inter/sub/ject/ive perceptions

Ludolf Grolle painted six pieces, one for each founder of the Pre-Sim group. His work can be found at his website: http://www.ludolfgrolle.com

Here is my dedication to him, reacting to, and playing with the visual pieces he has created. This is for you Ludi!
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"Each (word or) sentence  of a text  has survived the shipwreck of 200 pages. The process of writing is to circulate, to caress, to paint all the phenomena before they are precipitated, assembled, crystallized into a word ..."

~ hélène cixous,
rootprints, 18.

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Simulations of Grolle's perceptions provides a medium in which texts can be creatively reworked and merged together in ways that are often impossible outside virtual readerly intra-spaces. As in the act of dreaming or hallucinating, the observer becomes the painter, assembling a moving inter/text/ual collage through the firing of mirror neurons. One of the virtual texts involved in the process of creative intersubjectual reworkings of texts in an observer's subjectivity, that observer's notion of identity relative to other artists emerges as fractal quantum patterns of recognition that resides (in)-terwingled, and (in)between the text and the observer.
- Will E.
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"Before all reality,
was the perception;

and

the perception

was
abstract.

Then came the word,
and the word was God."
~ Ludolf Grolle

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What could I do if I couldn't write?
Writing was to be my rescue.
. . . Even Prospero
in his book-lined cell
had suffered shipwreck
and selfwreck; his island
was unreachable except through storm.

 ~ janet frame,
An Angel at my Table,
London: Paladin, 1987, p. 128.


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Sub/text/ual Perceptions


I think if we're not conscious we exist
Perceived as contructions, but
How can that be? Projected personas
In virtual spaces?

Just look at the sun.
Oh, if I could only make myself
Completely unafraid – once,
Born, we never die – Iron Men,
What talks we'll have, and will.



It's theorized
The universe is only one
Amoung others, infinite
Others. Though

Didn't he tell us, "In my father's house
There are many rooms…"





And I would tell you
What it's like,
Real being. And
How there are human beings for whom the sun
Is never going to shine
Is never going to rise again, ever, not
Really –
Not the real sun.





There're no exactly waking up
In radiant awareness

Celebration of their own presence these days,




Who'd get rid of themselves with no more thought
(If it were possible) than you would give to
step through these windows

of inter(sub)jectivity,




How in deep sleep sometimes even we get well.
So you can believe me, in the far deeper
Sleep (these newbold strokes of passion, maybe) we are all going

Through these portals,



Set my mind before

These mirrors of eternity,

And set me free.
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