24 April 2017

THE GENESIS OF XELASOMA


THE PREGNANT SKY




It is always difficult to consider true beginnings.  When was the first point of contact made with the visionary ideal?  How do we trace that initial moment, that first flourishing of creative realisation that ordained the nature of all future growths?  We could turn to our artistic accomplishments, viewing it as a great tree who's lineage records a process that feeds back into our historical creative memory.  This organic analogy is useful enough, in so far that it yields a tangible frame of reference until we come to realise that we are also a part of that timeline since we existed before the decision to create anything was made.  As we work backwards from the contemporary conclusion, we soon find that the roots of our endeavour work far deeper than we had imagined; back into even older memories, diverting into remote off-shoots that preceded our initial acquisition, resulting in what appears to be a tangled web of activity than the linear threads we might have imagined our investigation to represent. We thought we were walking along a clear path towards a certain destination, only to find that we have wandered into a labyrinth of memory that lay concealed beneath the shallow fields of our casual insight.

For the artist, the process never actually began with a drawing; it never started with a mark or the first written sentence on a page because the informers of those actions were there before.  Neither can the realised art form, in its material encapsulation, account for the total processes at work, with a blank subject representing the ultimate beginning and the last conscious mark made upon its surface, the final end.  The artistic rendering that was eventually secreted onto the surface contains an amalgam of informers that were present before any conscious decision took place.  They were already within us - incubating, merging and synthesising on an unconscious level - then eventually, provoked by murmurs within the nervous system, became translated into action, and that which had previously remained dormant and hidden, was finally revealed.

Truly, if the informers of a creative life do not begin and end within the artworks themselves, occurring instead elsewhere within the physical and mental body, then it is from the art and into the imagery of personal memory that our gaze should be directed if we are to obtain a true understanding of our creative genesis.

I was raised in a semi-rural village in England, located on the peripheries of an old industrial city and where the countryside began.  It was the early 1980's and the village was even smaller than it is today, with barely any signs of the national shift that was underway elsewhere in Thatcher's new country.  I can recall a great sense of community spirit back then, not as some masquerade to obfuscate the underlying realities of village life, but in the more honest sense, in that many of the figures along the corridors and tributaries of the village were on familiar terms and genuinely took interest with regard to each other's well-being.  It might be considered idyllic, as many childhoods often appear to a mind unmarked by later melancholy, yet despite the ambiences surrounding this community-conscious environment, I always felt as though there was a part of my mind that never truly belonged to this world.

Despite the fact that I had been acquainted with other people, I never felt so emotionally attached that I would desire their company for long periods of time and would actively seek to distance myself purely to retire into my preferred natural environment: the seclusion and solitude of private thought.  I did not even need my parents for existential confirmation; I could handle most of this myself as if I was possessed of my own internal battery of contentment, with people being an intriguing and sometimes necessary distraction from these magnetic inner states.  One might suggest that there was a dreamer in the making, and perhaps they would be right, at least on the levels of casual distraction, but this would be to ignore a more pertinent current within the flourishing system.  A so-called "daydream" is a transient lapse into the internal imagery of the body that can be broken suddenly either by will or by some external provocation.  This, however, was an immersive relapse into a field of unspoke narratives and mercurial products of psychic imagery whose only reliable continuum of subject seemed to indicate a burgeoning breakthrough into the cognitive collapse of boundlessness.

My irrejectable compulsion towards it was never brought into question as anything out of the ordinary; I was perhaps too young and inexperienced to compare with a source of information appropriate to its nature, or that would afford an alternative way of relating to it.  In the absence of such knowledge, my only natural reaction was to interact with it immersively.  It is common for young children to learn through immersion; it is how we begin to learn language and it is the standard manner of acquiring knowledge in primitive societies also.  This immersive and organic interactivity with the world complimented the seemingly axiomatic nature of the obsession itself: it was an immanent artefact of my waking existence like the ambient stresses of the nerves in flux or the felt sensation of breath emanating from the body in process.

