"And thus, though surrounded by circle upon circle of consternations and affrights, did these inscrutable creatures at the centre freely and fearlessly indulge in all peaceful concernments; yea, serenely revelled in dalliance and delight. But even so, amid the tornadoed Atlantic of my being, do I myself still for ever centrally disport in mute calm; and while ponderous planets of unwaning woe revolve around me, deep down and deep inland there I still bathe me in eternal mildness of joy."
Chapter lxxxvii - THE GRAND ARMADA
This text is ultimately a man’s search for meaning “in a world of endless meaning”. My work as a psychoanalyst insistently coaxes me to the conclusion that under all the neurosis and pathologies and disorders that plague our mind-numbingly narcissistic culture, we reveal the most compelling and quietly simple inquiry of finding meaning.
The act of transcribing the text by hand, in long form, slows down the reading to a pace that in some measure disables the narrative, dissipates the meaning, and returns the reader (the viewer) to his own inquiry. The language blurs as each word is scribbled onto the previous word, piling the narrative into an utterly meaningless smear of graphite, and polished by the repetition.
In an impossibly discrete shining, what reflects back is the most fragile, mere image of the viewer, a darkness only hinting at the possibility of self…