“Softly, as if I play piano in the dark…” - Outkast

Somewhere between Vermeer’s subtle incandescence and the gloomy grandeur of Blade Runner’s eternal twilight lies another realm. Distinct and yet, perhaps not... Scraps of half-heard melody drift in and out of static washes as apparitions appear glinting in the half light: crepuscular, ominous, haunting- beckoning you further in... ghosts caught in obsidian, iridescent phantoms enacting silent operas, flickering bouquets which hover, drift and dissolve...  Symphonies of longing and despair frozen between phrases. With what strange alchemy synthesize and distill in rapt attention these ghostly tableaus? Formalize in frozen matter the holy relic, the enchanted mirror? The dark pool at eventide, the ocean cry, the gull cry? the windswept sea? 

The hidden songs of the damned? The spirit residue of the departed? 

This the mist upon our heads and the dirt beneath our feet? 

That was the star burning and this the cold dead light. 

Dead, undead... Winter’s ashen feast still burning bright…

Furtive dreams these, lost in rapture at the tomb of Dionysius…

Awaken Sleeping Hermaphrodite!

Awaken from Aphroditic slumber... 

Awaken and speak…

Awaken and sing…

What eldritch aesthetic adorns this sepulchral temple? 

And to it shall we aspire? 

Yes.

Privilege sensual experience over analytic thought then, in pursuit of a decadent, hedonistic art.

Cultivate lush resplendence; elevate the feel.

Retain demented belief in the sacred night, the arcane splendour of the baroque masterpiece, the saving grace of a perfect verse.

Soliloquize the haunted rapture of an overdriven ‘65 Princeton, reverb on 10.

And there.. in that space… where clarion notes bleed and reverberate, become burning nebulae, imbued with inarticulate glow and fiery distortion, pulsing in cathedral caverns beneath the sea... There you will find me: lost in the wild blue skies and the ecstasy of light, the orphic whisperings of the dark and the twilit wonderland between…