Prolonged contact with others my own age came around the time when my primary education began.  Even in this controlled environment, there would still be a part of my mind simmering quietly into submersion whilst the machinations of the institution hummed around me.  I found some small difficulty in reconciling the gravity of my introspections with the demands of my formal education, likewise, in relation with the others there with me to whom I retained a casual distance.  This behaviour could have bred a hostility from those children who could have interpreted my monastery nature as a sign of arrogance, though I managed to avoid this potentiality by drawing images of dinosaurs and monsters for them to take home which advanced my reputation somewhat.  Even by my primitive standards at the time, these efforts were not up to much; however, it was interesting to see how hypnotic and engaged these people became over what I considered to be works of haste.  Before this realisation, I had always conceived of art making as a kind of inherent ability that all people possessed, so it was initially surprising to me that other people couldn't do it as well, and especially with regard to how dramatically their behaviour changed when confronted with these 'solutions.'  The novelty of these moments would inform the basis of a much later inquiry into the inherent power of man-made imagery and its ability to modulate human behaviour.

My solitary inclination and internalised obsessiveness meant that much of my time was spent alone by choice.  On the occasions when I left the confines of home, I would often venture out towards the borderlands of our village, where spread out towards the horizon was an ocean of moorland where I used to walk and think for hours until my time of return.  Apart from the odd rambler or a fellow walking his dog I could reliably stay there for long periods of time and not be disturbed by the intrusive thoughts and demands of minds other than my own.

This open space of heathland secured the perfect environment where I could finally be at ease and away from the social spheres with all of their complicating distractions.  In this natural and barren environment, I could finally facilitate my only juvenile ambition: for mental contents to spill out freely, merging and spreading in all directions to produce its life unabated, mirroring the open swathes of heather and the eternal omnipresence of the overarching sky.

This undistracted communion with nature - both externally and within my own - generated more life and conscious electricity than any of my time spent with people.  I just never felt the compulsion to know them beyond necessity.  Indeed, it would be more accurate to say that it wasn't really them I wanted to know better; I wanted to know this: my invisible, intangible, silence.




There was a landmark on these moors, a large and oddly placed boulder perched atop of a high patch of ground that the locals named "dead man's rock."  The tale behind this natural novelty went that many years ago, a man was wandering over the moors and came across a giant.  The giant forced the man into a deal that if he could answer his riddle then the giant would let the man go free on his way, but if not, the giant would kill him where he stood.  Unfortunately, for the sorry individual, he did not succeed to answer the giant's riddle and so he crushed him beneath the huge rock.  To add further intrigue to the tale, the locals went on to provoke my young imagination by suggesting that the essence of the man was trapped within the rock and if you pressed your ear against it, you might hear the cries of the man's soul asking for release. This is the real mythological mind-space of a burgeoning creative life: introspection, imagination, giants and the boundless, pregnant sky.

To call my initiation within this barren territory of heathland 'formative' would be an understatement.  Isolation from the cacophonies of civilisation had afforded a more concentrated communion with the internal compositions, and it was here that the potent products of these activities were constellated and worked into place.  The moors facilitated a deeper level of interactivity with the internal imagery and language of the body and became the early initiation grounds of a young creative life.  It was not the home, not the classroom, nor the first point of contact with the works of a great master: this inner territory, in its primal abandonment of the social and the industrial matter that constituted my human obligations was where the psychodynamic substrate of the burgeoning art forms were forged, and where the imagistic seeds of this activity were cast into the sensitivities of the flesh-life, becoming a part of the very organism that would eventually transmit their signals anew.

Although I had not cultivated the life experience nor the adequate ability to articulate their forms in those early years, it did not matter.  It is through the psychoactive power of such communion that the dormant signals breach the cerebral barrier, activating premonitions within the deep ancestral passages of the brain and awakening canals of race memory in the visual systems of the body where they will germinate until the artist is composed of the necessary constitution to express their life through the parallel maturation of their creative discipline.

All humans are living extensions of the creative powers of Transcendent Nature.  The artists are its aesthetic and symbolic ambassadors in time, hence why so many of the greatest works of art transmit a transcendent element through the likeness of organic forms.  These types of artists cannot develop within the confines of the modern world; they have to reject the modern world in its image in order to discover the images of their own potential and translate them through their own idiosyncratic filters.  They must temporarily disconnect from the sensibilities of historical time and discover timelessness within themselves, only to then carry the artefacts of that interior excavation back into the world of living expression.

