-YmvLhnh72q6HLDsuZboW17C9d00qb2XD9rfroeTJAdOd4vx4t6vMICuQ9SUq5GBPamyVWbVyK/s320/performance02_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Special Thanks to Dwayne Carter and Enrique Fernández Cervantes.<br /> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOilVjw83ZTmcOB5mGr6H6ruPT8UTdCeN5dsOyNP1txjVgS_Bt7HsHP3RCmj3Rz7LdEoE-PP3bqaSomPvpK0NIhDoHHlIQUmP1KQv90bswL5XjBXSJTHbK_tb8RyqUaWgg4WUopbfSZFn/s1600/performance01_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOilVjw83ZTmcOB5mGr6H6ruPT8UTdCeN5dsOyNP1txjVgS_Bt7HsHP3RCmj3Rz7LdEoE-PP3bqaSomPvpK0NIhDoHHlIQUmP1KQv90bswL5XjBXSJTHbK_tb8RyqUaWgg4WUopbfSZFn/s320/performance01_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://artsandculturetx.com/have-a-nice-day/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Have a Nice Day (review) (A+C magazine) by Lee Escobedo</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Performance artist and provocateur, Randall Garrett, is one of the
unsung heroes of the Dallas art scene, providing opportunity and chance
to artists who are looking for first opportunities. Garrett’s work, a scrappy composition of selfies and digital portraits
in the main room, accompanied by a planned performance opening night,
“Graveyard Swag,” added to the abstraction of a coherent manifesto to
“what” exactly is burning and “who” is holding the torch. Incorporating
ritual, spiritualism, and the history of storytelling, Garrett’s
performance and installation told the 1,000 year old story of sin, death
and rebirth."<br /> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.dallasobserver.com/arts/witness-the-post-apocalyptic-chaos-of-irrational-city-7355988" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Witness the Post-Apocalyptic Chaos of Irrational City (preview)<br />(Dallas Observer) by Lauren Smart</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />"Randall Garrett sends us through a cracked funhouse mirror with
questions of how we build identity, and how we institutionalize labels
for those identities."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFomR2T_3jsaAPnlSvM9wIU0utA1R7t3Qvghj80FVbuTMZuxCz9YdUlWfqmbne0cZZmVkKYCYhvb7Myy5UTKNHJo2M-aLukXzZ-1gPkoqe1y4Y18P46ko5UNKJiQJVZ2fYekM6JSXuW0j/s1600/om_gam_ganapataye_namaha_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoFomR2T_3jsaAPnlSvM9wIU0utA1R7t3Qvghj80FVbuTMZuxCz9YdUlWfqmbne0cZZmVkKYCYhvb7Myy5UTKNHJo2M-aLukXzZ-1gPkoqe1y4Y18P46ko5UNKJiQJVZ2fYekM6JSXuW0j/s200/om_gam_ganapataye_namaha_web.jpg" width="150" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9D47vqoEDwqeCq7ltLgr_Fl1rlOTfeSOvKoRh4UxOk4LKgzjXp0gMmFlMtX6ho7_yb_5jrjjD7fpT0k_MoVJCeyScIRH7QlRUCCM7F53wjO6oEEZlaxp4iN3ptdn-kGOLEqXIE_Z2PDNs/s1600/loving_1967_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9D47vqoEDwqeCq7ltLgr_Fl1rlOTfeSOvKoRh4UxOk4LKgzjXp0gMmFlMtX6ho7_yb_5jrjjD7fpT0k_MoVJCeyScIRH7QlRUCCM7F53wjO6oEEZlaxp4iN3ptdn-kGOLEqXIE_Z2PDNs/s200/loving_1967_web.jpg" width="156" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7cm_KPYDQXFHG8yhCSFDH75q9m2HR7eB96mMPjUwQVo-M5lDdMyIhqNCxq0a_wMi9smmpTTnGUnVB0ANixPexlBZD0z-Y1kAvcgh1gTXcVrIULulw6Y39whMIVuvHL-4sFAAwBm1_0u4/s1600/shiva_shakti_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7cm_KPYDQXFHG8yhCSFDH75q9m2HR7eB96mMPjUwQVo-M5lDdMyIhqNCxq0a_wMi9smmpTTnGUnVB0ANixPexlBZD0z-Y1kAvcgh1gTXcVrIULulw6Y39whMIVuvHL-4sFAAwBm1_0u4/s200/shiva_shakti_web.jpg" width="151" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9D47vqoEDwqeCq7ltLgr_Fl1rlOTfeSOvKoRh4UxOk4LKgzjXp0gMmFlMtX6ho7_yb_5jrjjD7fpT0k_MoVJCeyScIRH7QlRUCCM7F53wjO6oEEZlaxp4iN3ptdn-kGOLEqXIE_Z2PDNs/s1600/loving_1967_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbDUbL0twayurtK7tRXuMYJkS3euJnra62z9ImOQNYkiWKePryPAFKZoL7cuzJMQLiPvCbDWx22Vo1DSiDoztILhs0e8NFXAalgKEqyOersjflNkg88J29E4nvkYtKEVA1-bpO-WpdVb1/s200/bougie_van_rijn_web.jpg" width="150" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9DagpGxT5oq9F0ilEBy-4x8WL6sc8mta9Pi1JrU2jg8Eq6vg3tmeWwsfij8RuVQP83xLJORZiH225AISb7oeUuSp489q-sjaB1IrHvD6I_MsPORsOx0YPVpw6_kAXtr9oKwLgmTXFnBR/s1600/mother_emanuel_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9DagpGxT5oq9F0ilEBy-4x8WL6sc8mta9Pi1JrU2jg8Eq6vg3tmeWwsfij8RuVQP83xLJORZiH225AISb7oeUuSp489q-sjaB1IrHvD6I_MsPORsOx0YPVpw6_kAXtr9oKwLgmTXFnBR/s200/mother_emanuel_web.jpg" width="151" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJHvgNhAXrOFFl_Pfmnl4qucBizMB-3xI2KijClmQHpQQIWCGm-9W_sJsXmN9vl0DyyzZq0maAfNhk8AL2ejl-mNhqc5Tofgw83A4h0Sy0W9pJ6E1rfOKmwTjNt8kij9V6h_XV06ejkmu/s1600/queer_nation_1990_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJHvgNhAXrOFFl_Pfmnl4qucBizMB-3xI2KijClmQHpQQIWCGm-9W_sJsXmN9vl0DyyzZq0maAfNhk8AL2ejl-mNhqc5Tofgw83A4h0Sy0W9pJ6E1rfOKmwTjNt8kij9V6h_XV06ejkmu/s200/queer_nation_1990_web.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Some of the hand-altered posters and graveyard elements in the installation.</i></span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-79879453951110696882014-12-13T10:49:00.003-06:002015-06-15T19:04:07.735-05:00Inferno Suite (performance)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Inferno Suite</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">a performance by Randall Garrett (with Reivin Alexandria)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">MFA Gallery, Oak Cliff, Dallas<br />(12.13.2014)</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UJKCkklg-Fs" width="560"></iframe>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Inferno Suite performance video<br />videography by Brett Ardoin<br />technical support by Patrick Patterson-Carroll</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytbAO5UVCGAr5Aiaf4oRQUsycfGQL_fnQWjSiapF7V6lhXM7hiO3blt5tua-0G6rZOyX_tT3a-KTpxvQlTchK6e9Hxu34dhUZsDjLxFgpovlgO-Fu9FXux4eGBgOw8QIdIc1QHnBTYDme/s1600/inferno_perf_pix_by_scott_mcdaniel_06_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytbAO5UVCGAr5Aiaf4oRQUsycfGQL_fnQWjSiapF7V6lhXM7hiO3blt5tua-0G6rZOyX_tT3a-KTpxvQlTchK6e9Hxu34dhUZsDjLxFgpovlgO-Fu9FXux4eGBgOw8QIdIc1QHnBTYDme/s200/inferno_perf_pix_by_scott_mcdaniel_06_web.jpg" width="133" /> <img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZswk2fIQFwSaIQ-Ppg6QX7YzxaWlN8zBbvps6_UXtsuJn8sDuupVzby6TCGB4ID5FrhUgJI28ItKzFRuH6bMd9lVKyXASC2LDobPl00UyQFDdzykAx9d8abBD4zi5vqQVSctAxkeviVN/s200/inferno_perf_pix_by_scott_mcdaniel_01_web.jpg" width="133" /> <img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGtD476AClFLbQ8MEukWyyxvV99eSdJchrAmHK7JgjaxStIuKIJU_vtvY3hAdeyn_5-vG_1DmdWZ1v2uX4VvSynaEVCl_Nl2hldKaBUsOMr1WoMbPn95atXmg-EN3FLaG9Q6UGRQ1smiUm/s200/inferno_perf_pix_by_scott_mcdaniel_12_web.jpg" width="133" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <i>performance photos by Scott McDaniel</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Escape"</span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sitting on the fire escape he looks down, eight floors to
the ground below. Concrete, stone and steel, the city, tough and
relentless, a lighted neon cross blaring "Jesus Saves" from the street
front mission, car horns shouting as traffic rushes to the stoplight,
people hurrying along the walk.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Slowly he takes a drag from the cigarillo, the warmth and
fire pulling into his lungs. Closing his eyes, he feels the smoke inside
balancing out the cool blasts of wind buffeting them high up the city's
side. He feels himself falling into a dream now, a place where peace
washes over him, of soft grasses and flowing water under a canopy of
trees.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She climbs through the window and sits beside him there on
the balcony. Forgetting their suffering for a moment she says, "this is
kind of nice" and he opens his eyes, looking up at the softness of the
sky and beyond. Pouring a sangria over the ice in the plastic cups she
hands him one. "To nice" he says, and tips his cup into hers.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja2tK7D5vOur26f6eeLrFz9FY738TADI7eI2X0ENW1QYadVmORz-7rxHzI5ARkfpIJ_ctQHtB6LDW_0e3jlv7j-hmL0-zWz8QxMfZFfoWR6dJhoBsFIqgxl9xsyv1CoxXw8Or_GCZz-Qtp/s1600/inferno_perf_pix_by_scott_mcdaniel_18_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja2tK7D5vOur26f6eeLrFz9FY738TADI7eI2X0ENW1QYadVmORz-7rxHzI5ARkfpIJ_ctQHtB6LDW_0e3jlv7j-hmL0-zWz8QxMfZFfoWR6dJhoBsFIqgxl9xsyv1CoxXw8Or_GCZz-Qtp/s200/inferno_perf_pix_by_scott_mcdaniel_18_web.jpg" width="200" /> <img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwA47_cQ7BDJfWmza7l5O2uRU4RgG_T36FSAQZ3RhxhnC-Udm8SkwqXDGCvc70_g_pMmYZe-C0fRofObckoYJu5RICDrkBOtA-oSa8Ta0xS0OM9p9qfI4IcDqMmH9Q0Ip30ot_KZ7Ol8LE/s200/inferno_perf_pix_by_scott_mcdaniel_04_web.jpg" width="133" /> <img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6r9Xo09nhq3gagzsua_KCEzSp-wbUp038SwXMNgNv3YsqtHIWCZaXaaHjz45uidPVteQKkXsnkodGaROPT93Kxzinz6oityc9VJLcZUJGidD9AqLjBB50G2u4nekXsU3B0vJ-YBlyiKaG/s200/inferno_perf_pix_by_scott_mcdaniel_26_web.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <i>performance photos by Scott McDaniel</i></span><br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Purgatorio"</span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Down, down he trudged, hugging the wall of the narrow stone
staircase, the abyss looming just beyond. Through thick smoke, exhaust
mixed with the tinge of human sweat and rotting waste, the crush of
bodies pushing against him, some moving upward, others down, eyes
averted each in their own self-made inferno.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A few more steps and there
he lost his balance.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Turning in the air as he fell, it all came to him, every
suffering he had inflicted on these souls around him, both loved and
unloved, all of them. Falling, only a moment yet interminable, he knew
it would hurt, and then he hit bottom. Blackness, and all around a fog,
lying there on the mix of footsteps and grime.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It was then she came to him, a movement so slight, a gentle
touch in this blindness. Grasping, lunging, lost in the foul air he
felt himself lifted up and against a firm shoulder and the softness of
her skin. Lowering now, he moved in close, enveloped by her as blackness
closed in again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0xEv6Qdw43viVh_fm3CIFt7R9hIIRtUj3d5n4Tpu9ZiY54OYyM4f3SbPqETTioybsakPUQQBv4uZx6aZY-e0xmc06UGaVJk2K0NlIxabwoyatPskgX3sjdsJ8e4YhQR_8ma-hxslTalK/s1600/102_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Bq62M2TvZ84lm_BOhULwQiCmrPBXT2-E_WBz93JzFOfBtdaGmiEOa6-eqg_Gv8AlO6ZctVJBBIoEFCbdztJE3TW62Nr4381fqBuPH3a3g7QwaPrVRzLVFSf8vgyZ9tKAfdaySYKeLdn_/s200/90_web.jpg" width="200" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiswhHqPCp0dKj4Wn8uvw520aR1WZl4IAxE9b1KjEhvm6CVX7pwCcPlTSJec62H9IVOeSwulK2OW0uUXJxkciT3qlhQwhzddQfVtt1ooGyT2RCccNJ95UeTyjqxLV-hEl_1qxEafK9xZXEi/s200/97_web.jpg" width="200" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0xEv6Qdw43viVh_fm3CIFt7R9hIIRtUj3d5n4Tpu9ZiY54OYyM4f3SbPqETTioybsakPUQQBv4uZx6aZY-e0xmc06UGaVJk2K0NlIxabwoyatPskgX3sjdsJ8e4YhQR_8ma-hxslTalK/s200/102_web.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <i>performance video projection stills</i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i></i></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Destroy This Temple"</span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Passed out, feverish for days he lay among the rubble.
