Lily Donaldson Vision

A golden mannequin and a rich son of tewesday lunch in downtown plastic papers, eastern village of the poets, drinking up the streets from the slash and burn cultures, ending a dream and a fantasy at the same time by over doing it, but who carez? the gem by her side, a little smoke and cars that gleam on her jeans, she a voice to those, them in their clubs and fires from nights that hide the stars...message to self, move over, move on and get some, get it now while it lasts, the anarchy looms on the horizon of american devils, saliva on their sleeves, money on their backs, broken ribs from the garden and a sweltering heat that bears visions from her eyes...

Pop designers and the masturbation of TVMind Culture

I see too many people who are "trying" to be designers.  Not that they are not inherently talented, but it's more that they are trying to fit their talent into a mode that does not truly belong to them...or does it?  It's the same old story, true individuals don't care if they are wearing the "right" clothes...they just go in style.  Look at HGTV's Design Star or Bravo's Work of Art shows...and you'll get my point.  Doesn't it seem that our culture is just being lowered to the recesses of a high school mentality through one way ticket Reality TV?  Everyone needs to fit in so that they can make the fake money that hides whats real in our lives from our psyches, the part of self we bury deep in plastic credit cards.

Doubt me?  It will happen that the truth will prevail...no more lies and no more fail.  It's time again, to rise and then, overpower greed, for the heart will not bleed (anymore).

The Masonic El Eye

Force your brother to the X Roads, cause him to self-immolation for your own magical benefit....Shameloh On You.

DMT

Drawing (Chief Moorig) 2011

Untitled Abstract Collage work on paper.

ATE AHAU

8 A HUM O

The Sun Lord on Sunday

AeyeWess

Hot Fire

Steal the Pain Away

There is no end to human suffering, save enlightenment.  We continue to destroy ourselves...like shadows in the night.

Ancient ways are beckoning us back to the garden of delights.

Save Our Ship!

DMT

Asherah Shekinah Yo Yo MAH

The Full Buck Moon was so brilliant last night, that the "pagan" in me started to remember the lost goddess of the Jewish/Semitic people: Asherah.  She was a beautiful woman, a consort of magical powers, her staffs/poles placed near the altar to YHWH.  I often think that our mutual forgetting of the past causes us to repeat the same mistakes.  I am terribly saddened by the sacrifice of the little Jewish boy, Leiby Kletzky.  Remember that nothing in essence ever changes, only people do their best to keep it all secret and locked up for face saving.  In the end, the truth will prevail no matter what people do or don't do.

Ode to RAY MAN

MON REY...you giant fool!  You beast to gods and men.  Open and folded in a simultaneous crouch poesis your YOG a pogo stick of creation fotog burning in Babels weep.  I believe it to be so, bc you clearly pre-empted the lot of sots and chains and dips to follow in your foddering flounders of potions and alchemy. 

Daddy Warhol sold you out.  You died of infected lung after too many a Gaulish evening.  However, cars and sirens spilled their blood in the streets of realization for your painted bread.  The money, well, that was all dough to begin with you Yodeo Street Warrior and Suprematist conspirator.

Yellow Limey Mask Being

Old School Alien Head

A new Self Portrait in Bifurcated Bipolaristic Matrix Sequence

"Conversation with the Alien in Art" written in 2002 and published by SPACE in 2003, NYC.

CONVERSATION WITH THE ALIEN IN ART

 A feature article By DAVID M. TWIDLE, an artist and shaman. SEPTEMBER 2003

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Here I am, an urban artist alone in an apartment. There are no other visible beings here besides my cat and myself.

I am alone, except for the fact that everywhere I look I am surrounded by some strange presence, an alien presence.

The fact that over the course of time, I have diligently created this presence is my art. I have formed a collective presence on canvas and paper that looks at me with knowing eyes.

The emergence of this presence originated from within the depths of my being and in that sense is intimate. In that sense I "know" this presence to be a part of my being.

On the other hand, the fact that it forms a collective presence is alien to me. Here lies a dichotomous tension in my relationship to this artifice. This realization comes from the manifestation of a foreign face or visage in the visual field.

More than a face, it is a mirror or a reflection of my own outlined persona. Of course, the very idea of an alien is metaphysical and esoteric. However, this has traditional and formal representation as well. This perception lies within the basic evolution of consciousness and its expression as art, one of the underpinnings of culture.

As an artist searches more and more deeply for the motivation of the creative process, they in fact materialize an entity that they can never fully know or understand.

In this sense, art is a conversation with an alien being that lives within the deepest regions of what some might call the soul or life force. This being lies just beyond the self as a reflection of our obverse nature in a physical universe.

Some might call it the alter ego. George Condo refers to it as the "antipode." Picasso painted it in his painting "Woman Standing in Front of a Mirror," as well as in his surrealistic, post-cubist work that defined his career after the 1930s. It is revealed in the deconstructive attempts of Derrida to resolve linguistic marginalization, centrism and binaries.