The symbolic imagery of boundlessness is tied to the burgeoning powers of the creative life.  This is not mere romantic talk; it is a statement of fact that creative types are psychologically attuned to dispositions of trait openness as a prerequisite to their creative condition.  Visual artists, musicians and thespians alike will attune their minds to the boundlessness within before expressing a creative act.  It is so automatic and embedded in our behaviour that we do not need to be taught it by anyone, and the fact that it comes preinstalled within our organic system is a large part of the reason why this talent goes so unnoticed, even by the many artists who invoke it consistently.  It is impossible for us to create effectively in any other way; the mind must be liberated from the restraints of focal attention and lapse into the deep imagery of the body memory, whereafter, we lose our voice and the body speaks.

The timeless mother of creation is mythologically represented as a void; a cosmic womb; the great yawning mother-snake who's body encompasses a field of chaotic potential out of which the world of sensory and phenomenal experience arises.  Creativity is an outgrowth of this emergence from chaotic potential; so it is, therefore, understandable why the artist-ambassadors of this very activity should attune their minds towards such a primordial locus for the successive transmission of its genius through the extension of their creative act.

This is why we speak to the sky.  When the human brain is confronted with the imagery of boundlessness above, or in some other phenomenal feature in nature, it is confronted with the boundlessness within itself, and from such a time dissolving experience, the catalysts of our ancestral memory are released and expressed through the imagery of the human body.  This is an essential part of the reason why the creator Gods of the world religions lived in the remoteness of the sky, the expansive oceans, or in the darkest depths of the cavernous earth.  Creative genius erupts from the confrontation with the imagery of boundless space and returns back into the world as a phenomenal artefact of inspired knowledge, technology or art.

With this internal communion facilitated in childhood, and isolated from the mundane and artificial influences of the social world, a bridge was secured for a potency, lucid and old, disobedient towards the ensnaring hands of reason yet communicative of a nascent power that lay glowing behind the citadel of the flesh.  The eyes on the inside had blossomed in their multitude and refracting upon their natural lens in the sky had catalysed an introspective activity that whilst initially beginning in the man-made landscapes of the village had now, through an endeavour to escape it, signalled the nature of a great return.


GESTATION

During my youth, creativity was a very personal and private affair.  I had no interest whatsoever in pursuing art at the academic level, interpreting the ambiences of the classroom environment as counter-productive to my preferred style of transmission; and quite honestly, I was far too arrogant and disinterested in the projects and opinions of what art teachers wanted from me at the time.  I realised that creativity for creativities sake was never going to be an option for me; I was only interested in engendering my own visions.  I have always considered that the directions of my creative development to be a matter of my own personal responsibility, under the reasoning that it was only by familiarising oneself with the nature of what is uniquely personal and informative at the individual level, that anything uniquely personal and informative emerges from said individual.  In other words, the more that we are in tune with our own nature, the more we will create from that nature.

Most of my exposure to art in those days came from depictions of prehistorical creatures such as great reptiles and mammoths from natural history books.  The fact that we could access something so ancient and remote through the lens of created imagery was very powerful to me and fed into my innate desire to breach the existential rift into boundlessness.  As for many young people, the ability of the human imagination to capture a sense of the remote and exotic is such a large part of why childhood is such a potent and rich source of romantic memory.  I would spend a great deal of time copying the images of these animals directly from the books and then eventually from memorisation alone, additively embellishing them with new features that were not present in the original designs.  Eventually, I gravitated away from this reliance on reference material, thereby securing the basis for a healthy exercisation and of the consciously received imagery within the body memory.  This would be a utility that I would return to much later when I realised the creative process for XELASOMA.  Even today, the visual dynamics of these organisms have become so integrated within in my own system, that there is an inclination in my hand that instinctively moves to rearticulate the shape of the primordial forms.

