The flower

For M. I am a kind word uttered and repeated by the voice of nature; I am a star fallen from the blue tent upon the green carpet. I am the daughter of the elements with whom winter conceived; To whom Spring gave birth; I was reared in the lap of Summer and I slept in the bed of Autumn. At dawn I unite with the breeze to announce the coming of light; At eventide I join the birds in bidding the light farewell. The plains are decorated with my beautiful colours, And the air is scented with my fragrance. As I embrace slumber the eyes of night watch over me, And as I awaken I stare at the sun, Which is the only eye of the day. I drink dew for wine, and harken to the voices of the birds, And dance to the rhythmic swaying of the grass. I am the lover’s gift; I am the wedding wreath; I am the memory of a moment of happiness; I am the last gift of the living to the dead; I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow. But I look up high to see only the light, And never look down to see my shadow. This is wisdom which man must learn. Kahlil Gibran, "Song of the flower" (A Tear and a smile).

The Great Wave

OK, people, finally I'm sort of content with something I made, even kind of proud. This is my version, completely evolved out of interactive genetic algorithms, of the Katsushika Hokusai's "The Great Wave off Kanagawa". I utterly needed to do this, it was an urge bigger than life to me these days, I couldn't go on with my mind and my heart if I didn't try with all that I am to recreate an electronic version of it. One night I woke up with this foreboding words out of the dream: "I'm drifting and the storm wave is coming. I know." First, the words put me to think that I had one enough apocaliptic colour and vision on Dawn of the Apocalypse, but soon after I noticed: "No, no, I'm wrong, this is something else, this involves another symbol, and another connection". This dream came out of the pressure accumulated, the passion just because, the contempt about, the pulling to, the visionary response to the mediocrity to which I don't want my life to ever finally go into, if it does, it will be in total dissidence for the fact, disobedience for the universal rules prepared to push me to, and disregard for any other who don't resist to the same tragedy. Recovering any dialog with the Muse is priceless, I've been without her weird quirks for so long that any contact is appreciated to the most, so that other connection that I presumed it might be with my Muse again?... poor being, thirsty trying to get water out of the rock of my creativity, but still around, after years of yearning for it. Being an inspiration for another being in this world (as my beloved writer Jorge Luis Borges have said) it's not a minor thing at all! Do never underestimate the power of kindness nor inspiration. The inspiration that pushed this urge to grow until it was an unstoppable impelling force (a wave itself) came from the influence that the conversations on exchanged e-mails with my kindred spirit Megan have had. Every detail pushed me to recreate this opus, the Great Wave, that I've adored since a teenager -may be insulting it too instead of doing a rendition. I know the Mount Fuji is not there, not there also the repeated Mount Fuji on the wave forms, I know the background is too simple (still, genetically evolved, and the colours gratify me), I know all the defects of it, I've been the one over it for around 10 days of feverish work!, but also I know the basic power of it it's there in a way, pushed by nightmare colours, and the fingers, the hands of the Wave are there about to grab our souls in the final cleansing of the surface of this earth. I know I'm talking obsessed about it with my actual headache and my hunger, so it's a big relief to drop it for a while, to let it go out of the system, to the restricted public view that this blog has. Finally, some rest... hopefully ;-) I think the connection is quite well represented by William H. Davies on its extreme lucid and eternal poem down below. My back is turned on Spring and all her flowers, The birds no longer charm from tree to tree; The cuckoo had his home in this green world Ten days before his voice was heard by me. Had I an answer from a dear one's lips, My love of life would soon regain its power; And suckle my sweet dreams, that tug my heart, And whimper to be nourished every hour. Give me that answer now, and then my Muse, That for my sweet life's sake must never die, Will rise like that great wave that leaps and hangs The sea-weed on a vessel's mast-top high. William H Davies, "Love and the Muse".