dishevelled piles of stones around him as though burial mounds from some
forgotten war. Eyes convulsing, he dreamt in rapid fire sequence, image
upon image, travelling somewhere rapidly, never at rest, never at
peace.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A sound among the ruins and he awoke, it seemed into yet
another layer of perception. In the shadows, she was there, crouched and
slinking towards him. She crawled the last few feet, drew near and
mounted him furiously. Plunging into him with a vengeance unrestrained,
she leaned in close, as though to steal his breath away. He felt relief
give way to fear and panic, as the thrusts turned to violence and
obscenity.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now others came upon them in the darkness, lovers from past
lives, themselves in various guises. They joined in, forming a writhing
mound among the fallen stones. All the bodies they had ravaged from
here to eternity, flailing away at every orifice, as flesh began to tear
and blood mixed with come and sweat. He mocked her and turned to move
away, but was pulled back into the fray.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Finishing now, they kicked her back and onto him. He
screamed yet nothing came out, the weight of those around and on them
having expunged the air from his lungs. The mass of flesh continued to
move for a time. Some retched now, and gradually all turned back to
silence.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Some time later, he began to scratch and claw his way out
from under the pile of bodies. Bruised and shaken, his blood mixed with
semen, bile and earth, all congealed into a crust upon him. Slowly
regaining his senses, he began to break off and pull away chunks of the
putrid mud from his skin.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He stumbled now to the quarry, grabbing the last of the
kerosene and turned back to the mound of bodies. Approaching, he saw her
crawl out and away into the darkness. Without hesitation, he flung the
kerosene onto the remnant, struck a match and threw it onto the pile.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A ball of flames rose up and with the dry blast of a
furnace, violently threw him back and onto the ground. Burning flesh and
bone transformed to huge chunks of ash and sparks as they lifted up
into the night sky. Scorched now, he threw the holy books, votives and
sacramentals that remained onto the pyre, turned and staggered away into
the night.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFy5rbogLVBOC2zVIM5lca1H-tsuYtVQBbBjmrvzqVmXHy8ffk9r6bimt0UPWDtTGH5HxhisP67G3lOyzNR1dHMCYRc2Dsku8bGBP6YPe_pPviu6FykqhYoJ6_A1JO9mnHl07RYCt71BUF/s1600/104_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFy5rbogLVBOC2zVIM5lca1H-tsuYtVQBbBjmrvzqVmXHy8ffk9r6bimt0UPWDtTGH5HxhisP67G3lOyzNR1dHMCYRc2Dsku8bGBP6YPe_pPviu6FykqhYoJ6_A1JO9mnHl07RYCt71BUF/s200/104_web.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTPfglMrJzJK4zlyvuYscd1pgjdQQ-JkSc2sXahmazPb4wOOsFWqSBjZkmM86dmYIOqzeWLOAUgTz0_muH8-yLuyxoRRfGBdr3xVUSI8-yWBAyYyUq9uAIexdTjj6oDLm8L_PfedG0yOY/s1600/111_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTPfglMrJzJK4zlyvuYscd1pgjdQQ-JkSc2sXahmazPb4wOOsFWqSBjZkmM86dmYIOqzeWLOAUgTz0_muH8-yLuyxoRRfGBdr3xVUSI8-yWBAyYyUq9uAIexdTjj6oDLm8L_PfedG0yOY/s200/111_web.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>performance video projection stills</i></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Midsummer Stupa Dream (On Impermanence)"</span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The monks, in sand colored habits, seated themselves in
concentric rings rising up the inside of the beehive like structure. At
the base and looking up at them, the elder abbot, of indeterminate sex,
with a head of shaved stubble, began speaking of the glories of dying in
this way, of how nirvana awaited directly on the other side for those
who gave themselves willingly to it.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He knew that the only chance to survive was to sit near the
top of the hive, where a window afforded an escape if he could not hold
his breath.</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Finding his place, he sat and leaned with the others into a
fetal position. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was the
shaved heads of row upon row of young male devotees. Then, the snakelike
hiss of gas as all faded to blackness.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span>
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the dark he felt himself lifted up and outside the
temple, and stepping out from the darkness quickly stole up the hillside
the stupa was built into. By the flickering firelight he saw an old
monk directing bhikkus in the disposal of the bodies.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Walking through the aftermath, he pulled the cowl over his
face to avoid their gaze. Stepping into a room filled with scattered
bodies, he felt the energetic scurrying of a multitude of creatures:
ants, grasshoppers, crabs and the like, all devouring each other as they
swarmed on the parched ground.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Reaching down, he picked up a grasshopper, and watched as
it ate a tiny ant, even as it was being consumed by a much larger one.
The creatures began crawling on him and biting his hands and legs. He
brushed them away, but then became fascinated by the insistence of their
actions, and bevoming still, watched as they continued to swarm. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Night into Day"</span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The night opens up under your wheels: black, empty and
infinite. A multitude of stars reaching up and out to forever, and
inward just as far. You feel your heart open too, like an orchid in the
darkness. And then Freddy Mercury, on your Ipod singing "Oh, won't you
take me home tonight", just as morning breaks in your rearview mirror.
Now colors gather on the horizon: orange, cyan, magenta, and chase the
night across the sky, the same as every morning, only this time you're
here to see it unfold. So you follow the colors too, as they lead you
back home.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Devil Be Gone" </span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">C'mon now, get down with the feeling,<br />
C'mon now give in to the feeling,<br />
Isolation, give in to the feeling, <br />
Deprivation, give in to the feeling, <br />
Desolation, give in to the feeling, <br />
Revelation, give in to the feeling, <br />
C'mon now, feeling what you're feeling, <br />
C'mon now, you know what you're feeling, <br />
C'mon now, you're not what you're feeling, <br />
More than a feeling, more than a feeling, more than a feeling, <br />
Devil be gone, devil disappear, <br />
Devil be gone, devil disappear, <br />
(repeat to fade)</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Can't Nobody Rock Me"</span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Close your eyes, close your eyes, close your eyes.<br />
Can't nobody rock me, can't nobody bhakti,<br />
Can't nobody Chaka Chaka Khan me.<br />
Can't nobody Lakshmi, can't nobody clock me,<br />
Shut me down cock block me.<br />
Only you can rock me, only you can bhakti,<br />
Only you can Lakshmi, Chaka Chaka Khan me,<br />
Clock me, rave me, bathe me, save me,<br />
Can't nobody do me like you, Jesus baby.</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-53575907387558291892014-11-23T18:30:00.000-06:002015-06-15T19:01:46.506-05:00The Bride Stripped Bare (performance)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"><i>The Bride Stripped Bare</i></span></span></i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl">a performance by<br />Reivin Alexandria and Randall Garrett</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"> </span></span> </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyT1507Mmz_CtmSjXZBv0hCm4Deq7LCDm0w0NFx54dU8TMBflJWO-jTIHgZ7vdqTvLuqKclGwyVZRcp_vE-Piz7reDgYq3RsNcc901SyaxyjAhvwxjQXWtZSflkGZ2JxPY4lBuh7EudDa3/s1600/bride_face_i_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyT1507Mmz_CtmSjXZBv0hCm4Deq7LCDm0w0NFx54dU8TMBflJWO-jTIHgZ7vdqTvLuqKclGwyVZRcp_vE-Piz7reDgYq3RsNcc901SyaxyjAhvwxjQXWtZSflkGZ2JxPY4lBuh7EudDa3/s320/bride_face_i_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl">November 22, 2014<br />CorinthPark, The Cedars, Dallas</span></span></span></span></div>
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Referencing vintage horror film, Marcel Duchamp's <i>Large Glass</i>, and
ritual incantation, the performance is a broken down ceremony examining
the interplay between feminine and masculine energies as embodied in the
archetypes of bride and groom.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnWlMNlZt9DdaayaHVQKACAunbyHrhk3xPwkGDcZx0AlzrjvLJMVSd6k36KLV9LPw8HcVbhlyVdz13aVbXDB4DuQTBJ7MnRaUpFiWCQkOErl4C5Aajn8sg5QYSsYRWaTwNlgE6wJh7RUO/s1600/bride_performance_by_scott_mcdaniel06_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGKRCr5lvEZgryv5EW6ywcaTiReIZzsPbYjZo8VuNbyrw0kKIOkVkicfS9I3wDvNNlRoeTAxX0Cpmn6cYTbIm4aua-6zbS9ccanmBx_e0jFlf7Yigy5s8L7fdpYDpuz5n1hV3pr7KCkxD/s200/bride_performance_by_scott_mcdaniel02_web.jpg" width="150" /> <img border="0" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXp0ak9WaeUvzMM6SGdaB3n-L_UNQtbqOBPTyb5vNHTJ3-lGS-0IvKln0RMRnQHV6nXWXGPF3BD3ovTCbxxUCM3WZe-yXjc4j3JZOWNl4NwtDcpHcpT8Rdl6JcnKpD-LfQ5sh_t0ODn3W/s200/bride_stills_05.jpg" width="200" /> <img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnWlMNlZt9DdaayaHVQKACAunbyHrhk3xPwkGDcZx0AlzrjvLJMVSd6k36KLV9LPw8HcVbhlyVdz13aVbXDB4DuQTBJ7MnRaUpFiWCQkOErl4C5Aajn8sg5QYSsYRWaTwNlgE6wJh7RUO/s200/bride_performance_by_scott_mcdaniel06_web.jpg" width="133" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><br />photos (left and right) by Scott McDaniel, video still (center) by Dwayne Carter</span></i><br /> <br /> Vows are exchanged to the sound
of bells, mantras, lightning crashing and dreamlike video projections.
