Interlude: An Epistle to the Faithful – an Ultima Futura Edict

Abandon all religion, ye who enter here, for this is a house of philosophy. Yet beware of losing faith, for you will need much.

For nothing, in this day and age, is harder to have faith in than humanity. Indeed, I have watched many turn to religion in the name of an ironic cynicism in the human condition. I have seen many become parrots and mimes of gods lesser than they because their own humanity is weaker than the influence of mythology.

Mistake not that I seek to abolish religion, outright. In truth, I seek to put it in its proper context, for it is not a search for truth. In spite of much breath spent on symbolisms and encodings and rituals, religion has never been a search for truth. Religion, organized or not, is a search for unity. Truth is found elsewhere.

Religions based on tales and parables become erroneous when the stories supplant history. Religions based on science, while quite possible, will more often than not exclude the possibility of divinity.

This house is not a house where its dwellers would be brought together. Indeed, there is a need to foster identity stronger than the expression of individuality. There is a need for an awareness and a fire which will purify and strengthen. But, beware of pretending to these before one has been cleansed.

So away with doctrines of restriction and indulgence, for they are both mutually antagonistic and contradictory to both nature and essence. Restrict or indulge yourself as your heart dictates, but not because you are told to or told not to. Forget that lesson at peril of your soul and don’t pretend that you have always known it. I have seen you act the animal because you are not supposed to and you only make a fool of yourself. Extract this lightning flash and understand him.

Away with the worship of the flesh or of nature, for these are the lesser trappings of greater truths learned better elsewhere. There is beauty found therein, lessons and inspiration to be gleaned, yet the beauty and the wisdom blind the viewer, betimes, to his own true place in the cosmos and indeed fool him into thinking himself one with it. Seek harmony with it, seek to understand it and respect it, yea, but lose yourself in it not. The weight of that leaden albatross will pull you to the abyss for all time.

Away with the claim to work magic upon the world, for thaumaturgy and sorcery are the tools of the greedy and the pretentious. The working of the will is understood by all and it is the arrogance of so-called magicians that it is the purview of the elect few. Ironically, it is only employed by fewer still and those who know how know to apply it internally, only. The outer world follows suit easily enough, but it requires an iron will to move the mountains of one’s own landscape and there is no other landscape worth changing.

Away with the worship of opposites and the relationships between, for balance is an illusion and never attainable in truth. We can strive for some measure of equilibrium, though never hope to attain it in perfection. We can hope to find a portion of peace when we counter our own imbalances, but it is the imbalance and the disharmony within that keep us alive. But beware of the worship of chaos, for that is not the province of humanity, but of the beasts. It is the human prerogative to craft order, though our own natures be discordant. Let not the love of ego dominate in the face of our evolutionary duty.

Away with the cult of personality, for this breeds subservience and folly. The quest for truth is brought horribly to a halt when the minds and lives of those who claim to have come before become of greater import than the truth they deceive their stance for. Find inspiration in their works, if you will. Indeed, find heroes amongst them. Yet, do not canonize anyone. To do so would only feed their vanity and place you at the mercy of their errors. One’s life, when laid at the feet of a folly equal one’s own, runs through the fingers like mercury.

Away with obsession with the trappings of religion. Away with the sanctimonious arrogance. Away with the fear of punishment beyond and the nepotistic force-feed. Seek the truth on your own terms. Be unified in the company of others who share your views and share your wisdom therein, though beware of identifying with them. They are not your masters, nor your servants, nor your brothers. If they are honest in their quest for truth, they will challenge your knowledge and be challenged thereby.

But let not yourself fall to dogma save that which you author yourself. Let not yourself fall prey to the bondage of others, for sometimes the chains people place on themselves, while giving the illusion of liberation, will only lay waste to one’s humanity and befoul one’s will.

Only when the will has been wiped clean is it possible to step from the mire and tread on the road.

An ironic nod for the title to Nikolas Schreck, whom I suspect would disagree with me on several points.

Of the Measure of One’s Life

In the circles I travel in, there is much breath expended, in one phraseology or another, on the virtue of living by no one’s rules but one’s own. I have been guilty of not doing this. Frequently.

As a child, I learned the lesson that there is something pleasing about making others happy. I always endeavoured, and still do, to maintain a degree of consideration and courtesy (until such is denied me in return), and this has, unfortunately led to me living my life according to the expectations and rules of others.

It’s always been very difficult to separate my own circumstantial wants from the ones belonging to those closest to me. I have very simple desires in life, and it has never mattered where I am or how I have lived, as long as I have my art, actively and passively (IE: making it or consuming it). I have been willing to make circumstantial sacrifices and unnecessary compromises all in the name of making those important to me happy.

Making those I love happy is still important. I am learning, however, the virtue of making myself happy, in the process. I have made far too many mistakes in education, vocation and religion to be forgiven for at this stage of my life. This is something I should have been doing a long time ago, but always relented in owing to the shadow lurking over my shoulder – the spectre of my father telling me that we are here to make other people happy, that it’s what they think of us that matters and that we have to live our lives according to their rules.

It shames me that I have swallowed this bilge as long as I have.

In spite of my compliance, I have at least long since had a scale by which I have measured the success of one’s life. Even as a youth, I understood that life was for the living and that success in life was, as a result, success in living. How well one lives their life is the measure of that life. This is not measured, obviously, by how large of a house one has, or how large of a bank account or how many possessions one has. It is certainly not measured by the accolades of one’s peers nor by the legacy which remains.