My first contact with any established artists came from my mother, who introduced me to the works of the English artists Roger Dean and Patrick Woodroffe.  I then discovered through happenchance, the works of other English fantasy artists such as Rodney Matthews and Ian Miller who's art only catalysed my interest with surreal and exotic imagery.  Their subjects often adorned the covers of commercial fantasy books and role play magazines, which I initially acquired only to look at the art inside.  The nature of their work was highly organic and spoke the language of the fantastic imagination that whilst referenced in the natural forms of our world, depicted the uncanny circumstance of another realm entirely, so it wasn't exactly difficult to facilitate a relationship with any of their artwork given my innate proclivities up to then.  Regarding their other virtues, it was their undeniable character and aesthetic individualism that drew me to them the most.  They were not only brilliant craftsmen but the designs radiated their own personality and atmosphere to the degree that it was impossible, after the first encounter, to mistake their work for that of any other artist.  This adoration of the organic, aesthetic individualism and an acute ambient effect was and still is, the primary set of values that I search for in other artists and strive to cultivate in my own system.



(The Grey Prince - Patrick Woodroffe).

Though there was something more at large here.  The real power of the imagery stemmed from the ability of the visuals to catalyse the creative imagination into new states of introspective life that pointed to something vital and ancient within the human system.  For me, this imagery was never purely an exercise in escapism or romantics; romantics were the gate, but not the ultimate destination.  These images provoked, through the exotic slip, entry into an older portal of information beneath the realms of the mundane and excitable levels of conscious activity.  Like a thief in the cortex, their subject evades the gates of reason, stealing the code that evokes premonitions in the sensual life of the primordial dreamscape where the archaic and mythic life of mankind resides.  These early baptisms in the evocative English wells of fantastic imagery complimented my aesthetic initiation into the hidden power of the human imagination.  Dinosaurs and mammoths, though lost to time, were something that was once alive and grounded in the languages of natural science.  These artworks were beyond the real and rational, yet at the same time spoke to something older within the sensitive life of the body that contained truth, even wisdom.  This truth being the primordial record of evolutionary history echoing through the creative systems of the human imagination.


COLLAPSE

The informative accumulation of these events accrued up to the point of my early adolescence; thereafter, other nascent forces began to emerge into prominence.  I will not go into explicit details over the instigating social factors, other than to say that from my adolescence up to the period of my early twenties, I experienced a particularly mercurial and inconsistent strain of mental illness.  As a reaction against this unwelcome development, I became even more reclusive and chaotic in my behaviour, thereby exacerbating the turmoil already underway within my aching structure.  In these troublesome years, not much of creative value was produced due to my time spent oscillating between these possessions and languishing in unproductive activities that produced little solution save for a short phase of reorganisation that in hindsight, merely seemed like preparation for yet another round of eventual dismemberment.  Aside from the occasional overspill into my social domains, most of these experiences, like my early creative pursuits, were enclosed in a silence and privacy that I tried to shield from the outside world.

At a time when I was already undergoing the transitions of puberty, the consequences of this biological process, perturbed via the intrusion of my malaise and exacerbated through my natural inclinations towards interiorising and obsessing my way through the world, mutated my visionary landscape into a personal gulag of self-destructive fantasies and behaviour.  The imagery of the abyssal unconscious was spilling out into my waking life and filtered through these turbulent states, transmogrified the bodies' imagistic systems into the engines of a new spiritual poison.  The human bodies' own industry of energetic imagery had turned upon its own master in a violent act of psychic cannibalism.

This phase culminated in a dramatic event during my early twenties, when the destructive processes at work, conspiring towards a final end, produced from its own life the seed of a new potential that secured the existential and conceptual foundations of what later became XELASOMA.

Living under such aggravated conditions for extended periods of time contributes to the formation of an existential crisis where the continued act of participation in life is questioned.  It was out of this prolonged exposure to chaos, that the decision finally came to make good upon my reoccurring visions and take measures to end my own life.  This was by no means the first time that such destructive fantasies had presented themselves, it was only now after prolonged exposure to the cacophony of these tormenting signals crashing against silent walls of utter nihilism that extermination seemed to promise a serene solution to the noise and the nothingness that had typified the ambience of my days for far too long.

How long could one reasonably persist within the habitual ranges of the conscious states before calamity would be entertained as a reasonable course of action?  One lifetime's worth of accumulated experiences and memories are surely enough to bear in one system alone, and by the time of our expedited departure, would we at least have come to respect the incredible frailty of our physical and psychic condition given that the equilibrium that engenders the soft arena of our life's action can be so effortlessly disturbed?  We are sustained now, as we always have been, by fields and delicate systems that lead us in consequence to the comfortable impression that what we experience through the organs of the body-instrument is the final rendering of reality, made even more reassuring by that artificial incubator of Mankind called 'Civilisation.'  And as a consequence of these stabilising systems, all other for granted assurances are permitted through the creaking gate.