Chocolate

Today I needed some sweetness. If I were in charge of the world I'd cancel oatmeal, Monday mornings, Allergy shots, and also Sara Steinberg. If I were in charge of the world There'd be brighter nights lights, Healthier hamsters, and Basketball baskets forty eight inches lower. If I were in charge of the world You wouldn't have lonely. You wouldn't have clean. You wouldn't have bedtimes. Or "Don't punch your sister." You wouldn't even have sisters. If I were in charge of the world A chocolate sundae with whipped cream and nuts would be a vegetable All 007 movies would be G, And a person who sometimes forgot to brush, And sometimes forgot to flush, Would still be allowed to be In charge of the world. Judith Viorst, poem named after its first line.

3D - Froot loops

I started my day with this irrational, strong urge for animal crackers and milk with froot loops. If I try to go from the particulars to the generals to explain to myself what I shouldn't, then it's may be this rule out of maturity that I have -this rebellion on which something feels transcendentally wrong when I agree to some socially accepted truths: I'll not resignate to accept death as a natural thing, I won't temper to an efficient mediocrity to adapt, I keep myself wanting more than just taking care of my worldly needs. Wisdom, and play, and random kindness, and senseless acts of beauty are more needed than the previous, and this involve ethics; I think those cover the eternal topics of beauty, truth and goodness good enough, or better than they cover just plain greed and resignation. I'm 35 and finishing to define myself, I already have a set of beliefs that nobody would convince me to think otherwise, they've been collected based on what's important to me, and what I've lived. We're humans, we bloom late. Animal crackers and cocoa to drink, That is the finest of suppers I think; When I'm grown up and can have what I please I think I shall always insist upon these. What do YOU choose when you're offered a treat? When Mother says, "What would you like best to eat?" Is it waffles and syrup, or cinnamon toast? It's cocoa and animals that I love most! The kitchen's the cosiest place that I know; The kettle is singing, the stove is aglow, And there in the twilight, how jolly to see The cocoa and animals waiting for me. Daddy and Mother dine later in state, With Mary to cook for them, Susan to wait; But they don't have nearly as much fun as I Who eat in the kitchen with Nurse standing by; And Daddy once said, he would like to be me Having cocoa and animals once more for tea. Christopher Morley, "animal crackers"·

Woven together

Fractal artist Dzeni is between the final three to decide the cover for the Auckland phonebook for 2009, public voting is open, and hers is the best concept, "Woven Together". Anyway, I think there's even more than this: fractal flames art it is for now an undervalued form of art, it won't be in ten years, but for it to not be then, everyone with a minimum interest on it should help to raise the exposure of it now; one way that I think is valid for this is helping another fractal artist to become more public, more visible, we must be woven together to support digital art, and a perfect and opportune way to help for that, right now, is voting for Dzeni before november the 14th, you only need an e-mail account. By voting Dzeni you're voting Project K too, it is a Youth Development programme designed to inspire 14-15 year olds to maximise their full potential; if Dzeni wins, Project K wins too. Good luck to everyone involved, that's more than just Dzeni and Project K as I said. This is her artwork, "Woven Together":

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº71

Continuing in any possible way. With this abstract I close two cycles, flowers and thorns: will not post abstracts anymore for a while (although every image is an abstract here), and will not post daily anymore for a while, simply because I can't. [...] The flowers which is single need not envy the thorns that are numerous. [...] Though the thorn in thy flower pricked me, O Beauty, I am grateful. [...] Rabindranath Tagore, "Fireflies".

Blogging stopped again.

