Editorials

 

Ty Gorton


Tuesday, December 15 , 2009

Human beings have an uncanny ability to assume their version of reality is fairly similar to each individual they come across.  Despite a constant stream of evidence that suggests our own perception--whether of events past, the current moment, or the possible future—can and does vary greatly from those around us, most of us manage to move through days as though the people we interact with are perceiving things in much the same way we are.  Our subconscious instantly layers our own awareness over the lives of others, even when we know little to nothing about them.  In this way, each of us are able to feel we have a relatively firm grip on “reality”.  In William Bradley’s essay, ‘What The Survey Doesn’t Say’, this little Jedi mind trick of perception is displayed powerfully.

“I thought it was just the booze making me maudlin that night, but it apparently wasn’t, as I find myself thinking of that old woman from time to time even now. She’s gone and lost forever, I assume, yet she’s still there, on the screen, laughing at Richard Dawson’s smarmy attempts at humor, gazing at that ridiculously-large bow tie that must have been fashionable then. And it seems kind of sad to me to think that this woman’s immortality depends upon a cynical generation’s desire for retro-kitsch.”  -William Bradley

~Ty Gorton

 

Monday, December 7, 2009

In a world such as this, it becomes an easy thing to desire absolute definitions for the causation of hardships facing much of the seven billion people inhabiting Earth.  It is, however, the direct result of absolutism that has delivered us here, into a place of empty judgments, floating amidst a sea of art spun from the infantile idea of good vs. evil, black vs. white, etc.  In his essay, ‘The Consequence of Habit’, David Chaim Smith explores the diversity of Eden’s serpent, not as the religious symbol of humankind’s evil, but as the possibility for intuitive morality not interested in control but true behavioral enlightenment.

“The Gnostic understanding of the serpent is a direct challenge to the insanity of moral absolutism. Religious law posits that right and wrong are a closed book. There is no creative choice when morality is frozen solid. It is up to human beings to assert that morality does not need any set form other than kindness and awareness. It can be based on fluid adaptation to every unique circumstance, each in it’s particularities.” – David Chaim Smith

As artists, it is our charge to break down the barriers of absolutism and let the light of creative possibility fall freely across our darkest corners, especially in regards to morality. Read the entire essay along with meticulously beautiful companion artwork (also by David Chaim Smith).

~Ty Gorton

 

Monday, November 30, 2009


Today’s robber barons have trained us well in the art of insipid grandeur.  We are hoop trained to believe that waking up feels like an obstacle, walking a maneuver, breathing an utter mystery.  Few are the actions we can take that don’t feel rehearsed, another form being filled out for stamp’s approval or decline.  As we stretch and pull the corners of our paychecks to house our funneled whimsy, the grass grows long and rich beyond the life trounced footprints of economic gain.  And what of all this unkempt grass, waist high stuff that glides beneath overturned palms like the hem of possibility?  What of it?  Amidst a thousand yards of open field they have us marching single file along a lukewarm center.  An endless row of fake penguins mistaking an idea as instinct, a theology as the only means of survival.

What are we then?  Elephants on one leg, monkey pirouettes, tigers clawing vapor, a circus act tricked into fearing the air outside the striped dome.  But there is air out here, air for the taking, whole columns of it stacked to sky and multiplying.  If our lungs can work, then so might limbs, fingers, minds, our infant intellects…so might the whole damn mess of human possibility.

Exiting the dome is Antique Children’s trip.  We long to pull back those heavy canvas edges and reveal the next fascination, the first glimpse of a tree beyond the veil, a decision seen without the distortion of mesh breaking it into distractions.  The circus mapped us for a time, charming at first, exhilarating perhaps, until the safety net stopped catching dreamers, until performances revealed their torture induced mechanisms.

Our feet are ready for thicker growth.  Our tongues want to speak with different words, or, if the same words, at least filtered through the kaleidoscope of a new idea.  We have bodies made for pushing through brush into raw discovery, like land starved sailors dipping down into a valley that doesn’t know their kind.  It is our nature to become complacent with the known and use it’s rougher edges to pry open the next mystery.

Let us fringe freaks abandon the ringmaster’s dome once and for all and pitch roofless tents on different soil.

~Ty Gorton

Tuesday, November 24, 2009


Amidst this tumble of words and art, over time, an answer may present itself not unlike a stone washed up to shore, pleasing and smooth for the finder’s palm. Not that we intend on posing a question; the only answers worth discovering are those we aren’t looking for, the kind of answers that peer around corners we are hesitant to approach. Fiction, philosophy, illustration, photography, poetry, etc.…those ancient youths among us will weave a tapestry whose pattern will not soon present itself. For a time, a certain chaos will boil here in our famished cauldron, where bits and pieces will roll against each other until finally a flavor emerges, an aroma not recognized but namable. I am here only to stir occasionally, to ensure the quality of ingredients, but never to guide the concoction toward a desired end. It is the flow of nutrients along riverbeds of awareness that commands my attention, an awareness that widening the banks is no longer useful, only a deepening of currents. Content for content’s sake cannot achieve this, which is where you come in. Let us dig deeper, not wider, canals for contemplation’s journey toward a wanting ocean. Let us dig and loose antique soil known of yet forgotten so it might mix with our lesser notions and rage.

~Ty Gorton

 

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