It is the Hegelian method of the resolution of thesis and antithesis. It is Moses staring into the Burning Bush. I believe that it has many analogues in the visual field, as well as the literary and musical fields or all levels of creation.

Interestingly enough, I infer that in alienation this being reflects the condition of our being, individually and collectively in this contemporary age as we populate and evolve on all levels. For many artists this has been the essence of their experience in society. Since their separation from the establishment embodied in church and state going up until the present time, many artists have struggled with their relation to the exterior world and how to incorporate it with their individual, dream world of ideas and poetry. To be an artist means to be isolated in one's own dream world, since art is a language so personal, intellectual and spiritually subjective to the artist, regardless of criticism and objective analysis. This is the result from a concentrated spirit and intellection that characterizes the individual aspect of art and its relation to the objective world, which is also a reflection of this alienation. That is to say, the whole time there is this balance sought between creative intimacy and the degree of objectivity where one can coexist within reality. In fact, it is intertwined through integration and analogy. Ironically, this separation and isolation has become very public, as society develops more and more technology orientated towards an individualized, solipsistic world. In that sense, everybody is increasingly experiencing alienation in their daily lives as a result of these desires to be individual and unique as apparent collective level of objectivity through technological unity. This is projected through television, Internet, radio, magazines and scores of other media, which form the panorama of collective analogues that our selves are creating through this relationship. However, it isolates the individual from that collectivity by individualizing their needs and interactions with society and the objective world. This is ultimately ironic and contradictory. As it is a definite part of us, technology is creating a normality of isolation, catered to our whims and desires, or dreams. As we create a place in the world that is an immediate reflection of our desires, we ironically create an alien being which both the collective society, totally inscrutable and our individual selves exemplify. Even after we have consumed it in both a commercial and cultural sense, it remains as such. This is the artistic evolution of our being in a physical universe.

 Art is a conversation with an alien.

After abstraction and its re-codification in the formal realm, now the alien poses the next level of abstraction, that aspect revealing itself in the artistic process. It is the next plateau to our formal understanding of art in any field.

The alien is abstract like the individual in relation to contemporary society. This abstraction is the point or place where we relate ourselves to the world.

In the height of the cult of celebrity, where individuals become individualized abstractions of themselves and a template ideal, this could never be truer.

My art as alien is as much a part of me as it is alien from me. It is a startling mirror to myself, like Maha Kali dancing on Shiva and mirroring him in his power to create and destroy.

As I look out into the world from my room and wonder at that collective alien presence of my art and the objective world, I see that it characterizes this present moment.

Then I wonder what my alien is really trying to show me. In any case, I realize that is where lies the secret and mystery of art and its infinite potential to become.

Who and what is the alien? Why do we need to confront it?

For now, we need it to progress on all levels of society and culture in order to achieve our next stage in evolution. As we confront this abstraction in our artistic lives, we are initiated into another level of existence and, of course, the development of our integral culture in a limitless space.

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Copyright © David M. Twidle 2003. All Rights Reserved.

Svetlana Levanova Angel (Primavera)

Fall with the DOLLAR (store)

Fall with the dollar and get home to some cold grits and empty the trash cans called "A-Mirror_KKK-Cali-Ma" and her cheeseburgers and fake flags.  GREECE was a movie, but also what is clogging your visionary arterial universal world banks that vampires created.

Petrol only for $$15 dollars, but makes us swim real good in our own caca del toro.  We go for alligators and Moon Pies.  Indian nickels are the new currency, but are cheaper than the next Coca-Cola thief.  The aliens invaded too long ago for your own good and they took over every Chinese Restaurant this side of the Pecos.  I sweat gold and silver colloidals now and the West was ONE by the blood from the trail of tears.  War is hell, but KFC is finger lickin' good.  If you think Im crazy, you need to take a long look in your own bowl of goodies and call it a day.

SpaceAceMan with Gold Xross and Star

SUMMER SOULSTICKS

SUMMER SOUL STICKS
kix for kids and mixens
all dazy dogs stairs
two tribal promises present
and
pizzas like glue
all up in there
craps and cars

Dont get it twisted emityemities...

Life is a "Reality TV Show"

True colors collide in front of a backdrop of Babylonian Time Bombs, Nuclear explosions to NADA, nothingness, but only constructed towers to vanity, emptiness, hopeless posturing of verity and authenticity, the smirks of contrite "EYE know it ALL-ness", the SALTss on the meat wheel, the turning of death into feathered beds of ticker tape ego parades.

EYE WACK and dancing steps, Jordan Maxwell as Bhairava eating the flesh of dead Holy Wood, hard-ons of daemons paving the way for a new political chain gang...here we are, Aliens inside the letters in those hills, eating humans, creating chaos for mass control, bc you know the game and its the name of the next "Reality TV Star".

DMT