IMPOSSIBLE CIVIC CULTURE...

Civic culture. The dream of civic culture. There. Perhaps on this place or in all of the places were they had existed in cities. There they had it…. paths and trajectories. Large public works and the bourgeois precious object as artists become safari animals...Against any kind of visual urgency, the small object…like the digital camera. Or the cell phone…each in their pockets…. demands the spectator's patience, silence, detainment, and anger that he or she is getting 'cheated' out of large modernist battles fought on the picture plan for large stakes. Compulsion seeps in where tradition has left…this is a credo of the small and the pervasive.... one could imagine these artists like the soldiers, and then the farmers, the businessmen, and the scientists…making dozens of these pieces a night...compulsively defying the tradition of the modern reflexive picture plane. Then they would make the rest of the images in their sleep. A dream. Dreaming. Then hope to string them together as a lifeline. And a careful search for all the elements and maneuvers contained within so that they can be fully seen and appreciated. Or not...held up as frauds that render the truth of the context: this is a postindustrial age and the object will be its own measurement. The 'bigness' of industrial production as 'entitlement' is over...thinks of the large cars greeting American servicemen as a reward for winning that last wars of imperialism. We can also think of smallness in the placement of the miniature as a global resting place where "images appear in a large quantity thus making the large come out of the small." The small strings of the last dimension. Where was that tonight?

Making images. Making image. This is what he had tried to do with the dreams. No…he made them naturally. He had a dream as he but then he awoke and exercised his memory that he would remember this…the dream. Then he would string it together before the fact of the summer and the trip… and there he would…perhaps…tell others. “Ah, yes, this is what happened…” Making images in the dream…or the dreams made images for each other…a string from his father’s dream to his. Perhaps. Like the aboriginals of Australia with their precious walkabout…the shamans reading the grandfather’s dream…the facts in this apparent Newtonian universe didn’t matter. With the twelve dimensions the large universe could suddenly appear out of the rigorous math of large masses and crush everything in this universe. Yes. Really.