July 10, 2005. Lac Ouaureau, morning.
#6, July 2005.
The initial feeling:
It just isn’t big enough,
that’s why I make my art
to be what my body’s not.
The initial text:
Mars Raging Fuck
(That’s not anger rage,
it’s the heaving thrusting blood-muscles-nerves in my body.
There’s a profound and absolute difference.)
Now at the start of the painting,
it's a herm set in a field of grain and wild flowers.
(Whenever in my notes you see the word herm, that’s me.)
Painting it:
And at the top a clumsy curl of spirit
(in cad
red light, my spirit color from the beginning)
with a trace of cum in its core
And on each side, the cunt flower
July 11, 2005. Lac Ouaureau, early morning.
Further notes on #6 July 2005—
The top part, above the dark purple armor
and below the curling cad red light spirit, is incoherent and incomplete.
It’s the word Mars, and is his inchoate sexual roar.
All the purple
armor is there to hide and protect his vital incoherence.
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