A mark is about the most massively useful thing an artist can have while traveling in the Universe. Through imaginary landscapes one can encounter both the microscopic and macroscopic environments simultaneously- providing the viewer with a glimpse into the divine animating principle pervading the Universe – so it is best to be prepared. Partly it has great practical value – you can smooth it around to provide warm curves; lay it down on a brilliant background; prop it up next to you while you sleep providing a view of brilliant stars (best be careful to not inhale the heady vapors); use it to sail a mini boat down a slow heavy river; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; you can even wave the mark in emergencies as a distress signal.
More importantly, a mark has immense psychological value. Like a breath, it ungulates between building and destroying itself, negating at the same time asserting itself in random cycles. It is frozen in time, it doesn’t change, we do, and then it changes for us.
For some reason, if a non-artist discovers that an artist possesses a mark, they will automatically assume he is also in possession of spontaneity and luck. Although, at times, the mark holder is in possession of these items, it is more often born out of many processes that have their own dynamic, layered in a very personal, yet visceral way. The non-artist will often happily lend the mark maker any of these or a dozen other items that the artist might accidentally have “lost” resulting in a masterpiece. What the viewer will think in the end is any person who can travel the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, and still knows where his mark is- is clearly a man to be reckoned with.
When traveling through unknown territories, its best to remember that its impossible to account for every variable you’ll encounter; after all, our eyes deceive us, so too our ideas. To survive, we fill in the blanks.
As explained by the observer effect, born out of Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, to observe something is to change it, and not just the perception of what that object is but also its metaphysical properties, its nature and behavior. Because of this, we are all active participants in a cosmic soup, trying to understand our place through observing our surroundings. Wherever we look, we find evidence of the divine animating principle that pervades the Universe; we only need the appropriate lens to see it; we need a cipher.
These paintings do not constitute a complete translated anthology; rather, they are the beginning of a corpus with an infinite number of possibilities, each one, with an infinite number of interpretations. From the countless number of translations, we know that most are not only inaccurate, but are impossible to make out. Although many interpretations have elements of truth, there exists only one true cipher, and it is perfectly correct- but to whom? This perfect form evades us all. What is presented before us are other things.