Art of Collaboration

Under the same sun

Beneath oceanic atmosphere

Her breath leaves her lungs

A few seconds pass before it enters his

 

He says, “The world is…”

“…broken” – she completes it

It is her breath after all

Her mind at work here in her space

 

He tells her science verifies

The cave painters were mostly women

They compare the length of their fingers

 

We know we are ruined

It’s an argument we don’t have to have

He says the problem is men

Too much testosterone

We’re destroying ourselves

 

Addicted to thought

Controlled by belief

Money moves us

 

This wears us down

Wrecks our thinking

We lose the capacity for empathy

And we are repulsed by our bodies

 

What are we doing?

What is the message?

“Artists are shamans,” she says.

 

On the wall – how it is to be human

Living and dying speeding through time

From the cave to the street

How it is to have bodies created by sex

Deep generative parts

Powered by atavistic emotions

We are creations of desire

Needing rescue

 

We say these things to each other

To make them real

 

“Artists are shamans.”

“This is why I contacted you.”

“I know.”

*

- text by Tullio DeSantis

Leave a comment

Filed under ARTology Now

The Tongue of the Universe

 

The_Tongue_of_the_Universe_Tullio_with_Dee_2014
“The Tongue of the Universe” – Tullio DeSantis with Dee Shapiro – 2014
(click image for larger view)

 

1 Comment

Filed under ARTology Now

Some Fall Poems

Some Fall Poems
*****

September

once, sound was all above me
buzz of crickets, shrill cicadas
shook the trees

absent now
instead it’s the sharp crunch
of insect bodies
mixed with acorns
beneath my boots

old leaves too
one day they’re tree-bound and wind-rustled
and the next day they show up
down here

this transference
seems fraught with some meaning
it is beyond me
like the warmth that slips farther
away each day

I know it is gravity
that does it
but it seems
much heavier than that

*****

Whitetail

four million years moving through this hidden place
deep in your blood knowing it by heart
it has always been yours but now I share your secrets
you are everywhere these barren days
sex-crazed leaving traces on hard ground
on trees
making mistakes

showing yourself is your fatal flaw
you’re giving yourself away and you don’t know that
you cannot help yourself
I understand this behavior in my own flawed heart
sensing me in your space
I sense you in mine
we will both die here

but you are more beautiful
and this is why
you will be the first to die

*****

Forecast

To the mantis on the wall
I’m a shadow cast by clouds
cool stillness
interrupting the warmth
of autumn’s fading sun

Lithe green conscious machine
400 million years of insect evolution
unfazed by my superior intellect

Caught in that moment
of self-doubt
and sensing the presence
of an ancient predator
I retreat and anticipate
the uncanny evolution of empathy

*****

text by Tullio DeSantis

1 Comment

Filed under ARTology Now

The Empress of Love

The_Empress_of_Love_Tullio_with_Dee_2014

“The Empress of Love” – Tullio DeSantis with Dee Shapiro – 2014

(click image for larger view)

Leave a comment

Filed under ARTology Now

Empress – UV-A

Empress_Tullio_w_Dee_UV_light_detail

“Empress” – Tullio DeSantis with Dee Shapiro – 2014 – black light, detail

(click image for larger view)

Leave a comment

Filed under ARTology Now

Empress

Empress_Tullio_w_Dee_2014

“Empress” – Tullio DeSantis with Dee Shapiro – 2014

(click image for larger view)

1 Comment

Filed under ARTology Now

Nothing Dies – Part 2 – m

Torn between time and timelessness, I move in and out of dreams. Everything connects. A soft gray texture suffuses my inner vision. Conscious awareness asserts itself. It penetrates like a torch in a cave.

I comprehend this nebulous space by forming metaphors. A palpable emptiness engulfs the mind. It is as if layers of thought, anxiety, impulse, sensation and emotion are becoming more tenuous and transparent. They drop away and disappear as I dive more deeply within the softening darkness. I am suspended. I contact an inner sense of self – a place of peace.

Much later now, I can sense the brilliant warmth of the morning sun. I strain toward the light but I cannot open my eyes. I fear I will never again be able to awaken. I am lost in some ambiguous space. It hardens in response to my struggle to evade it. Succumbing softens it. I drift inward, toward the ether of dreams.

I hear my voice – “It felt like the last time we would ever talk. I hung up the phone, reached for the book and wrapped it in brown paper. I sent him my copy of “The Book of the Dead.” Then he died.

The bones of my skull seem to slide beneath the skin of my cheek. Fluid pressure pulses behind my eyelids. I can’t keep my mind focused. Consciousness ebbs and flows.

I recognize this as a state between living and dying. But that knowledge disappears as soon as thought takes form. My senses move back and forth like foam on the shoreline. Waves of awareness form a momentary frontal boundary. I cling for a while to the edge of specific thoughts or sensations only to be pulled back through the turbid tide.

Layers of quiet thought, like the enfolding petals of a dark flower, encircle and close one at a time around my conscious mind. I sense an opening, a deep tunnel turning downward. My awareness drifts there as if riding a descending wind.

Faster now, down through a shimmering well of images, I pass successive stages of awareness. I hear my mantra echoing through the chamber. It is soon replaced by the ancient Vedic vibration I recite silently and subconsciously.

I pass the brilliant floral gardens, smooth cobblestone steps and forest paths conjured up while moving through realms of imagination and self-guided visualization. The sound of heartbeats merges with rushing air in a synchronized choreography of blood and breath. I come ever closer to what I comprehend as the center – the space of non-duality and pure awareness.

Silence and emptiness devoid of attributes – devoid even of the attribute of emptiness. There is no thing. It is not opaque, not black. It is not transparent, not white. It is not experienced, it simply…is…and is not.

Unbounded thought expands and generates resonant frequencies. Ethereal reverberations multiply. Layers of vibration create being, harmony, tranquility, and illumination.

Energy increases at the boundaries of infinite and infinitesimal, forming rudimentary matter. A cosmic alphabet of elementary particles, thin plumes of hydrogen, specks of cosmic flotsam organize themselves into larger and larger phenomena along multi-dimensional paths and tidal lines of gravitational tension.

Eons pass. Stellar pyres and their aggregations of orbs spin seas of planetary protein into primeval life. Trees fall in forests. Sounds are heard. Countless births and deaths give rise to increasing instability, improbability, and complexity.

New minds form, minds adrift within the vast ocean of consciousness. Awareness expands to experience the overwhelming pulsations of the surrounding space as living heartbeats.

An angelic human, speaking about a secret language of signs, stops in mid-sentence and smiles at me. We have nothing to say.

In this moment, there are no distinctions between myself and my experience. The only identity I feel is the universe itself beating like a dark star-studded heart in an infinite empty void. And the pulsations I feel are those of my own heart beating. And I am born. I am a child again. I live a billion lives. I die a billion deaths. There is nothing but this moment. There is one consciousness we share. Its nature is our desire.

I know this now. And because you are here with me…you know it too.

I am going back…back inside…back to my body…back to life.

I am born to a new universe.

Insubstantial as an apparition, I arise from a deep sleep. Gazing downward, I glimpse my body. It is not breathing. I am aware of my incorporeal existence but unaware of what awaits me. I decide to allow this dream to unfold without intervention and to simply observe events as they occur.

Leave a comment

Filed under ARTology Now