Its permanence, however, like our reassuring aids and monolithic statements of techno-societal prowess, is suspiciously unstable.  They are all as castles of sand in the great cosmic ocean and are ultimately constellated under the obedience of no human system, but by the hand of Nature's sole authority.  In our all-too-human dream of cosmopolitan confidence, we may feel as though we are autonomously migrating towards our own bespoke futures whilst consistently blinded to the fact that the only direction that we have ever moved in with reliable certainty is under the instruction of those forces into which we are fatally bonded and who's human consciousness is incorporated within a sensory field of translation that presents the world in the image of our brilliant, yet delicate limitations.

 If the wisdom of the sanitorium is to teach us only one thing, it is how little difference there exists between us and the inpatients.  Their palisades, like ours, fall far too easily to justify such a supreme over-confidence in our own mental states.  How the romantic veil of 'life' slips under the absence of walls.  Just how rational and reasonable do we think we would be when in every moment of our lives the skin was peeling away?

I took to a room for the final act.  There was no persuasion or excuse that could prevent what seemed inevitable at this stage.  I can recall a state of hypertension and aggressive paranoia, the psychic ferocity excited under the contemplation of what I was about to do.  The only reassurance that penetrated the ambience of that room was the knowledge that it was all going to end soon  Then, at the sharp moment of contact, something started to happen.  Out of the cold frenzy came a gradual softness, then a slowly accumulating state of mental quietude.  The spread of its area of effect was changing, and I remember a mild paralysis creeping over my body; then a numbness, followed by a subtle sense of dissociation with my extremities and continuing on through my limbs as if all the nerves in my body were silencing like the slow sequence of street lights in a blackout.

Emerging as if in unison with these physiological symptoms, I slid into an altered state of consciousness that graduated into a total corrosion of personal identity.  And not only a loss of a personal self, but a silencing of the many prerequisites of human mentation such as the ability to identify and differentiate subjects by association, the significance of colour, tone, and pattern, the gradual negation of linguistic category or context; the inner monologues, narratives, protests and projections, they were all dissolving under this indifferent wave of corrosive inner silence.

I had experienced catatonia and temporary lapses into various states of bodily dissociation before, but nothing like this.  It took away the murder; stealing all anxieties and tensions into itself, and with it, everything else that informed my human experiences of life, save for an omnipresent conscious awareness of being.  It was a total transformation from the mental multiple to the conscious singular; from the habitual flux of contrasting and overlapping states into one total state, a state of all states, a complete and unified sense of being as if the contents of a drawing had been slowly cleared away by an invisible eraser, moved by an invisible hand.  In this phenomenon, I languished until the prodigal features of mental circumstance slowly re-emerged under the same transient calmness that it had originally introduced itself, like watching the dim lights of the stars emerge with the onset of night.  After my brain had reorganised back into its typical equilibrium, I remember remaining for some time in a quiet state of shock and bewilderment as to what had transpired.  There was absolutely nothing within the ranges of my knowledge or personal experience that could positively associate to the qualities of this occurrence.  Indeed, it actually seemed to possess a more anti-qualitative nature that only ensured that any immediate attempts at categorisation remained redundant.  After several years of psychological perturbance due to the effects of an undulating psychosis, one could expect that there would be a certain familiarisation with abnormal events, yet even in the strangest of my hours there had never, and has never, been an encounter that could compare with the enveloping power of what befell me on that day.

This was the most radical and powerful thing that I have ever experienced.  It held no possession of any real form or inherent purpose, save in the strange product of hindsight to indicate the presence from where all mental forms, values, and phenomenal experience emerged, just as a drawing grows out of the emptiness of the page.

My reality structure had been completely detonated.  At once, I appreciated the awesome depth of that power generally regarded under the mantle of Nature, and likewise, whatever convictions and preconceptions that I might have once held about the nature of reality had been profoundly dismissed.  Even a dream is still conjoined to familiar associations and phenomenal novelties that we encounter in the waking world, yet this yielded no grounds of familiarity on which to anchor the basis for logical thought to even begin.  We cannot underestimate the power of the human bodies' ability to radically modulate its own systems into solutions that set the grounds for experiences that the rational mind would have deemed "impossible."