The newlywed couple explores the duality of matter by sacrificing their
bodies to the alchemy and minefield of gender archetypes and cult
classic caste roles.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ZreJVrQ96n-VF4eWhRqS9Y7fcDCmA4gxXM03XNoRQnZ8xc4EJ7ynf_D5_RsyJcczOxkcqUD1x3BjECSun8DZ6Vih3pdYefy67IcVkTgq03qHEYrOS2e5oOS4cyQB9i4HuL4gkAjs7jSw/s1600/bride_performance_by_scott_mcdaniel07_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ZreJVrQ96n-VF4eWhRqS9Y7fcDCmA4gxXM03XNoRQnZ8xc4EJ7ynf_D5_RsyJcczOxkcqUD1x3BjECSun8DZ6Vih3pdYefy67IcVkTgq03qHEYrOS2e5oOS4cyQB9i4HuL4gkAjs7jSw/s200/bride_performance_by_scott_mcdaniel07_web.jpg" width="133" /> <img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBQC_rDliuAeok1WS-4eGGWXUnkyTyX0FGF0vtX6OHVcBYsWh-ee9bcVopPrYpvhkarvsUWkk2cRyUODhQGP6Ch0AhVXNlp2RXScFYZzxWPq75NwU7ekUGeDnuevKqJPP4on0aIns9ruq/s200/bride_stripped_bare_06_web.jpg" width="200" /> <img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfDNNMQYFpo80vjANK43HCwGsdED1Z23KCerLyfWiTjIQh5ThWDkiZLBytXuK8wAs0CISr_DYD-5J8Qu0iXRfgA3gQiavZ5Z6flP_kGTpaUUX5W-pKWqHDoJakWWAKX1SBRmOTpykfpqo/s200/bride_stripped_bare_04_web.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl">photos (left) by Scott McDaniel, (center and right) by Dwayne Carter</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"> <br /> Set amidst altars evoking domesticity: the
kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, the couple play out scenes of
longing, pursuit, violence and transformation.</span></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KgUICGAizqc" width="560"></iframe>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"><i>The Bride Stripped Bare</i> performance video (2014)<br />Videography by Dwayne Carter, technical support by Patrick Patterson-Carroll,Concept, sound, and performance by Reivin Alexandria and Randall Garrett<br /> </span></span><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/doixxkUwL5A" width="560"></iframe>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"><i>Eyes of the Bride</i> installation video (2014)<br /> </span></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/b5A8KX5p3t4" width="560"></iframe>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"><br /><i>Readymade</i> concept video (2014)</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zOmnB1gxF_pMXmR9f3mzLoY2CwpPXfWyd-yFLyoN8WdkuCuzE_DDlsVd8aqZeCoa4C6TDnXr1wa3cBYsw8cYaNyMP7ghxYENDzTcsU8JaoBpzFmVGGnYzON19ynLa7oOvQ04F1RpY3Q3/s1600/bride_performance_artifact01_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zOmnB1gxF_pMXmR9f3mzLoY2CwpPXfWyd-yFLyoN8WdkuCuzE_DDlsVd8aqZeCoa4C6TDnXr1wa3cBYsw8cYaNyMP7ghxYENDzTcsU8JaoBpzFmVGGnYzON19ynLa7oOvQ04F1RpY3Q3/s200/bride_performance_artifact01_web.jpg" width="200" /> <img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirk9ph2xFldqok5YADCormH-aq86AQV9rdOdWdNrepy-iIdW5_GmHaj7HrpMfxIbZiYPEtabavd2Pj88rDJX0aPY2tEB-B7-mutucax5JfLRVMR7oErNm_ZNU61FnXcy9TX1ELOK2pK5F1/s200/bride_performance_artifact02a_web.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="fsl"><i><br />The Bride Stripped Bare (Performance Artifacts)</i> (2014)<br />by Reivin Alexandria and Randall Garrett</span></span></span></span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-55119008401111217592014-11-14T21:37:00.000-06:002016-01-25T21:42:58.936-06:00Writing (2014)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhqP6L4FOaQO-nOWgVIL-cgS0DQXryXTQqiOmd_oMj8OktHhnLu4ZnD20rHKH2ztSGb8t7R_sxO7S5RnsHy6l4_DNukMRwymcr7JZuHAXCKMcXSk7j9wgTpQOWaGalP9kZ_OYSJ8aoqL3/s1600/apocalypse_poem_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhqP6L4FOaQO-nOWgVIL-cgS0DQXryXTQqiOmd_oMj8OktHhnLu4ZnD20rHKH2ztSGb8t7R_sxO7S5RnsHy6l4_DNukMRwymcr7JZuHAXCKMcXSk7j9wgTpQOWaGalP9kZ_OYSJ8aoqL3/s320/apocalypse_poem_2014.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Apocalypse Poem (Om Vajrasattva Samaya)</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The game is rigged, the dice is loaded,<br />An illusion all and so compelling,<br />Each moment an apocalypse in its own making,<br />And every insight into this truth a precious gem,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">An opportunity to realize the infinite expansive<br />Qualities of our true emptiness nature,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So to generate compassion for suffering<br />And a playful engagement with samsara,<br /><br />We are here to massage these forms, to lovingly<br />Engage the energies of creation and destruction<br />In their conjungal dance of birth, life and death,<br />Until their devotional service is no longer required<br /> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When what is beyond conception will be revealed<br />Through the wisdom of experience,<br />And the falling away of what is known.<br />As Allen told Neal, I have no idea who's running things</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That's the whole point, well...<br />And Neal shrugging, sardonically saying "enjoy it".<br />This is why I dream of cities on fire,<br />Of massive storms, a deluge washing all away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Burning clean, burning bright, leaving no trace,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cleansing all this illusion, until only clarity remains.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Om Vajrasattva samaya, ha ha ha ha ho, Bhagavan,<br />Sarva siddhi me prayatsa, Sarva karma su tsame,<br />Tsittam shriyam kuru hum </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Election update</b><br /><br />Election update (Ferguson) same as it ever was (Monsanto) nothing to see here (Corrections Corporation of America) move along (1033 Program) bought and paid for (NSA) let freedom ring edition, not today but someday we can say a new day is dawning brothers and sisters, hallelujah.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejpiWLhSxk0DKJCcheerI3USUxEiCl2Dswl6Gfox3N6EW-0TLKm3Oka5RXxim-FnqpJOqo5wWaKSxe7uyw_-hxLv4a7z8mVzof_03APqH66u4iTNRKxNSPJJAhffaEZ0_BT3BuEnhwrjV/s1600/deluge_refuge_strays_on_the_street_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiejpiWLhSxk0DKJCcheerI3USUxEiCl2Dswl6Gfox3N6EW-0TLKm3Oka5RXxim-FnqpJOqo5wWaKSxe7uyw_-hxLv4a7z8mVzof_03APqH66u4iTNRKxNSPJJAhffaEZ0_BT3BuEnhwrjV/s1600/deluge_refuge_strays_on_the_street_2014.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br />Deluge Refuge (Strays on the Street)</b> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Night sets in hot and sweaty as the band goes on and people sway rhythmically in the blacklit warehouse. Channeling her best sacred woman style, she glances around, checks her phone and steps out on the street, just as the weather turns, wind picking up and heavy drops begin to fall. Catching his eye there on the sidewalk she says, "I need a change outta these platforms, let's go back to the car for my flip flops".<br /><br />Walking close now down the broken sidewalk, she begins to fall and reaching out, he catches her and they huddle down as the skies open up, a torrent unleashed soaking them in waves of cold wetness. "Sacrifice!" she exclaims smiling, as they push into the driving rain, almost crawling now, soaked to the bone and stepping into and through the glistening fresh rainwater puddles. Shivering, he fumbles for his keys, and thinks about the stray dogs passing by earlier on the street, hoping they have a dry place to take refuge. Lightning crackles in the sky just above as he flings open the back door, and they dive in to escape the deluge.<br /><br />"Krishna!" she laughs, and pulls off the soaked chadors as he leans forward from the backseat, across the console reaching down toward the front floorboard. "Where's that sweet playlist?", he muses, and finds the iPod, still on all fours, head down below the seat and ass sticking up toward her in back. Pushing play, a tender mantra kicks in: "Om Om Om, Sarwa Buddha Dakini Vajra Varani Vajra Virochana" he falls back next to her, and mesmerized they watch the sheets of rain pour down the windshield.<br /><br />She pulls out her pipe and hands it to him, saying "I saved you the green" as he lights up, inhaling slowly pranayama style, holding it there in equilibrium. She takes a huge puff now and blowing the smoke out in a gray blue cloud, coughs as he chuckles inside. Reaching across her he pulls her faux fur coat on to warm up and leans over onto her shoulder, resting for a moment, then glances into her eyes as they move close and touch in a gentle kiss.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br /><b>Fucked Up Your Sheets</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Baby, I told you I would fuck up your sheets.<br />You told me you would fuck up my shit, you didn't say anything about my sheets.<br />You're right baby, I did tell you I would fuck up your shit,<br />but I didn't say anything about your sheets.<br />I said you better be careful or I will fuck up your shit,and you didn't listen to me, I told you.<br />I did listen to you baby but you didn't say nothing about fucking up my sheets.<br />Now you gone and fucked up my sheets<br />and I'm gonna have to do something about it.<br />I did do something about it, I fucked up your shit… and your sheets.</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDUPUTydfe8mfPtEzaP398wjH91VtRVMd5kpr9jkspQubg_Pt_LQgkDl5EbjwzwKzM98dHsRpFrYQVgvjfNJHdQoPouET6reY2AUX56IeQ17xivdCA-MtMUpjFib8lhF30u3ObHGkS3-XS/s1600/maya_on_the_midway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDUPUTydfe8mfPtEzaP398wjH91VtRVMd5kpr9jkspQubg_Pt_LQgkDl5EbjwzwKzM98dHsRpFrYQVgvjfNJHdQoPouET6reY2AUX56IeQ17xivdCA-MtMUpjFib8lhF30u3ObHGkS3-XS/s1600/maya_on_the_midway.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br /><b>Maya on the Midway (Recognition Within the Dream)</b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://soundcloud.com/plushgallery/maya-on-the-midway">https://soundcloud.com/plushgallery/maya-on-the-midway</a><b> </b><br /><br />Having begun their journey that evening with a visit to the mystical peacock, and observed the beauty of his integration of the many lineages of the bird kingdom into one magnificent and varied body, now they move on along the night path as it widens and people pass wide eyed and nearing the neon lighted entrance archway now where the lights and sounds grow exponentially more vivid. "There she is", he said. "What, baby?" "Maya", he offers up as they walk under the lighted arch spelled "MIDWAY".</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br />They wonder past throngs of party folk caught up in the carnival and sing to each other "Maya, you're so pretty. Maya, you're so empty. Maya, so enticing. Maya, so exciting. Maya, you're the bling bling. Maya, illusion of everything."<br /><br />"Hey look, Prince!", she exclaims, and they run over to revel at the side show mural as his image stares down at them in all his gender ambiguous glory. "He's the god of the midway", she cries, "let's bask in his effulgence", as they pause briefly to reverence his image there, then continue on.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br />And stopping before the enormous ferris wheel mandala he says, "Look baby, I told you I'd find the real dharma wheel, and here it is, just like I said... the Wheel of Right Turning."</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br />And as he speaks, it begins to turn, but not clockwise in the direction of his own turning hand, but the opposite way. She says, "you know why that is, right baby?" "No, why?" "Because everything in Maya is a reflection, a mirror image of the true reality".