Balloons

To comprehend amount and body of freedom, the concept for modern.

I guess freedom is easiest to understand on personal level and ask oneself how free one feels one is? We may be freer than we think. We are often imprisoned by our cultural ties and mostly bound to ground and place. Body can feel like a prison, the idea of body which is not yours when it is ruled by someone else’s mind and laws, when it is not what it should be. Life can feel it is not yours. You may not be what society expects you to be. What then? Shall we become what we are expected to be and to what extend? Fact is we will never have enough, we will never be satisfied, we will always be lacking. How to live with that, and how to know what is enough of freedom? Then there are limits to thinking what is possible, what can be done, what should be done, what someone can do, what is failure and what is success. To understand how massive the sea of possibilities truly is may be impossible because we are limited.

What is the amount of free space to think and do with in one’s life? Who and what dictates one’s life and up to what point? How much one has to say in what happens in one’s life, what one can do, where one can go, with whom etc.? What is free art for example? Is it free of form, free of authorities and opinions, free of censoring and silencing, free of institutional boundaries and corruption, free of set limits what is art and what is not, free of judging who is and can be an artist?

You owe Bolsheviks your freedom. For what it is worth.

So run, although owing something to someone means you should stop and pay your dues, stop running about and do what you’re to do for those who did something for you. We are indebted to the idealists.

It is a halting thought to be linked as if hanging on to those who you thought did not count or matter for whatever reason. The distance is so lengthy, the legacy is so smudged. Filthy Bolsheviks. Those hunted and despised having changed everything from the bottom up. It is a haunting thought that does not let go.

I wanted to be a poet. Now I am. Isn’t that freedom?

In the time of perfect images there is something about photos that are damaged.

 

Kronstadt 2001

Could not have said it better myself.

https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/a-smuggling-operation-john-bergers-theory-of-art/#! ”A love of art has been a useful concept to the European ruling classes for over a century and a half. The love was said to be their own. With it they could claim kinship with the civilisations of the past and the possession of those moral virtues associated with “beauty”. With it they could also dismiss as inartistic and primitive the cultures they were in the process of destroying at home and throughout the world.”

maisema

I must publish this article, I just must.

http://hyperallergic.com/348594/the-20-most-powerless-people-in-the-art-world-2016-edition/