What had initially begun on the moors as a rejection of the world had provocatively crystallised into a total manifestation of its boundless aspect; the distillation of an entire life into the crushing singularity of a single point of conscious awareness.

The veil of life had truly been rendered, revealing the world unadorned by standard mentation as an anti-image of formless mono-consciousness that had temporarily swallowed not only my powers of mental consequence but also, part of the antagonising malaise that had almost consumed my whole existence.

As the realisation of its impact unfolded within my mind, the only jewel of certainty suggested that what had just transpired had left a permanent mark on the system.  For once one has been touched by such life-affirming forces as these, one simply cannot return to the reassuring provinces of the casual life in the same manner as before, and under whose experiences are made more calming by that veil-above-a-veil called 'reason.'  No, once a life has been marked by something as profound as this, there cannot be a return to the life once lived nor the life once appreciated, for to do so would alienate every motivating signal forged within one's new arrangement.  The only way forward is to grow outwards from such an experience like Persephone rising from the underworld into the light of true Nature.

A death of some sort had ultimately been enacted, but not in the manner that was originally conceived.  It was not just a new resonance felt reverberating beneath the light of a powerful exposure to something transcendent of all prior values, but a powerful existential statement that the life that was once lived was over.

This nameless occurrence had not only retranslated the final phase of collapse, it had also signalled the entry of a new beginning by clearing the psychological air enough for me to gather the strength to remedy the remainder of my condition.  The collapse of all values had given rise to a new integration.
It was a rite of passage in the truest sense, secreting from the exposure of life in its underworld states, yet seeded with the regenerative power that had emerged from the darkness of that prior organisation, to ultimately contribute to the conditions of my mature development.  However, I was by no means out of the woods quite yet, and it took several years of persistent effort to eventually arrive at a relatively stable position in life again, but the important thing was that I had been granted another chance via this dramatic intervention to evolve out of the 'life as corpse' towards something greater and more generative that what I had previously known before.

I had been granted the opportunity to start again.  For not only was the essential nature of this phenomenon beyond of the reaches of my comprehension, what had amplified its significance was the contemplation over how it had presented itself at the very moment when I was about to terminate my relationship to the living world.  Experiences like this can produce very unusual theories of circumstance as the rational mind attempts to reconcile with the dramatic events that it has encountered, especially when such events occur at such pivotal points in one's life history.  Yet, despite all of the burning questions that I had about the nature of this event, there was no question in my mind that I could now begin to take back sovereignty over my own soul again

Words cannot express how fortunate I am to have been granted such an audience.  Especially when we consider that the Western world has abandoned the rites that had been constructed to engender transformations of human development.  We exist in a world of no rites of passage and as such, millions of rootless people remain in states of spiritual poverty in the most intellectually sophisticated and resource-rich continents of the planet.

The human system is a great evolutionary engine of transformation, and the savage knew this fundamental truth in a more immediate and serious way than the modern cosmopolitan who has syphoned its birthright and organic development off towards the relentless perpetuation of a global machine that will if unchecked, inevitably consume them both under the collapse of its own unremitting extensions.  To survive in these modern conditions those who are awakening to this truth must discover their own strategies that set them in alignment with new values that can engender our development away from a life of mere serfdom and into the arms of a more powerful and prosperous way of living.

We must effect our own metamorphosis lest we belong to the world.  We must evoke our own imagery lest we fall as pigments into the tapestry of another's vision.  Even if our luxurious conditions falter, we must never allow the intelligent and spiritual conditions of our organism to become corrupted by this suicide in slow motion called "progress."

This transformative event became the quintessential locus of this project's genesis.  It is often out of the enigmatic powers of the body that we are directed towards new states of life, and in compliment to this truth, this phenomenal event sealed the chapter of my wilderness years and set me on course to becoming the artist I am today.


