Monday, August 3, 2009
The Dance, marker on somewhat thick paper, by S, Minnesota
This is absurdist bliss. If we believe Albert Camus, and we should, then we must understand that our very freedom, and therefore the only opportunity we have to give life any real meaning, lies in the total recognition that life itself is absurd. There are no absolutes. There is no master plan. There is no precious subtext. Man must create his own meaning and purpose. And when there are no absolutes -- no powers to please, myths to topple, doctrines to attack – when there is absolutely nothing but the hand, paint, canvas and naked world – that, my good friends, is when the triangles dance. If her work is any reflection of her true self, S has not just rechanneled the crushing despair that can come with such mature absurdist thought, but graduated to a higher plane; one where the absence of reason, logic and purpose trigger a euphoric freedom of soul most could never grasp. We may never get there ourselves, but we can each in our own way, dance with the triangles.