Dr. Ozeneck of the Insect-Satan Brigade, image by Daniel Y. Harris
SPEAK OF THE DEVIL
The
arts of risk are too well known for me to mention tightrope
and
slack rope walkers concentration camp escapologists and
the
like. More
confusion lies in introducing words to words
of
encouragement or disdain: the distance between tame and
feral
is so much less than it was due to lawyers securing better
contracts
with indie entrepreneurs and the perpetrators of up-
and-coming
'phat rap'. Wildfire extinguishers sex operatives
and
deadpan pullers of strings not withstanding I'm bringing
hope
to all artisans with my catchy bite-size odes to unknown
demons. Defectives play up when lights are low. I find I'm
slipping
far too easily into stage English what with my worries
about
price and quality. Thunderstorms wreak havoc across
grouse
moors. High-sided vans tip over added to which we
are
green about load destinations and the ability of satnavs to
cope. With the supply chain breaking down nerve
cells can-
not
relay the info. I don't
remember whether I was here to-
day
or am due tomorrow – even which of us saw it first. Sin
IN CAMERA AND OUT
Windows
lighting and mirrors all added to a strong feeling of
displacement. I was trying on a lookalike shirt to save
opening
up a packet thereby generating distress.
As ever I
was
not quite knowing what to see. If it
wasn't me heard
later
quizzing both exhibition and hanging, who was it?
None
too quick – me as well as many another – but not slow
either
succumbing to the resultant blurred vision.
No-one
could
stop the dissing of a first and last curatorship – eerie as
eerie
experiences go an unlikely fog had riddled the gallery
with
the opposite of inspiration thereby drowning out its
message. Which left me to trawl through limited
opportun-
ities
for a major overhaul. I was left with
a slimline shirt I
couldn't
get my mind round and dollops of apathy about
taking
it back – conceptualists in all their finery looked grim.
LADY OF FORTUNE
Sitting
there with all her charisma intact after slipping behind
with
the schedule. Brushing off every
flippant enquiry.
Downtown
life carried on as normal but the gap in know-how
was
expanding exponentially. Light gone
by 5 as if by right
she
waved on overtakers with something more fascist than a
friendly
gesture. Jupiter made his admirable
appearance
a
high-octane arrival on the set and no time to brake. Small
wonder
is was space she craved. A boudoir
with views.
Not
short of arrogance never shy to ask for it cool enough to
play
or experiment with fire – an exercise in nightmare beast
with
a bite like hell. All fury and
routine threat. She'd lay
the
whole world out her way. Star turn
missing the one top target
to
actually matter. Be herself the
perfect example: bowing
to
no-one ready to pull them over. Never
quite get on top.
FITTER REMINDERS
This
was as elegant as anything I'd clapped my eyes on in the
continuous
present. A sequencing of delights
reordering the
syllabus
and establishing connections with our better selves.
All
this on the back of too much laughter in her eyes. Where
chaos
was lay readings of Sartre I could barely begin to con-
front. By no frenzy no rush to diagnosis I mean
'fine art with
a
twist'. Three drinks were enough for
her never to see me
again. It's taken quite a while but at last made
sense or my
too
crude understanding of the Logos all the more agreeable.
—Peter
Dent