RETURN

In the aftermath of this experience, yearning to evolve out of the conditions that had held me in stasis, I turned to the revitalised signals of my mind for guidance, signals that produced the images of life that were the closest thing I had to a sense of destiny.  These are the emanations of our true potential that echo through the noise of our conflicting stratagem, renderings of possibility that we readily dismiss out of denial or convenience, even though in their design they often reveal the most effective pathways conducive to our maturation.  In the effort to realise these potentialities, I ventured out to new territories in the world that put me in contact with my place in nature and with human cultures other than my own; I entered into an ongoing period of self-education into subjects that up until then, I had retained only a casual interest; and most importantly, I decided to reunite with my primary talents as an artist, and produce from this new constitution, the creative life that would later become known as XELASOMA.

All of these external adventures were important in their own right, but none of them would serve true until there had been a transcendence over the old values and their subsequent replacement with newly created patterns of living.

I knew that the reinvocation of my primary talent was the greatest vehicle for my personal development.  Vision is, and always was, one of my most meaningful ligaments to the living world, so it was only reasonable that it should be harnessed towards my means of ascent.  However, it eventually became clear to me that if I was to become an artist of any real measure, then my development could not be an enterprise measured by vision alone.

The attempts to seek closure and understanding over the power of my psychological experience had ushered in a new phase of introspective inquiry using various meditational and psychoanalytic techniques as lenses into my inner life.  As the benefits of these exercises accumulated, I soon saw the potential of transferring the same modes of analysis over into my fledgeling creative project.  I reasoned that if it was possible to extract value and insight from these techniques dealing with the mental body, then it was completely plausible to utilise them in a similar manner onto subjects that had been generated from the life of those same systems.  Depth analysis had become my affirmative trajectory, and in obedience to this orientation, I wanted to tap into the very essence of what made human creativity so effective and informative in order to garner clarity over how and why the sensory dynamics of creative imagery worked and then subsequently, harness that understanding towards the invention of my own creative system.

The mission was clear, yet elusive: how does the body produce the audio-visual signals that crystallise into what we call "art." and what of the inherent power within those creations that influence the dynamics of human behaviour?

My inquisitive disposition for uncovering hidden truths beneath the veil of my conscious experiences and artistic life had ushered me to discover any material that I found complimentary to this task, utilising all the powers of access I had available to me in the modern age.  This research led me into the territories of biology, neuropsychology, comparative mythology, symbolism, propaganda and even the strange formulas of the occult world; all unique in their respective powers of elucidation, yet all united under the single purpose of addressing the relationship between the mental and visual systems of the body.  My reasoning was that through understanding the underlying mechanisms of visual dynamics as it pertains to the human system and to human culture, then I would naturally become more conscientious as a visual artist, and transfer that knowledge into the potency of my work.

We have become very accustomed to reading into visual art as a lens into the life of the individual minds that made them, and my interests in using art were not different in this regard.  However, I would also come at this problem from multiple angles: not only would I take interest in the creative subject itself, I would also try to understand something more of the organism that generated those creative secretions as a way of cross-referencing one from the other into a holistic system of understanding.  In order to truly understand the subject of art, I would have to understand something of the organism that creates it.  This diary will embody the most important extracts of those inquiries and meditations that have preoccupied me since this process began.

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This is the account of my creative genesis.  There cannot be a sincere and contextual understanding of an artistic accomplishment until we first attempt to understand the history behind the forces that facilitated its existence.  To do so, we must search back into our own personal and visual memory; a repository of life who's artefacts lie encoded within the expression of the artworks themselves, yet deeper still within the avenues of the animal body and the dark corridors of the human psyche.

Man-made imagery is not merely the expression of a particular day and age, but an amalgam of informers that reaches back much further into our unconscious and genetic history.  This is how we are able to stand before the incredible remnants of primordial cave art and be moved into states that defy the breadth of language, and without knowing anything of the personalities who created them: because the imagery is speaking to something primordial within us.  Through the organic technology of vision, we can capture a sense of the enigmatic and ancient record that lies within the human system, bridging a gap between our own life and the extended life of the greater organism of Nature.  My project is representative of this specific function of art.  By harnessing the creative act intelligently, we can access greater understanding surrounding the deep dynamics of the visual states and what they can tell us about the human experience of life through created imagery.