If this sounds unintelligible to you, let it go. I can just stop and simply don't explain why, or even lie about why I do stop my blogging. I don't need pity, I'm not that childish and my friends know it, I don't say things for people to get back at me saying "poor thing", anyway, I'll leave comments open, and anyway I'm saying the real thing: I'm stopping because I don't feel good, because I'm suddenly heartbroken; so it's not funny to keep over my hobby like this at all, of course. I expect to be rescued from a pain that I can't manage, like a child, and I accept that that is somewhat childish. Why saying more? I know everyone, no matter how mature is, have went through something like that, aside particular details. I want to hear that everything will be alright. I'll be ok? I just want to know: at what price; what I will lose -that I don't want to lose- in the process; I want to state that I don't want to lose anything and things must be like they were before I started suffering, so obvious. I am good, I'm pure, it took me a long time to notice and accept those two facts without blushing. Sometimes I just need people and the circumstances (that thing so difficult to define) to be good to me too. If this sounds unintelligible to you, let it go. Can I ask you to not feel tempted to comment nor contact me, please? Don't know why exactly. I'll leave the freedom of commenting open, I believe in freedom!, and I like truth! but should ask for silence. I'll respond, if I have to, only in my head with the best of me, will not respond in written here. I can tell and talk and reveal about myself and my problem, but why boring myself and others more than with my ideals in poems and my plastic images? Drama queen I am? So funny to think that I "became" one. I'll leave this open as I opened my heart unnecessarily, just wanted to, although it may not seem that I opened my heart. I let this post here also because I feel it reveals the level of my confusion and pain somehow, or it will do to me later. And I want this ugly part of me to remain here, visible, I am like this now. I don't get it, I don't understand myself, and I don't understand anything else, I'm blocked by pain, as we've all been and felt at some moment in our lives, I guess. The heart wants what it wants. I love, and I'm ignored.

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº70

And a late addition for Dzeni, with a blank backround: How shall my animal Whose wizard shape I trace in the cavernous skull, Vessel of abscesses and exultation's shell, Endure burial under the spelling wall, The invoked, shrouding veil at the cap of the face, Who should be furious, Drunk as a vineyard snail, flailed like an octopus, Roaring, crawling, quarrel With the outside weathers, The natural circle of the discovered skies Draw down to its weird eyes? How shall it magnetize, Towards the studded male in a bent, midnight blaze That melts the lionhead's heel and horseshoe of the heart A brute land in the cool top of the country days To trot with a loud mate the haybeds of a mile, Love and labour and kill In quick, sweet, cruel light till the locked ground sprout The black, burst sea rejoice, The bowels turn turtle, Claw of the crabbed veins squeeze from each red particle The parched and raging voice? Fishermen of mermen Creep and harp on the tide, sinking their charmed, bent pin With bridebait of gold bread, I with a living skein, Tongue and ear in the thread, angle the temple-bound Curl-locked and animal cavepools of spells and bone, Trace out a tentacle, Nailed with an open eye, in the bowl of wounds and weed To clasp my fury on ground And clap its great blood down; Never shall beast be born to atlas the few seas Or poise the day on a horn. Sigh long, clay cold, lie shorn, Cast high, stunned on gilled stone; sly scissors ground in frost Clack through the thicket of strength, love hewn in pillars drops With carved bird, saint, and suns the wrackspiked maiden mouth Lops, as a bush plumed with flames, the rant of the fierce eye, Clips short the gesture of breath. Die in red feathers when the flying heaven's cut, And roll with the knocked earth: Lie dry, rest robbed, my beast. You have kicked from a dark den, leaped up the whinnying light, And dug your grave in my breast. Dylan Thomas, poem named after the first line.

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº69

Don't think, Just desire! Look, insects also do so. Orhan Veli Kanik, "Insects".

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract Nº68

Poor, homely, unloved things beside the way, That strive in voiceless ignominy, still Undaunted though downtrodden, to fulfill Your appointed purpose! Patient the long day Ye take the buffetings of scornful clay, Sustained by that small portion of God's dew Which thick-strewn dust permits to fall on you. And live where finer herbs must wilt away. Have ye too, dreams of better things to be? Of worlds in which the crooked shall be straight, Where all that are in bondage shall be free, And lifted up all those of low estate? Where, to the thought that knows the potent seeds, Weeds shall be e'en as flowers, flowers as weeds. William Herbert Carruth, "Weeds".