"I don’t worry too much about intensity of focus; it’s more about transitoriness and catching what’s going by, then letting it go.
And making each piece itself, not like the others, or, if repeated,
there is also the possibility of its being different from itself”.
Excerpt from the liner notes of Christian Wolff’s Microexercises.
extract from arvo part’s speech
and then came the evening and the morning, 1990
a documentary of arvo part
there’s always an end.
it doesn’t matter when.
the end is now, there’ll be an end in five minutes.
the end may come to tommorow.
the end may have been yesterday.
it’s kind of a cosmic end.
when the quality is exceedingly high,
it exceeds the limits of the form.
there’s always a beginning, always, and there’s always an end.
i’m the beginning and the end.
not everybody can say, “i’m the beginning and the end”.
“i’m the beginning and the end”
alpha and omega…so.
if we start thinking about the form, then, then we’ll never be able to attain eternal life, will we?
it’s just the same as our fear of death, or, or it’s like a gate.
if you don’t go through the gate, then you can’t enter.
i mean, this is what form is.
…i mean you should start seeing the light in darkness; in the beginning it’s dark, the darkness must be there.
a new light must come. and you won’t know it, it must be your own fruit, the fruit of your flesh.
for otherwise you can’t make contact with it.
it’s a sense of awe, even fear…of losing it, of making a false step. see ?
…and then you prepare for this one step, you pull yourself together and you make it.
it’s you who’ve made it.
perhaps you’re not satisfied with the step, but after all it is one you’ve made yourself.
for you, it’s the purist form and real quality
i mean, this is what counts…
i don’t know…i don’t know…
it sometimes happens…almost always, in fact…that you can’t find an awnser to any question.
this too, is form. in music, too, it happens….
that there’s no awnser, no end.
For too long the artist has been estranged from his own “time”. Critics, by focusing on the “art object”, deprive the artist of any existence in the world of both mind and matter. The mental process of the artist which takes place in time is disowned, so that a commodity value can be maintained by a system independent of the artist. Art, in this sense is considered “timeless” or a product of “no time at all”; this becomes a convenient way to exploit the artist out of his rightful claim to his temporal processes. The arguments for the contention that time is unreal is a fiction of language, and not of the material of time or art. Criticism, dependent on rational illusions, appeals to a society that values only commodity type art seperated from the artist’s mind. By separating art from the “primary process”, the artist is cheated in more ways than one. Separate “things”, “forms”, “objects”, “shapes”, etc., with beginnings and endings are mere convenient fictions: there is only an uncertain disintegrating order that transcends the limits of rational separations. The fictions erected in the eroding time stream are apt to be swamped at any moment. The brain itself resembles an eroded rock from which ideas and ideals leak.
excerpt: A Sedimentation of the Mind: Earth Projects, 1968
these processes of heavy construction have a devastating kind of primordial grandeur, and are in many ways more astonishing than the finished product-be it a road or a building. the actual disruption of the earth’s crust is at times very compelling, and seems to confirm Heraclitus’s Fragment 124,
“the most beautiful world is alike a heap of rubble tossed down in confusion”