This diary began with an invitation to unravel the enigma of this creative past, and now we have been initiated through its gates.  I trust that his initial contribution of many will aid to embolden the new generations of creative men and women in their respective cultural hemispheres.  The wiser and more conscientious we become surrounding the powers and processes of our own creative lives, the greater chance we have of realising the full potential of our own talents and succeed in transferring that boon towards the regeneration of our great cultures through the synchronous evolution of our craft.


We now stand upon the accumulated wealth of centuries.  The great continuation of a process that, like our art, activates the human collective memory and reveals the rendering of an organism in its attempt to reach itself across the fields of abyssal space.  We cannot afford to keep our eyes averted from the signals that reach out to us across the chasm, especially given our post-modern proclivity to deconstruct and deform the artefacts of both our spiritual and cultural heritage.  We all contain the agents of disease and remedy within our own system; the choice to facilitate one or the other is ours to make.

We are returning back into alignment with something that many of us feel difficult to articulate, though we know it is there.  Recently, many of us have been moved by the existential entropy surrounding the developments of our world which is, in response, provoking a desire to connect with something more substantial, more meaningful, and more authentic than what this mechanist solution has provided for us.

Ours is a path of returning back into alignment with the old, organic and generative values that have carried and motivated the human signal throughout millennia; formulas that lie in contradiction to the destiny that our industrial project has laid out for us and our culture.  In light of the cultural nihilism of our times, many are beginning to reject its propositions and have begun to rediscover their birthrights as conscientious organisms of creative potential, because no matter how seductive the world's persuasions might be, we instinctively know in our hearts that the limitations of this cosmopolitan corruption do not compliment our personal evolution.  Ours is not a policy of rejecting modernity incarnate, it is about seizing back authorship of our own lives and conscientiously determining what aspects of the modern world are positive and work with us towards the cultivation of our growth, and what aspects would be better left behind to fail without us.

We are no longer constrained by the ages where the comprehensive dynamics of culture was constellated by an elite hand.  Culture has now gone open source.  There has never been another period in human history where more creative abundance has been expressed than the age we live in today.  There is no art movement or cultural shift that can compare to the conditions of the early 21st Century, and the culture that emerges from this activity will be unrecognisable to the cultures of old.

As artists and cultural contributors, we realise that we, and only we, are responsible for the successful gestation of our life and culture.  That means that we are committed to self-knowledge and the development of new habits and behaviours that align us to a more generative mode of living so that we will transfer that benefit from our personal lives and into our artistic projects, ultimately benefitting the cultural body by extension of that transference.

As life in Metropolis becomes ever more stifled beneath its own machinations, I believe that it is through our creative agency that we can usher in the dawn of a new cultural renaissance from within the shell of a dying one.  Visions of death are an invitation to investigate the dying creation, and an opportunity to find within the grotesque image of a corpse, the seeds of a new potential.  This project was the result of such a discovery.

Through my creations, I will aim to represent and awaken the most fundamental of all human exchanges: the relationship between Man and image/mind and flesh.  By initiating the observer into an intelligent appreciation of their visual constitution, I believe that the vivification of this organic relationship will enable some of us at least, to relate to the phenomenal subjects of the world at a more acute and complimentary level than our habitual condition accommodates.  When we better understand the properties and powers of our own organism, we will be in a better position to critically translate what we capture from the experience of a visionary subject, living or man-made.

In closing, I would like to say that I believe that visual art is one of the great ambassadors of the human body; hence, why the human form is continuously represented in the works so many past and living artists: the body speaks.  And the body communicates in a plethora of languages that have been articulated as consequences of its evolutionary expansion.  The body is a vision of our own private cosmos of memory, and a symbolic allegory for the wider systems of Nature.  When we enter into a program of deep discovery surrounding our creative life, we enter into a wider field of understanding of our own human nature, and by extension, Nature itself.  

Human creativity is a brilliant aid in this process of organic transformation.  As we learn and mature as conscientious organisms through our craft, we will transition from the stasis of our inferior modes of life and into a greater understanding of our true creative and cultural potential.

This diary will be a necessary accompaniment to this process, shedding light upon the inner languages of the body and the creative solutions it configures out of the natural world; themselves, reflections that can reveal the shape and form of the invisible creation on its long path of return.

The next entry will build upon some of the statements made here, and go back to the early days of the project's life where I designed the creative process that generated the first examples of art.


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