The naked footfalls of the young prince patter down the long echo hall of the asylum. The king is dead. Long live the king. What’s that in his hand? A skull, or an old book? He takes the throne in the cemetary or The Library where A brings us inevitably in a line to Z: Akesegawa to Zaj like a royal line drawn in chalk on green grass with shadows in late light. I mean to say: I’m coming to the end of the Netherlands Fluxus Codex. There’s still a couple of dozen pages of notes on which to draw any and all conclusions…. meanwhile: The “illuminata eye” always seemed to me connected to perspective drafting and I suppose plum lines in Masonry (and thus it’s adoption by the Free Masons). I base this only on images and not words… Which is to say That I see it that way, but I’ve never read about it, or heard it described that way… so it was odd to find this Library Project start by blairdashpb, posted while I was drawing on an image from L’Avventura. I think the scene was shot in VanGogh’s asylum or at least alludes to it.
My parents waited untill I was three years old to baptize me… I think they had to save the money up for the trip so that I could be baptized in the Cathedral at Basel. I think it was on this same trip (after the Rhine fed holy water had Exed my third eye) that we traveled down to Arles to visit Vangogh motifs. I have the vivid memory of a family picnic in the cemetary at Arles. At some point I wandered off as the adults drank thier wine and talked their talk and what seemed miles on to my three year old mind (and was probably an issue meters) I encountered the green patinated bronze bust of St. Vincent of Go… (or a bearded man I took to be the famous artist). The bust’s life-like expression and otherworldly color (which echo haunts me in the form of the great green buddhist self portrait painting at the Harvard Fog) arrested me in my tracks. I stared at Vincent for a while and he stared back and then his great green left eye winked at me.
I ran back to the blanket with the cheese and the wine and the bread and the brothers two. I told no one. They would have laughed and called it cute and I already had a reputation for seeing monsters in the dark… the Outer Gouters… old paper thin William S. Burrhoughs looking men who would walk by my crib carrying satchels and tip their hat and walk on like aligators..NO. I never told anyone this story untill much later when someone asked me why I’d become an artist. I blamed the bronze head as much or more than my parents. That eye said a lot with just one little wink wink.