<br /><br />They walk on, exchanging glances, he moves first ahead, then behind her, to her right, and then left, mingling in and through the crowd, winding all around the midway.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br />Nearing the end now, as the lights began to fade, she says "What's that deity, the one that charms the other beings? Culu Cooley?"</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br />"Cool cooley!", he replies, confused but intrigued at her question. "Cool cooley, cool cooley", it becomes his mantra. Then he realizes what she is saying. "Kurukula", he answers clearly, and their eyes lock in recognition.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Pausing beneath the orbiting tower, they watch as it rises slowly and majestically upward, a lighted neon Shiva column into the sky, and he says, "Dream travelers can leave a mark to take them back to their dreams, did you know that?"<br /><br />She looks deeply into his eyes once again, and he says, "I'm leaving a mark in this dream, so I can come back here to you. Do you know what it is?" "No, baby", she replies, staring intently into his eyes. "It's the look in your eyes right now, that's the mark I'm leaving in this dream".</span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfzwxS0vd2or0vIH8Eu7O9NiaOw11B7kyUJuUXiK1N3QwK9lH-oElnn9cu0AbCw4dAy0c8p564L-sxyqT7efS6USikPOH5m_CVZsia8r82QUaBX4V8PUtYY5OtHJnwlVVlKXNCLCufpuv/s1600/om_shanti_protection_projection_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfzwxS0vd2or0vIH8Eu7O9NiaOw11B7kyUJuUXiK1N3QwK9lH-oElnn9cu0AbCw4dAy0c8p564L-sxyqT7efS6USikPOH5m_CVZsia8r82QUaBX4V8PUtYY5OtHJnwlVVlKXNCLCufpuv/s1600/om_shanti_protection_projection_2014.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> <br />Om Shanti (Protection Projection)</b><br /><br />Om Shanti Shanti Shanti. She was surrounded in a world of ice, bright, sharp daggers of cold, the mountain behind Lord Shiva rising to the heavens as she sat in his crown. Lightning crashed and the ice broke all around her, rivers of icy cold waters, a raging torrent now flowing out from the mouth of the Ganges. The electrical discharges thundered all around him as he awoke into the liminal space of Brahma Muhurta, glancing to see her silhouette in the darkness.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br />I will protect you. Closing his eyes, the apparitions appeared to him, an Arab in a red keffiyeh, a tall thin Indian in a grey pinstripe pimp suit. Seeing the menace in their eyes, he shook himself awake again, and began chanting above her, "Om Shanti Shanti Shanti, I will protect you and keep you safe, Om Namah Shivaya, Om Namah Shivayah, Om Namah Shivaya". He did this each time the wrathful entities appeared into his dream space.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br />And keep you safe. Walking along the cracking ice, and following the emerging floodwaters heading downstream from Lord Shiva, she heard a sound coming from the bottom of an icy well. A powerful and subtle white snow lion followed her from a distance in protection. She crawled down into the well and found a young girl huddled there shivering from the cold.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br />Om Namah Shivaya. He walked with her past the gang of white dudes in muscle shirts as they stood next to their hot rods in the parking lot. They leered at her as they passed by, and he turned, placing himself between them and her, staring and said "this is my strong black woman, back the fuck off", as their gazes lowered away from his.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <br />Om Namah Shivaya. She knelt down in the well, wrapping her arms around the girl, and covering her with holy texts to warm her, lifted the child up to stand and began to help her to climb out of the well. Lightning continued to crash moving outward and away from them now and across the wintry landscape.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Om Namah Shivaya. He stood with her on a subway platform, where the trench coat wearing beast had tried to take her into the underworld once before. A man with a pistol appeared quietly at the far end of the platform as Ricardo engaged him holding a knife at the man's chest. They chased across the platform, as he stood before her ready to fight, until they exited and all became quiet.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thunder continued to roll in the darkness, but far away now, and a heavy rain poured down, washing the earth in torrents as they lay there and night turned into morning. She turned toward him as he continued to chant and his eyes grew heavy as he gently fell asleep in her arms.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Om Shanti Shanti Shanti.<br /> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Manifesto -- Pissing in the Wind</b></span></b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />Artists,
writers, musicians, performers make your art, resist the prevailing
winds of commodification and revel in the freedom of your expression.
This is the surest form of protest, an open mic voice among the tidal
wave of apathy and conformist culture.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span>The Missing Shirt</b><br /><br />Guy walks into a party. Hanging with friends, lounging languid on a sumptuous overstuffed bed. People mingling, painting their bodies in neon day-glo colors, externally transformed, but talking as though very much the same. Pulled in, he takes off his shirt and scarves, lets a friend paint him too, and feeling the spirit move, finds himself plunging into a brief shamanic journey, grabbing the hands of his other painted friends, and leading them on a wild run through the space. <br /><br />They contort their bodies wildly, passing strangers in the hallway, themselves covered in paint, yet looking on wide eyed at such a breaking with decorum. Running, jumping, he and his friends scare the other party people into brief moments of recognition. <br /><br />Now spent and the spell broken, he goes to retrieve his shirt and finds it missing. Looking all around, and wondering where could it be, or who might have taken it. Perturbed, looking across the room now, he sees a new acquaintance from earlier in the evening, wearing his missing shirt. <br /><br />This was the same stranger turned friend that expressed fascination with the shirt at the start of the evening, who upon seeing the logo "MEXICO" told him stories of trips through the jungle, of the darkness thereof, of the unseen animals that howled in the trees, of the indigenous peoples there who spoke a language more ancient than the everyday Español, of the drug wars and how he was afraid to go back now. <br /><br />He wondered what to do... should he let it go, or take back what belonged to him. <br /><br />Driving home later, and slipping into bed he felt the familiar shirt brushing against his skin, and pulling it off, was taken back to the party scene, of rubbing the dried paint, bloodlike, from the bare skin on the back of his new acquaintance, there and on into the dark jungles and innumerable unseen beings passing through them, of the give and take and trusts exchanged as they collided there in the night.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-2610779956448400682014-05-19T18:56:00.000-05:002014-05-19T18:56:18.670-05:00Installation Views / Solo Show / Deep Ellum Windows, Dallas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Installation views of my work from the recent solo show:</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> "Performance Artifacts and Documentation"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Deep Ellum Windows<br />2604 Main Street • Dallas</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">May 10-17, 2014</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85cFtAai4GNP7fDsLQ7lzoeYeIKzqVfaVVyD0GIRrVu6dx0JXi7xF0vQdXI8gTQRgsjQBYSZ0W30ABVhX5J0clYt4sGQhE6EooOQUvr2GLZhMnULZKQ3o4RF68wFPQoFjDcs7pvaKmSFq/s1600/install00_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85cFtAai4GNP7fDsLQ7lzoeYeIKzqVfaVVyD0GIRrVu6dx0JXi7xF0vQdXI8gTQRgsjQBYSZ0W30ABVhX5J0clYt4sGQhE6EooOQUvr2GLZhMnULZKQ3o4RF68wFPQoFjDcs7pvaKmSFq/s1600/install00_web.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Personae<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> (1998-2014)</i></span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7eSjqBFLmTmapEzrOXgYBtIcG8FThcK7nd2mJ2f_iImcKzq8Pf6xGJvLTG1sc-hqRoN-nNeJdX43QANdX2y_ZuPox8-EPeRbd0S_bcF4Do6_iA8h5oiNuDYaKW1gN8lAa9QU17lRsxK09/s1600/install13_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7eSjqBFLmTmapEzrOXgYBtIcG8FThcK7nd2mJ2f_iImcKzq8Pf6xGJvLTG1sc-hqRoN-nNeJdX43QANdX2y_ZuPox8-EPeRbd0S_bcF4Do6_iA8h5oiNuDYaKW1gN8lAa9QU17lRsxK09/s1600/install13_web.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> Wheel of Right Turning</i></span></i></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> (2005)</i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMtnre6DuGQpxKQ0QxndP9_6pC-mY_7JvWNiMqFzeXTSuCJNO4hqHHhpWKjatmJqkt3sLg6SW3ZcMR1ngxadhrZfezFVP2_ng7NuV_gduz6cWnwUms71Uvi0u73fQP8Fty2o2lw1ZS5Rrg/s1600/install01_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMtnre6DuGQpxKQ0QxndP9_6pC-mY_7JvWNiMqFzeXTSuCJNO4hqHHhpWKjatmJqkt3sLg6SW3ZcMR1ngxadhrZfezFVP2_ng7NuV_gduz6cWnwUms71Uvi0u73fQP8Fty2o2lw1ZS5Rrg/s1600/install01_web.jpg" height="244" width="320" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Installation View (2014)</i></span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CPp64Q1p3LRG8YCMoEdoanJtMdCSQ-rMG5uD2oK5RfBONxpipR4Ms5VioJe0AcoQJ9nDkqj02U7qQP5MuE0ie4PUzKTK1xNzdgTz_HUKtaelTQuLm6fELYZ-0tG6qA1igI3es50cONVF/s1600/install07_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CPp64Q1p3LRG8YCMoEdoanJtMdCSQ-rMG5uD2oK5RfBONxpipR4Ms5VioJe0AcoQJ9nDkqj02U7qQP5MuE0ie4PUzKTK1xNzdgTz_HUKtaelTQuLm6fELYZ-0tG6qA1igI3es50cONVF/s1600/install07_web.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Dream Ladder (foreground)<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> (2014)<br />and The Year of Bleeding Profusely (background) (2013)</i></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Y16BwmqUB6cAJaauY8Fi56gQkwRWI7-bz8SA7hWWnsBe5Gd7wmaBsweNKtXxJWJhJANHRM8dXDTVRg4ouHBZwpRVVIDaRc6aDqMvnpzRN1bQrcU8uEMSlN4y1wInDwUOH3GQTN-vL06C/s1600/install08_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Y16BwmqUB6cAJaauY8Fi56gQkwRWI7-bz8SA7hWWnsBe5Gd7wmaBsweNKtXxJWJhJANHRM8dXDTVRg4ouHBZwpRVVIDaRc6aDqMvnpzRN1bQrcU8uEMSlN4y1wInDwUOH3GQTN-vL06C/s1600/install08_web.jpg" height="320" width="229" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Performance Artifacts (The Worker) (2013)</i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3QQEwBWtlWTq23fgHSByzA8tqBBGKxWTtgaU1hBS7jkq3dm8tR5Hxe1z-1l0dpqeOtEOKoe8C-Wkpxz-BHKOmvEhOoJFoE0mNPje24ZybcwjS8wTndKwKyw8G8GnptvpVlroVev7psmg/s1600/install12_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3QQEwBWtlWTq23fgHSByzA8tqBBGKxWTtgaU1hBS7jkq3dm8tR5Hxe1z-1l0dpqeOtEOKoe8C-Wkpxz-BHKOmvEhOoJFoE0mNPje24ZybcwjS8wTndKwKyw8G8GnptvpVlroVev7psmg/s1600/install12_web.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Eating, Drinking (2013)</i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjebGUdrRv5jCrKaAvH3FazE9LhX-7bJPTLGXcKBWqnB78I_F1RkjoYzUB3CKAdKH5vq53cvf7sESMrdo3sVCfkQespIW8GaFaKonCEffW22zVLLwkWG2gTX2-e10TUIKzPlB4YzENc6la4/s1600/install03_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjebGUdrRv5jCrKaAvH3FazE9LhX-7bJPTLGXcKBWqnB78I_F1RkjoYzUB3CKAdKH5vq53cvf7sESMrdo3sVCfkQespIW8GaFaKonCEffW22zVLLwkWG2gTX2-e10TUIKzPlB4YzENc6la4/s1600/install03_web.jpg" height="228" width="320" /></a></i></span></i></span></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Last Night I Didn't Get to Sleep At All (left) (2001)<br />and I Don't Know How to Love Him (right) (2001)</i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span></i></span> </i></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtzjnAVP3IfFJ723dcNjjdthZDUkBeGX_bT3iupbhdDaD0eBmffPPdcGTXi_4xkxv3zOKFkRCdCOlsGDzzd5Jn35uUYBwcaV1AuodT_-6_Cd5Ja1HJODHb1_g27lUeNicr9as6tzGDoeL/s1600/install05_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtzjnAVP3IfFJ723dcNjjdthZDUkBeGX_bT3iupbhdDaD0eBmffPPdcGTXi_4xkxv3zOKFkRCdCOlsGDzzd5Jn35uUYBwcaV1AuodT_-6_Cd5Ja1HJODHb1_g27lUeNicr9as6tzGDoeL/s1600/install05_web.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Performance Artifact (The Prisoner) (2005)</i></span></i></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span></i></span> </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwbbY9uWIFHlLJeSXGiRY5Fo2lNaaPQun2sPbwC8PtK644usxaxwLtoANysxNVaCVIhb71CD0Wlr0cvR9H8OjbCOGrowduHBFGFd0lO3kZIT67r0U_GUVuermsftd8fjacUZUbDmu0QbxY/s1600/install04_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwbbY9uWIFHlLJeSXGiRY5Fo2lNaaPQun2sPbwC8PtK644usxaxwLtoANysxNVaCVIhb71CD0Wlr0cvR9H8OjbCOGrowduHBFGFd0lO3kZIT67r0U_GUVuermsftd8fjacUZUbDmu0QbxY/s1600/install04_web.jpg" height="320" width="245" /></a></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Performance Artifact (The Prisoner) (2005)</i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></i></span></div>
Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-80007003164234737272014-05-19T15:59:00.003-05:002014-05-19T18:45:02.049-05:00Installation Views / Solo Show / Beefhaus, Dallas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Installation views and a video of my work from the recent solo show:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> "Reach Inside to See the Stars"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Beefhaus<br />833 Exposition Avenue • Dallas</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">April 26 - May 8, 2014</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/mYRUS-99nI4" width="560"></iframe>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Beefhaus Performance (2014)</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPwrFSQYP4POXO3Ewro5LsxhnRa7KXicT8b53Q7DmMOselxEtD0XpZgiV83XtlTTWIdbEsPsXYrfU9eMyUJZMpZ22BCYK6sQ5Y7buPZU2Rn2cdVUT5R50dBvgqivoXF2x3BRoBdejfHkV/s1600/transformation_deity_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPwrFSQYP4POXO3Ewro5LsxhnRa7KXicT8b53Q7DmMOselxEtD0XpZgiV83XtlTTWIdbEsPsXYrfU9eMyUJZMpZ22BCYK6sQ5Y7buPZU2Rn2cdVUT5R50dBvgqivoXF2x3BRoBdejfHkV/s1600/transformation_deity_web.jpg" height="159" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Transformation Deity (2014)<br /> </i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAXkrFrXFLKWqy_fsFQ3tR3XXU9l6ggCT7tK2xgMteNc2BjJptp7KO7JlZ10XuEr2HsI7ZkTJ_X3SoZ1qZpoTlYmGwZoZ-ajiIWY5Yjik2DzHAUwzuSSdWChXYTP8woM9szWdODGL4MB3/s1600/gone_gone_gone_beyond_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAXkrFrXFLKWqy_fsFQ3tR3XXU9l6ggCT7tK2xgMteNc2BjJptp7KO7JlZ10XuEr2HsI7ZkTJ_X3SoZ1qZpoTlYmGwZoZ-ajiIWY5Yjik2DzHAUwzuSSdWChXYTP8woM9szWdODGL4MB3/s1600/gone_gone_gone_beyond_web.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Gone, Gone, Gone Beyond (2014)</i></span> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguny7la0v3h9PHDh_gTVOcq5yG8CnFPxxa9bW3ZJphJyoDNZPELFqFShlzAEiADYbI300qvqMNMa1lrO8Z53Mnky3meNWg5l168xepXn4fnFM_vAz1n28BND_AmTwYobzfzfmjmYFqvRV6/s1600/beefhaus_perf06_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguny7la0v3h9PHDh_gTVOcq5yG8CnFPxxa9bW3ZJphJyoDNZPELFqFShlzAEiADYbI300qvqMNMa1lrO8Z53Mnky3meNWg5l168xepXn4fnFM_vAz1n28BND_AmTwYobzfzfmjmYFqvRV6/s1600/beefhaus_perf06_web.jpg" height="244" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Temple Dancer (performance view) (2014)</i><br /> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFA2R_KW4W9gInrBwjz8kioyRTaB1OJjUR5CvWhue1j8QM1jEcM3_hpEMArL_rpGJCiPrnLGg7_TKpb5sSI5PXR7a5WR3E5J2f1TFjHxRZTgDfMefEdt_7RgCJe5rao5xWsmcCSurGG2K-/s1600/beefhaus_perf04_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFA2R_KW4W9gInrBwjz8kioyRTaB1OJjUR5CvWhue1j8QM1jEcM3_hpEMArL_rpGJCiPrnLGg7_TKpb5sSI5PXR7a5WR3E5J2f1TFjHxRZTgDfMefEdt_7RgCJe5rao5xWsmcCSurGG2K-/s1600/beefhaus_perf04_web.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Journey (performance view) (2014)<br /> </i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1P1ChLDLhVzJ1EEkKFPzHLFo9oBremeA1zNvxUkU7mtk_Az1QzslX18_VCHa1XzHnV86LB0Z_t9OQg60erZFC85xjTq3THYX3-bkluNT7H9ON3-y0btxsA0TvijS0S8Pi4zBQy26WtGz8/s1600/beefhaus_perf09_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1P1ChLDLhVzJ1EEkKFPzHLFo9oBremeA1zNvxUkU7mtk_Az1QzslX18_VCHa1XzHnV86LB0Z_t9OQg60erZFC85xjTq3THYX3-bkluNT7H9ON3-y0btxsA0TvijS0S8Pi4zBQy26WtGz8/s1600/beefhaus_perf09_web.jpg" height="320" width="231" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Dream Ladder (performance view) (2014)</i></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7s8dxnvNKH3hSxJdRvU3TFnEOpVH9TZi9Je6SPChbq8GEe78BA_IqwOC5us5CYgQhMIEIsXUif8Y_wNfQgbUHtqLb9cisTGwRrcdGcRLspGG8gGhxxLEhT_JV8YOIhWhDnJgPMYBrh_nK/s1600/beefhaus_install08_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7s8dxnvNKH3hSxJdRvU3TFnEOpVH9TZi9Je6SPChbq8GEe78BA_IqwOC5us5CYgQhMIEIsXUif8Y_wNfQgbUHtqLb9cisTGwRrcdGcRLspGG8gGhxxLEhT_JV8YOIhWhDnJgPMYBrh_nK/s1600/beefhaus_install08_web.jpg" height="320" width="242" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Dakini Lamps (2014)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19mMdlkfR6yxLAhhKH17zBVS8xzr_ShdLNhzDPmVVPibQp3jRCApg0U4F0F8q8IGkvC-fPTXrqoEqjymR_UKcxiF4JN4phvYbIBaFcKYw16B0XAJ6Q-FZSYcSbV3FrEcK7QbZQP7V8uDx/s1600/beefhaus_install01_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19mMdlkfR6yxLAhhKH17zBVS8xzr_ShdLNhzDPmVVPibQp3jRCApg0U4F0F8q8IGkvC-fPTXrqoEqjymR_UKcxiF4JN4phvYbIBaFcKYw16B0XAJ6Q-FZSYcSbV3FrEcK7QbZQP7V8uDx/s1600/beefhaus_install01_web.jpg" height="232" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Bardos of the Night (detail) (2014)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_B6DO4b6cQ3XEiv_N4oozMBg90fc8Vs4JypuWHbWW9ojDAdS4g1e1k2R_bFz6qIr_5G6tt2L0pAFrV_vVc2kMpBbVCI58N_rdYv1ImyZTpTwM8qguX2URkS-GKyFNV8qRX1Azgfk4ETKT/s1600/beefhaus_install02_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_B6DO4b6cQ3XEiv_N4oozMBg90fc8Vs4JypuWHbWW9ojDAdS4g1e1k2R_bFz6qIr_5G6tt2L0pAFrV_vVc2kMpBbVCI58N_rdYv1ImyZTpTwM8qguX2URkS-GKyFNV8qRX1Azgfk4ETKT/s1600/beefhaus_install02_web.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Dream Ladder and Stacks (2014)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjel2houH8xwcLTI4_hlAMMQu3s93Q8LDc1gWAcwJPC-3_hiN5xicVFFqf__JTUZu-vtf7_6nEKfwaMbqWX05hfCUVvC31vKVvocyrypVbejK86I1zI5_qgzD2GvVNNTAX9ypET72GcFl8/s1600/beefhaus_install06_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjel2houH8xwcLTI4_hlAMMQu3s93Q8LDc1gWAcwJPC-3_hiN5xicVFFqf__JTUZu-vtf7_6nEKfwaMbqWX05hfCUVvC31vKVvocyrypVbejK86I1zI5_qgzD2GvVNNTAX9ypET72GcFl8/s1600/beefhaus_install06_web.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Performance Artifact (Kashaya) (2014)</i></span></span></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/9uqxJbI2SJ8" width="560"></iframe>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> <br />Closing Party and Collaborative Performance</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> (2014)</i></span></span></span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-35109893936318332042014-05-05T15:29:00.000-05:002014-05-19T15:21:46.243-05:00Performance Artifacts and Documentation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Deep Ellum Windows presents:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Randall Garrett "Performance Artifacts and Documentation"<br />May 10 - 17, 2014<br />opening reception: Sat. 5/10 7-10 pm<br />2604 Main Street • Dallas</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLJfu5z1NDl1AYm8G7cWcRtpiicAcPYC3DKxelpA9yLhHjHQuQx8J2HW45yLxY8xAsEZw-dRD2noU3Inzf0xBOxgSLjIXOwAt51GhBFm-xwx9YU3JpVKD-LP51afqEqD2JRIrUTz0pHwQ/s1600/2014_temple_dancer01_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLJfu5z1NDl1AYm8G7cWcRtpiicAcPYC3DKxelpA9yLhHjHQuQx8J2HW45yLxY8xAsEZw-dRD2noU3Inzf0xBOxgSLjIXOwAt51GhBFm-xwx9YU3JpVKD-LP51afqEqD2JRIrUTz0pHwQ/s1600/2014_temple_dancer01_web.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /> <i>Temple Dancer (2014)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A selection of artifacts and documentation from 15 years in
performance by Randall Garrett will go on view as a part of the Deep
Ellum Windows series on May 10th. Works on view will include performance paintings,
collage, sculpture, installation, and documentation in the form of
photography and video.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbDvv8hnrg8RQeF1SS9SQ3ImPofgE0unAuzzb_tPWTlQ8bVSk3GoFKaL9v5Vb3hF8LFo03fz_8HcyaPmBZlk_piRMrjByzhQ-VHYamJpyvoTLcOoku6pocuEDUn8JIwmEDn9pVanfE3Dl/s1600/2005_the_prisoner_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbDvv8hnrg8RQeF1SS9SQ3ImPofgE0unAuzzb_tPWTlQ8bVSk3GoFKaL9v5Vb3hF8LFo03fz_8HcyaPmBZlk_piRMrjByzhQ-VHYamJpyvoTLcOoku6pocuEDUn8JIwmEDn9pVanfE3Dl/s1600/2005_the_prisoner_web.jpg" height="237" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> The Prisoner (2005)</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The show will span the
period from Garrett's first performance, the techno and club influenced <i>RXS</i> persona of <i>Last Dance </i>(1999),
to the utilitarian <i>Worker</i> from <i>Back Alley
Bodhisattvas</i> (2003) to <i>Bloom in the Ghetto</i> (2007), and <i>The Worker</i>
(2013), the <i>Prisoner</i> from <i>Diverging Roads</i> (2005) and <i>Libera Me</i> (2006), and the more recent <i>Temple
Dancer</i> from <i>Bardos of the Night</i> (2014).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIulYTsEvsOIxAeA_-YsR8W4v8lJc9wGM0K4KwyaBBp4VQlirBNWTMdKQtWQ51nH7sj3OBH_xX6oP1zajBAOLun6wEwa23cEOviJC-oof6Gwav31eOFm2h3T9syB6wtELGRx7N89Fg8uoT/s1600/2004_worker_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIulYTsEvsOIxAeA_-YsR8W4v8lJc9wGM0K4KwyaBBp4VQlirBNWTMdKQtWQ51nH7sj3OBH_xX6oP1zajBAOLun6wEwa23cEOviJC-oof6Gwav31eOFm2h3T9syB6wtELGRx7N89Fg8uoT/s1600/2004_worker_web.jpg" height="320" width="203" /> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5hfoUK7EYnUJ3OpX4EBoFOhWuElmuRwzg-s7Lfb6SCXVaG2QvEUe7HfZj7bjHtL0N5_pd2-G1LFax0yu8PE6UQxnQgNcN2BD6LHxSu9GnPY5WyGXpMGhn1OBoq9alr-Mq8bkhf1_1CnhZ/s1600/1999_rxs.jpg" height="320" width="218" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">lt.: The Worker (2004) rt.: Last Dance (1999)</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A video projection will
show documentation of several performances, and large scale and
sequential performance paintings from 2013 will also be on view.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPmQvW0XTAKEQtyDFKoktEJnPSzgKWavIBbBi5biYUuKORjgsaubGNfyyphCQ2waODI8ACx_fqCquoIZcc1USxvZRPfw2IyFs23AN6j2FEvpjDJ4m1dzivC8TWz93-13N8C-m8WlDX7S1Z/s1600/2001_astronaut01_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPmQvW0XTAKEQtyDFKoktEJnPSzgKWavIBbBi5biYUuKORjgsaubGNfyyphCQ2waODI8ACx_fqCquoIZcc1USxvZRPfw2IyFs23AN6j2FEvpjDJ4m1dzivC8TWz93-13N8C-m8WlDX7S1Z/s1600/2001_astronaut01_web.jpg" height="320" width="288" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I Don't Know How to Love Him (2001) </span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> The
artist has had solo shows in Dallas, Houston, and Chicago, along with
