Contra-Auguste
At the other end of the line, she’s struggling to stop laughing, and just then, as you almost smile in triumph, you have become the clown again.
(Clowning, in its most basic form, can be described as one form of drama without a fourth wall. In other words, a clown acknowledges his audience.)
Nothing in your mouth is not honest. And everything in your head is huge; every concept a large painting, some full of looming shadow, some with too loose brushstrokes, just a myriad of coloured spots if you get too close.
This is art: Violet tree trunks, butter skies.
Silent man says he talks to the ceiling. And you, you talk to construction sites. Then you talk to other people’s voices, and here’s a different language, and there’s so many words, but give them the right inflection and they all mean the same.
This is art: a large sitting dog made out of 70 000 flowering plants.
The angles and inflections, do they get to trespass on the property of honesty?