Daily Archives: April 25, 2017

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Up up up he climbs, a distance of over 30 meters, before he enters the next room with weary arms. Certainly a different kind of flooring here, more like a wall with those dripping windows just climbed past.

And then the flowing hair child again positioned above it (Visionary, Lucid, imaginary friend, et al), upward turned head halfway out of the water again. Elongated like the beanbag version encountered previously in a southern room. Or perhaps not a child in this case. A woman.

Here some background about The Artist is handy, perhaps even necessary. A review by blogger Kate Bergdorf of Oluja’s 2015 Metamorfaces exhibit provides the best story I found online. Obviously this life altering event fueled the creative impulse of that exhibit, which carries over into the present. Faces — many emerging from the water like the one before him — abound in “Glass Jars”. The Musician can’t imagine.

He climbs one last set of stairs, emerging above-water at a small platform with colorful pillows. He takes a seat and elects to drink a proferred coffee, which he finds satisfying.

He stares over at the ghost or soul of what he’s sure is a representation of The Artist now, rising above the duplicate one “trapped” in the water just beneath. Emitted or projected spirit double again. He feels he has absorbed all he can from the LEA11 water sim now, and must move on to newer, different concerns armed with this gleaned information. He’s in an individuation process, a journey of self discovery. He is The Musician, true, but now knows or remembers another half, larger but with lighter atomic weight. A different element. He is oxygen, he is hydrogen. But what is he as a whole? He thinks back to Ear and camping out on its upper ledge. The talk with Wheeler at the bar…

The Musician was going to return to the canyon with the glass jars chronicled in the LEA11 01 post from almost two weeks back to explore more, but thinks he understands what is going on there as well now. No need for a revisit. This is The Artist again, creating an archive of messages in glass bottles or perhaps The Artchivist in the future separating the messages from the bottles for further study. Another 2-n-1. Time does not have a strong gravity here. The gestalt is understood through repetition of images — lietmotif. An attempt to grok the whole through the parts, like the proverbial elephant in the room. But this is as far as he can go with it currently.

Before taking his leave, The Musician did have one other place he wanted to revisit: LEA11’s purest, whitest room tucked away in its northwest corner. His now elongated, white body half out of the water, he assumes a heavenward position.

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Ah yes, I think it all may start to come together in this series of rooms. The girl again… lots going on here. Let’s take a look around…

Definitions hanging on the wall: onism and ambedo. The Musician pauses to absorb.

The Musician has trouble identifying with the onism definition, which, summarizing, is the frustration caused by being trapped in one body in one particular space/time moment. He *likes* compartmentalization. He doesn’t want to be in multiple places at once, like this particular sim’s inhabitant sometimes named Visionary or Lucid is. *She* is multiple. I am one,” he says to himself. “I am The Musician,” he states again, asserting his identity.

Ambedo is a difficult definition for him again. He’s a thinker, head in the clouds. The act of experiencing vivid sensory details in the environment is rare. He dwells in the cathedral of his thoughts. But (for the author), there’s always (Real Life) Bigfoot…

Another one on the next wall: occhiolism. A mouthful!

Again, he has trouble identifying with the definition of him being very small, insignificant — a sample size of one. He doesn’t have these problems (!). Yet maybe he should. He tries harder to identify. He thinks back to the idea of art extending beyond itself, backwards and forwards in time, even sideways (into parallel dimensions), to encompass not only itself but the whole universe. Everything is part of everything else. That’s what he thinks. He is as much within John Lennon as Lennon is within himself. The 4 Beatles knew the idea of (nested) shared experiences. That is his mantra. That is his holy grail Greek island of Patmos The Beatles sought for at their absolute peak but missed out on. They were looking outside, when they should have been looking within. But maybe the two, outer and inner, could have become one at that moment. He thinks of a name: Patmos John. He remembers being old and young at once. Lidsville — he must remove the lid (again).

Even though he is different from The Artist (maybe they should compare Briggs Meyers personality test results), he can learn from the differences. *That* is expanding beyond his sample size. Satisfied for now with his thoughts, he observes more…

The crux of the room… and another definition on the wall: exulansis. He begins there.

Trouble once more. Is there a particular experience which he couldn’t communicate with others, or felt like they let him down with the inability to understand and grok? Creativity itself, he supposes. The idea of putting pen to paper and pick to guitar. How many songs has he written over his lifetime? Hundreds? Thousands? He’s chosen a path long long ago. Yet he has compatriots: Lennon, Harrison, the Beatles as a whole. But not Dylan, oddly (Bob or Thomas). He’s read much but not enough he feels. How did it feel as Joyce wrote “Ulysses” and “Finnegan’s Wake” for an uncaring mass. The bulk of Charles Ives’ music was composed at night in total secrecy as he worked a high end New York insurance job during the day. Creativity… that is the experience for him that he cannot share with others. Union with the muse. Yet he can look around and see others of his type, his “ilk”, hehe. He knows he is not alone. It’s just out there there are teachers, parents, athletes, businessmen, laborers, many with dreams, yes, but all working on a different plane from him. Even the differences of being an Artist and a Musician, he realizes. He studies the tableau closer…

The child — named “imaginary friend” in this case; a new twist! — now holds George the teddy bear in both hands and stares at him lovingly, we assume. Building blocks of monochromatic color lie around her, some animated and moving about the floor and even air as if possessed. Other childhood objects lie strewn about: a pogo pony; what’s called a “rabbicorn doll”; a tiny balloon in a *glass jar* complete with miniature clouds and flying birds; a moon with a face, perhaps a pillow.

And then, lo and behold, on the rug next to this: models of the LEA11 rooms. Microcosm! So this is definitely the work of The Artist.

And what is this? The seed matroshka. He’ll keep this in mind.

Onward/upward!

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