group exhibitions in New York, Miami, Santa Fe, and Ft. Worth. He is
currently the gallery director at El Centro College in Dallas, after
directing the gallery at Richland College (1998-2009) and was the
founder and director of Plush Gallery (2000-2012).</span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-88059625597427548072014-05-03T17:27:00.008-05:002016-03-11T16:54:47.677-06:00Beefhaus Spoken Word Set List (05.03.14)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Traffic (2013)</i><br /><br />Summer early evening traffic heat bleach blonde long hair skinny chick lookin' dude rocking out to metal air drumming on the steering wheel as he rolls by.<br /><br /><i>Slapstick (2014)</i><br /><br />So it's the tail end of this action packed day, and I'm doing great, meeting all my deadlines, and as I stroll out of the last meeting of the day, walking confidently away from the building and toward the parking garage, I take my eye off the sidewalk to look at a stray cat across the way and... miss the curb, falling in slow motion now and realizing I'm falling, let myself go, landing in a heap on the concrete, my bag next to me. Picking myself up, I chuckle at my clumsiness, and glance around to see if anyone saw me fall.<br /><br /><i>Working (2014)</i><br /><br />Walking into the factory yard, I climb in through an open window, and stumble over a table filled with art. Dropping to the floor, I step onto a small painting, and look up to see Johnny Cash, busily working there among the many paintings laying on the work tables. Walking past him, I apologize, saying "I'm sorry Mr. Cash, I'll be out of your way shortly". He nods and continues, without looking up.<br /><br /><i>Snake Kiss (2013)</i><br /><br />Holding a black snake in my hands, tightly. I loosen my grip and let it unwind, watching my fear rise as it does. Cupping my hands, I raise it near my face to look at it more closely. As I do, it moves close, and I resist the urge to tighten my grip. Its head lifts up, it looks me straight in the eyes and opens its jaws, lightly grasping my mouth in a tender kiss.<br /><br /><i>Scripture (2014)</i><br /><br />My sangha is the stars in the night sky, the trees and also the wind that blows through them, the apparent solidity of rocks and earth, the water, both flowing and still, the creature friends moving and breathing, and all the forms my awareness rests in.<br /><br /><i>Columbus Circle (2013)</i><br /> <br />Sunny, brutal cold winter afternoon, walking through the midst of a sprawling fight at Columbus Circle. young toughs tangle on the sidewalk, then up, strutting with theatrical gestures and threats in lieu of fisticuffs. "I'm coming back, alright, and when I do, I will light this place up."<br /><br /><i>Temple Offering (2014)</i><br />She is there, and I, on the long wooden boat poling through the canals of the ancient city. We drift up to a small mud enclosure, there in the dirty water, a temple with two thin Indian boys sitting on the walls. Pulling out two coins with a blue copper patina, I hand them to the boys in offering, then look back toward her laying there in the boat. I place my hands in prayer pose up to my third eye in blessing, as we slowly float away.<br /><br /><i>Blood Moon (2014)</i><br /><br />So I've been laying there about forty-five minutes, staring up into the sky, and suddenly this truck pulls up, headlights aimed right at my head. Parking, a young guy hops out, trucker cap, unshaven, and reeking of alcohol. He staggers past me, pulls out a cigarette, lights it, looks up at the blood red moon, and says, "dude, that's bad-ass". We exchange small talk as he paces back and forth, and finishing his smoke, he says, "I'm gonna go inside and pass out now".<br /><br />Lying back again, I look up into the blackness, and there she is, if I allow myself, to be mesmerized by her beauty, glowing like a sacred heart surrounded by diamonds, somewhere down among Virgo's dancing feet, the night still and bearing a silent witness, and Mars there too, hanging out to see what's next.<br /><br /><i>Dr. J. (2014)</i><br /><br />Home boys blowin' smoke in the crisp night air of a pickup basketball game, as high above the stars twinkle, same as they have on a few hundred billion other nights, and I notice for the first time that Betelgeuse pulses red every few seconds, and that the dimmer stars come into focus when you're not really looking at them, and how I used to practice really hard, thinking I was gonna be able to slam dunk some day. I could touch the rim, at least. (01.21.14)<br /><br /><i>Revery (2014)</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> </i>I remember that night, and you back in the room crying,<br />Our first big fight, and me walking alone on the beach,<br />Drunk and so in love with it all, a million stars spinning in the sky<br />Above me, losing myself and falling back on the sand,<br />Staring up now into infinity, some kind of revery.<br /><br /><i>Day Efe (2014)</i><br /><br />Alguna parte tengo tres cientos y cincuenta pesos sobre de mi ultimo viaje ala D.F. Pero todo que puedo encontrar es seis monedas de peso. Mañana tengo que llegar desde el aeropuerto hasta el Zocalo vía del Metro. Tengo seis pesos. Ella. Justo. Posible. Hacer.<br /><br />Flying in, volcanic ash fills the sky for miles around. Descending now, the sky clears and there she lies: endless structures surrounded by mountains, in a bowl of green foliage. And we touch down in clear light of morning.<br /><br />What do mariachis do when they're not playing? They stand around looking cool, that's what they do.<br /><br />All along the dirty streets and endless corridors of Mercado Lagunilla, blown by the cool breeze, on into Plaza Garibaldi, stray dogs and mariachis wander aimlessly in search of a song, or someone to listen.<br /><br /><i>Bear Ballet (2013)</i><br /><br />Down in a corner of the ranch, I spy a huge bear coming my way, head lowered. It runs up to me and I rub it on the snout, then we head out across the open field. Running along, we jump into the air, backs together, spinning, our feet entwined in a joyous celebration of life. We continue this dance, jumping and turning in the air, as the scene fades.<br /><br /><i>Joaquin Phoenix (2009)</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> </i>Last night I dreamt that Joaquin Phoenix, dressed in rockabilly gear, slicked back hair was driving me through the streets of L.A. at high speeds. He was behind the wheel of a tricked out low-rider with a giant jewel encrusted chain steering wheel.<br /><br /><i>Spin (2013)</i><br /><br />Walking out in the cold dark wintry night, stars spinning in the sky, no one and nothing around, yet feeling only gratitude. To be born into this world and to experience all of the sensations of this body: fear, solitude, uncertainty, the wonder and blessing of it all. The cold wind pushing through, the ghostlike shadows, the uneven road, the missed opportunities, the stories told and untold, and all that remains unknown on this journey.</span></span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-25130040852131287352014-04-27T17:08:00.002-05:002014-05-03T17:18:22.580-05:00Better Block Spoken Word Set List (04.27.14 / Dallas)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jazzed (and listening to jazz) in the studio today, getting new work ready for upcoming shows, buoyed by early spring sun, fresh air and the words of Kerouac: "Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So it's the tail end of this action packed day, and I'm doing great, meeting all of my deadlines, and as I stroll out of the last meeting of the day, walking confidently away from the building and toward the parking garage, I take my eye off the sidewalk to look at a stray cat across the way and... miss the curb, falling in slow motion now and realizing I'm falling, let myself go, landing in a heap on the concrete, my bag next to me. Picking myself up, I chuckle at the slapstick absurdity, and glance around to see if anyone saw me fall.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Working</i> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Walking into the factory yard, I climb in through an open window, and stumble over a table filled with art. Dropping to the floor, I step onto a small painting, and look up to see Johnny Cash, busily working there among the many paintings laying on the work tables. Walking past him, I apologize, saying "I'm sorry Mr. Cash, I'll be out of your way shortly". He nods and continues, without looking up.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyoSILkgmjunhc_EQODTUUagtWhrhlfNS6tOpjd636ipnb6G3Na03ezp9FQli8zWv5yC_YDDDDssvRX58hO0ltXmILKrfKozzXD7px4Nz5pN5grXUXC1aRkDvyKPIPhUELhFlDmDnW-EOY/s1600/better_block_april_i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyoSILkgmjunhc_EQODTUUagtWhrhlfNS6tOpjd636ipnb6G3Na03ezp9FQli8zWv5yC_YDDDDssvRX58hO0ltXmILKrfKozzXD7px4Nz5pN5grXUXC1aRkDvyKPIPhUELhFlDmDnW-EOY/s1600/better_block_april_i.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Better Block Performance (04.27.14) - photo by Steve Cruz</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Scripture</i> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My sangha is the stars in the night sky, the trees and also the wind that blows through them, the apparent solidity of rocks and earth, the water, both flowing and still, the creature friends moving and breathing, and all the forms my awareness rests in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Valentine's Day</i> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My daughter on the phone, she said "JC liked my Valentine". I asked, "what'd he do?" "He thanked me, and I thanked him too." I told her I loved her, and hung up, and walking outside under a full moon, down brisk sidewalks covered in snow, as lovers sit inside at tables sampling bottles of wine, staring into each others eyes, and me, back out on the street, walking fast to stay warm, breathing in the seventeen degree air and digging every minute, just being alive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Columbus Circle</i> (2013)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sunny, brutal cold winter afternoon, walking through the midst of a sprawling fight at Columbus Circle. young toughs tangle on the sidewalk, then up, strutting with theatrical gestures and threats in lieu of fisticuffs. "I'm coming back, alright, and when I do, I will light this place up."</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidc2vBe9iouOGBi8q0eF9DE8cDLEpPd_CUOnuLFn-BNpfILW6uFCAYy84htrYk9GjL7ipemEDVQflaXx_rq_qCruSgIBJSkT5IYtrRinvjS1DueS2SQamzLjIQlsShYADzugoxrUgtCwMG/s1600/better_block_april_iii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidc2vBe9iouOGBi8q0eF9DE8cDLEpPd_CUOnuLFn-BNpfILW6uFCAYy84htrYk9GjL7ipemEDVQflaXx_rq_qCruSgIBJSkT5IYtrRinvjS1DueS2SQamzLjIQlsShYADzugoxrUgtCwMG/s1600/better_block_april_iii.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Better Block Performance (04.27.14) - photo by Steve Cruz</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Temple Offering</i> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is there, and I, on the long wooden boat poling through the canals of the ancient city. We drift up to a small mud enclosure, there in the dirty water, a temple with two thin Indian boys sitting on the walls. Pulling out two coins with a blue copper patina, I hand them to the boys in offering, then look back toward her laying there in the boat. I place my hands in prayer pose up to my third eye in blessing, as we slowly float away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Blood Moon</i> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I've been laying there about forty-five minutes, staring up into the sky, and suddenly this truck pulls up, headlights aimed right at my head. Parking, a young guy hops out, trucker cap, unshaven, and reeking of alcohol. He staggers past me, pulls out a cigarette, lights it, looks up at the blood red moon, and says, "dude, that's bad-ass". We exchange small talk as he paces back and forth, and finishing his smoke, he says, "I'm gonna go inside and pass out now".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lying back again, I look up into the blackness, and there she is, if I allow myself, to be mesmerized by her beauty, glowing like a sacred heart surrounded by diamonds, somewhere down among Virgo's dancing feet, the night still and bearing a silent witness, and Mars there too, hanging out to see what's next.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Dr. J.</i> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Home boys blowin' smoke in the crisp night air of a pickup basketball game, as high above the stars twinkle, same as they have on a few hundred billion other nights, and I notice for the first time that Betelgeuse pulses red every few seconds, and that the dimmer stars come into focus when you're not really looking at them, and how I used to practice really hard, thinking I was gonna be able to slam dunk some day. I could touch the rim, at least. (01.21.14)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl9VBB6gIhH4DLr_9gzhc2k9Z60cKY7Beh5N-pnR0hb_ySlIqfyNg92wPY1ogDbRf6QN63wlHGGMwCBuQ4kr9RagwqjpkxUJ8w58gPJsa-nMZIAGWsB-o-CXwCP23oteUN_vIPxF29unor/s1600/better_block_april_ii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl9VBB6gIhH4DLr_9gzhc2k9Z60cKY7Beh5N-pnR0hb_ySlIqfyNg92wPY1ogDbRf6QN63wlHGGMwCBuQ4kr9RagwqjpkxUJ8w58gPJsa-nMZIAGWsB-o-CXwCP23oteUN_vIPxF29unor/s1600/better_block_april_ii.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Better Block Performance (04.27.14) - photo by Steve Cruz</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Revery</i> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I remember that night, and you back in the room crying,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our first big fight, and me walking alone on the beach,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Drunk and so in love with it all, a million stars spinning in the sky</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Above me, losing myself and falling back on the sand,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Staring up now into infinity, some kind of revery, this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Disco Ball</i> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tonight, dancing under the stars, I visualized myself as a deity, or rather a disco ball spinning slowly on the dance floor. It feels great to be high above, reflecting light through the darkness, in a thousand broken shimmering facets, a stillness and majesty, like that of a star or planet moving through endless space.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Courtyard</i> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just home from a hard days work, I walk outside to my apartment courtyard, sit down and begin to peel the skin from a ripe banana. Enjoying my snack, I feel the cool breeze as it mixes with the bright sunlight of an early spring evening. The sounds of an NBA playoff game float across from a neighboring apartment and then, at first imperceptibly, but growing distinctly louder, a woman moaning loudly from inside one of the apartments. ah, ahh, ahhh… Noticing the heavy, rhythmic breathing, and ebb and flow of her moans I realize, "those are the sounds of pleasure". ahhh, ahhh, ahhh… A few minutes later, my banana is eaten, and as I walk inside, she is still going at it, albeit at a lower, more steady rhythm. ah, ahh, ahhh… That must be a really good game she's watching. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Day Efe</i> (2014)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Alguna parte tengo tres cientos y cincuenta pesos sobre de mi ultimo viaje ala D.F. Pero todo que puedo encontrar es seis monedas de peso. Mañana tengo que llegar desde el aeropuerto hasta el Zocalo vía del Metro. Tengo seis pesos. Ella. Justo. Posible. Hacer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Flying in, volcanic ash fills the sky for miles around. Descending now, the sky clears and there she lies: endless structures surrounded by mountains, in a bowl of green foliage. And we touch down in clear light of morning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What do mariachis do when they're not playing? They stand around looking cool, that's what they do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All along the dirty streets and endless corridors of Mercado Lagunilla, blown by the cool breeze, on into Plaza Garibaldi, stray dogs and mariachis wander aimlessly in search of a song, or someone to listen.</span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-50959368713985751262014-04-27T10:46:00.001-05:002014-04-27T14:35:09.587-05:00Winter into Spring (2014)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Last night I found a nearby park that was dark enough to lie down and look at the stars, which in Dallas can be a challenge. Among the various groupings visible, it was exciting to see the two figures of Gemini, arm in arm, Jupiter brightly nestled in between, and the "w" that is Cassiopeia, near the sky's zenith. Listening to all the fireworks, music, and gunfire all around, I wondered what the stars might think of this revelry. (01.01.14)</div>
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Dark walk in the woods tonight, stars spinning overhead. A magical crescent moon is peeking out from windblown trees. (01.05.14)</div>
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Austin art dreams: rescuing posters from a garbage bin, embossing a wax book, working on a muddy green painting, painting wall around others in conversation, engaging students, and a gypsy caravan music performance. (01.05.14)</div>
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Orange cat friend came in from the cold and slept on my pillow, hugging me with his outstretched paw. In the morning he grabbed my pen as I wrote in my dream journal, as though he had something to write, too. (01.07.14)</div>
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So tonight, Aries, Perseus, Cassiopeia, and the half moon waxing keep me company in the cold, clear air. I think of many questions to ask them, then lose my thought as a million billion other stars, dimmer and more distant than these, come into view. (01.07.14)</div>
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The sights and sounds, the sensations and endless nature of it all, can be both fascinating and overwhelming. To wake up inside the dream, to see it as it really is, and stay there with it, that's the thing. (01.09.14)</div>
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All the words unspoken, rays of warm sunlight moving in slow motion, a drop of water dissolving into the air, cold breeze blows right through you, thoughts without number lost, remade in each moment. (01.12.14)</div>
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My sangha is the stars in the night sky, the trees and also the wind that blows through them, the apparent solidity of rocks and earth, the water, both flowing and still, the creature friends moving and breathing, and all the forms my awareness rests in. (01.14.14)<br />
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I used to fight the vertigo, now I embrace it. That is the mantra of the great Heart Sutra, after all... gone, gone, gone beyond, parasamgate, bodhi svaha. (01.16.14)<br />
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Home boys blowin' smoke in the crisp night air of a pickup basketball game, as high above the stars twinkle, same as they have on a few hundred billion other nights, and I notice for the first time that Betelgeuse pulses red every few seconds, and that the dimmer stars come into focus when you're not really looking at them, and how I used to practice really hard, thinking I was gonna be able to slam dunk some day. I could touch the rim, at least. (01.21.14)</div>
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So it's the cusp of the Lunar New Year and, lying here, nothing in the night sky, save Jupiter and a few others peeking through the clouds, and it's really just another night passing through, and I wonder, "what kind of year will it be", hoping it will be a good one, but knowing regardless, it will be the right one, and resolve to throw myself, my love, fully into it, this new year, year of the horse. (01.30.14)</div>
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Crescent moon peers through El Greco skies, and just like that, the clouds clear to a field of bright stars, and closing my eyes, I walk along in the darkness, stumbling, and feeling the heavy pull of gravity inside this body. (02.04.14)<br />
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Everywhere I go, the neighbors are partying. Tonight it's a 5th floor apartment in Chicago Old Town, laughter and shrieks from across the hall as I try to decide which paperback to read in bed. (02.14.14)<br />
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She said "JC liked my Valentine". I asked, "what'd he do?" "He thanked me, and I thanked him too." And walking outside under a full moon, down brisk sidewalks, as lovers sit inside at tables with bottles of wine, staring into each others eyes, and me, back out on the street, walking fast to stay warm, breathing in the seventeen degree air and digging every minute, just being alive. (02.14.14)<br />
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So it's the tail end of this action packed day, and I'm doing great, meeting all of my deadlines, and as I stroll out of the last meeting of the day, walking confidently away from the building and toward the parking garage, I take my eye off the sidewalk to look at a stray cat across the way and... miss the curb, falling in slow motion now and realizing I'm falling, let myself go, landing in a heap on the concrete, my bag next to me. Picking myself up, I chuckle at the slapstick absurdity, and glance around to see if anyone saw me fall. (02.19.14)</div>
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Growing up, I knew no one who practiced yoga or meditation. Where I was raised, it was considered esoteric, at best. It wasn't until my late twenties that I met someone who practiced mindfulness, an old Dominican priest. It would be another fifteen years before I met anyone that practiced meditation (a young Buddhist monk in Vietnam) or yoga (a young Indian community college sadhu). Fast forward to now, I see many practicing yoga, and know a few who meditate, and both are widely understood. Such is life and change in the heartland. (02.28.14)<br />
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Dad checked out of the hospital today, and after saying bye, Noah and I spent the afternoon and early evening driving home. My iPod battery was low, so instead of chants, he cranked up Nine Inch Nails on his player and we blasted through Oklahoma with the windows down. (03.11.14)</div>
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Jazzed (and listening to jazz) in the studio today, getting new work ready for upcoming shows, buoyed by early spring sun, fresh air and the words of Kerouac: "Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever..." (03.13.14)<br />
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Woke up a little late this morning, muscles sore, a blister or two, but cells rejuvenated. I love to dance, the feeling of radical honesty with myself and those around me. Pushing past self-consciousness to that expansive place, one way in to the bliss recognition of no self. And besides, who needs an excuse to shake that ass with abandon? (03.16.14)</div>
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I've spent the last number of months in quiet solitude in my semi-rural apartment here in Dallas' Little Forest Hills, but that all is about to change. I picked up a set of speakers the other day, and coupled with the bright idea of listening to some new music, just plugged them into my laptop. It's a little experiment in equanimity with the volume turned UP... the neighbors are about to get some competition with those late night parties of theirs. (03.16.14)</div>
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Have lost and almost lost too many loved ones recently. A reminder of this beautiful fragile existence and to strengthen my resolve to love and be as present as possible in each moment and to each one I am with. (03.23.14)<br />
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Orange cat friend enjoys drinking almond milk, much more than eating cat food. He watches me shave. I think he has the soul of an old hippie. (03.25.14)</div>
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Turn off your tv, turn down the talk radio, if only for a moment, and let the mental projections drop away. Step outside, breathe in the cool air from the fresh spring rain and feel your own body as it moves through space. (03.26.14)</div>
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I remember that night, and you back in the room crying,</div>
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Our first big fight, and me walking alone on the beach,</div>
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Drunk and so in love with it all, a million stars spinning in the sky</div>
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Above me, losing myself and falling back on the sand,</div>
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Staring up now into infinity, some kind of revery, this. (03.27.14)<br />
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I don't care who wins, I just love to play the game... (03.31.14)</div>
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half-awake at dawn, listening to rain falling, morning thunderstorm. (04.06.14)</div>
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One of the best things ever: lying in the grass out in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, cool breeze blowing, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky. (04.09.14)</div>
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And there she is, if I allow myself to be mesmerized by her beauty, glowing somewhere down among Virgo's dancing feet, the night still, and Mars there too, hanging out to see what's next. (04.15.14)<br />
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So I've been laying there about forty-five minutes, staring up into the sky, and this truck pulls up, headlights aimed right at my head. Young guy hops out, staggers past me, pulls out a cigarette, lights it and looks up at the blood red moon saying, "dude, that's bad-ass". We exchange small talk as he finishes his smoke, and walking away, in parting he says, "I'm gonna go inside and pass out now". (04.15.14)</div>
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Just woke up from a dream where I climbed in through a factory window to an art studio filled with paintings, and Johnny Cash working intently among them. I say, "sorry Mr. Cash, I'll be out of your way shortly". Without looking up, he grunts and continues to work. (04.19.14)</div>
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Tonight at ecstatic dance, I took my deity visualization and became a disco ball spinning slowly on the dance floor. It feels great to be a disco ball, there's a stillness and majesty, like a star or planet moving through space. (04.19.14)<br />
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One of the best things ever (vol. ii): walking in a spring rain. (04.21.14)</div>
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Sitting in my apartment courtyard enjoying a snack as the sounds of an NBA playoff game and a woman moaning loudly blend together in the early evening breeze. (04.23.14)</div>
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I relate. You could be writing about a Flannery O'Connor character, or one who grew up among religious fundamentalism. The long road to learn that control is a prison, and an illusion. Then, understanding there is no one and nothing to control, freedom appears. Beautiful, out of control. (04.24.14)</div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065328968382344350.post-72690293824798252272014-04-20T11:14:00.000-05:002015-06-15T18:33:37.237-05:00Reach Inside to See the Stars (performance)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Reach Inside to See the Stars</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">solo exhibition / performance</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Beefhaus, Dallas</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5cqjaUY7aEtprZ2z6Ocq5rm5ACB4i_6R1CWjsNb0LnRV1LfZRUu2ANzithcEu7wE31sGIeLUtAPtKIcnjPDQ6ynhdh_-_jA13bH3C4-XgSxfxMRIrxA-4xtQrKHDTD6rOkM9B2kcgfJN/s1600/beefhaus_perf03_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5cqjaUY7aEtprZ2z6Ocq5rm5ACB4i_6R1CWjsNb0LnRV1LfZRUu2ANzithcEu7wE31sGIeLUtAPtKIcnjPDQ6ynhdh_-_jA13bH3C4-XgSxfxMRIrxA-4xtQrKHDTD6rOkM9B2kcgfJN/s1600/beefhaus_perf03_web.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">833 Exposition Avenue • Dallas TX 75226</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">April 26 - May 8, 2014</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">(opening Sat. 04.26 7-10 pm / </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">performance at 8:30)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">This show builds on themes of inner space that I explored in my first Dallas exhibition (<i>Seeing Stars</i>, 1992) and the discotheque/club ambience of my first performance work (<i>One Night Stand</i>, 1999).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;">It will include new work in sculpture, collage, video projection and sound installation in the main room, and a performance set in the intimate safe room at Beefhaus.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1y1htqkW_QeJCQL-ZIvBw1Z0HxkrBAwlW4hqf2CO2rLUMVgQp9Wbv-BnBmWIfbs6mF2GkUiBVF9-w6ZA0yreaD2fB58GhWUMm1tHjCdHPOfYSQTW9lpIEyipl8NamXNMt24Tm2BoVC2bG/s1600/gone_gone_gone_beyond_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1y1htqkW_QeJCQL-ZIvBw1Z0HxkrBAwlW4hqf2CO2rLUMVgQp9Wbv-BnBmWIfbs6mF2GkUiBVF9-w6ZA0yreaD2fB58GhWUMm1tHjCdHPOfYSQTW9lpIEyipl8NamXNMt24Tm2BoVC2bG/s1600/gone_gone_gone_beyond_web.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Gone, Gone, Gone Beyond</i> (2014) latex and spray</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">enamel </span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: left;">on sneakers w/mirrors, 11-1/2 x 9-1/2 x 5 in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">In this new body of work, a grouping of collage on mirror surfaces and objects embedded with mirrors to emphasize reflection, in working with the idea that identity or form is an overlay on the clear reflective nature and open qualities of awareness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Transformation Deity</i> (2014) collage on mirror / diptych, 12 x 24 in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;">My performance will transform the safe room at Beefhaus into a tiny discotheque/temple, with strobe lights, ritual dance, and accompanying soundtrack.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Dakini Lamps</i> (2014) collage and light on tin can w/cord, dimensions variable</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here's a link to some of the tracks I composed for the performance:</span></div>
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="100" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/145095480&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="40%"></iframe>
<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Dr. J. (2014)</i><br />
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="100" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/145098950&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="40%"></iframe>
<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mystic Brainwaves (2014)</i><br />
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="100" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/145098372&auto_play=false&hide_related=false&visual=true" width="40%"></iframe>
<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Drive It (2014)</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 17px; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;">And a list of previous solo exhibitions and performances:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">2013 </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">To Dissolve Space Into Luminosity</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">, Deep Ellum Windows, Dallas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">2008 <i>Mahasukha Muthasucka</i>, NFO-XPO, Chicago
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">2007 <i>Bloom (In the Ghetto)</i>, Motherland, Chic</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">ago</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">2005 <i>Diverging Roads</i>, Deans Credit Clothing, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Houston</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">2004 <i>Demo </i></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Tape: 1991-2004</i>, Commerce Street Artist Warehouse,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Houston and Richland College, Dallas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">2003 <i>Back </i></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Alley Bodhisattvas</i>, Plush Gallery, Dallas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">2001 <i>Heaven Is So Far Away</i>, Plush Gallery, Dallas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">1999 <i>One Night Stand</i>, 500X Gallery, Dallas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">1996 <i>History</i>, J. Erik Jonsson Central Librar</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">y, Dallas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">1995 <i>Transmissions</i>, 500X Gallery, Dallas</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">1986 <i>Side Street Liturgies</i>, West Texas State University, Canyon</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have participated in group exhibitions in New York, Miami, and Santa Fe, and am currently the gallery director at El Centro College in Dallas, after directing the gallery at Richland College (1998-2009) and running Plush Gallery (2000-2012).</span></span></div>
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Randall Garretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09033485229200539023noreply@blogger.com0