Life is measured by the standards of the person living it. No other standards may be employed to any honest result.

On that note, for my part, I do not want to be remembered by the events of my life. The events of my life are for me and for those I choose to chare it with. I do not wish my place in history to be nothing more than an existential curiosity.

Aside: I envision some strange historian, 100 years down the line saying “Yes, Propraetor was a strange fellow, given to melancholy and grandiose imaginings and theories. He tended to drink absinthe and frequently mused about death. Oh yes, he also made art.”

I don’t even want history to remember me by my actual name, hence my adoption of a Roman pseudonym. Instead, I want history to look at the work I have wrought, for therein is the record of my soul, and there will history find the measure of Propraetor. The measure of the man behind the name is for the man. History will have to be content with the results of that man’s energy.

Note: This, of course, assumes that history takes an interest in my work and does not brush it by. It is difficult to have one’s artwork taken notice of in this century, as there are so many artists of grand calibre. Making one’s work stand above and beyond the others is a Herculean task. As the unforgiveable Oscar Wilde said, “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.”

I have no love of notoriety. In spite of the fact that I tend to talk a lot and make my presence known online, I do not relish attention. Indeed, I hate being regarded extensively. The weights and measures we apply to one another are vulgar and arrogant. Instead, when next I have an art exhibit, I will hide in a corner and will answer questions in this way: A patron approaches me to ask a question. if the question does not pertain to my art, I grab said patron and force them to look at the nearest piece of art and then walk away. I repeat if they persist.

Let them measure me that way.

Artistic Perspectives (x-post from DeviantArt)

This is a cross-post from DeviantArt, so please forgive the inconsistent formatting.

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the following is a letter i had sent to my friend and brother, with whom i have been discussing artistic quandaries, in regards to motivation and keeping it up. i thought the observations worth posting here as well.

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Some further thoughts. Feel free to disregard if unwelcome.

My thoughts on art and it’s propriety within one’s life (IE: the whole “have to” vs. “need to” conflict) are thus: I disagree with the notion that everyone can be an artist. Everyone can *become* an artist from birth, but once the pattern of life has been established, coming ‘round to that way of thinking/living is very difficult. Conversely, when one has become such a thing, it is pretty much impossible to get out of it, completely.

The things that make some people claim to be artists are, as we discussed, ego-based in nature. They see artists and are infatuated either with the lifestyle they perceive artists lead or with the esteem that comes with being a great artist (the whole “Wow, that guy’s work is really good” thing). Sadly, once these people figure out how to manipulate things in Photoshop and/or learn some pre-written set of compositional rules and rendering methodology, they can potentially produce great-looking work, but which has little real substance behind it (look up [name deleted] on DeviantArt for an excellent example of this). Even more sadly, this is the stuff that people tend to flock to.

Conversely, there are others who have a vision behind their work. They have a purpose, either personal, “operative” as we used to say once upon a time, and all of their work is based upon that foundation. Of all people, Dave Mustaine shares this philosophy. Go figure.

You may recall that time when we went to Racca’s Art Supply on Princess years and years ago. The jolly wanker who ran the place tried to tell me that “It doesn’t matter how you get to the end, it’s the finished product that counts.” I am sure you can imagine how indignant that made me and I have railed against those words ever since. I am, unfortunately, in the minority, as the audience, art-buyer is only interested in the final product and not in what goes into it. This is the same mentality, as it happens, that perpetuates sweat-shops and slave labour and the whole “the ends justify the means” idea.

These sorts of people have no specific calling to art and could easily just drop it and walk away, except that they have the privilege of being labeled and lauded as something they can only pretend to be, in any existential sense.

No what does this have to do with have-to/need-to?

It relates because those who subscribe to this notion I just discussed, more frequently than not, end up doing their art because they “have to”, in other words, because it’s their job. They are compelled to do it based on exteriorly-induced stimuli. In other words, if they don’t, they lose the prestige, the admiration and money, if that’s why they’re doing it.

I wrestle with this question every day and then I remember why I do it. If I don’t, I whither away inside. If I can’t work on my art, my soul dies a little each day. If I fail to at least get an hour at the table or tablet each day, that day has been wasted because I feel that I might as well not have lived at all that day. I’ve spoken to people about this and I think I’m the only person who feels this way.

Side note: I’m tempted to post this on my blog, but for the fact that I am sure it will engender a whole bunch of delusional fools who will end up claiming to share this view, when in reality they are just the same as everyone else, in this regard.

So now, the question arises: Do you feel you “have to” do your music because it’s what’s expected of you or because you won’t be cool unless you do it? Have you grown more fond of the respect you have earned in the field (which, I must confess, I have been envious of in the past) than you have of the sound you create? Is the music just a job?

Now here’s the thing, if it is a job, there’s no real reason to stop. I have come to the conclusion that there is no evil in making art for the enjoyment/patronage of other people. All art is a blessing. And while I do not feel that the finished product is the only thing that counts, as far as my art is concerned, the motivations behind art are of real importance only to the artist who makes it.

From my vantage point to your question, if the very question disturbs you as much as it does, I think that is rather telling of the answer. If the absence of music-making is depressing to you, what does that say?

Anyway, that’s my two proverbial cents on the subject. If you wish to reply, I’ll be at work by the time you get this.

I think I will actually post this on my blog (with some editing, of course).

D

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end of line….

Of Regret, or Things I Should Have Said Fifteen Years Ago

"The man who speaks is a fool for five seconds. The man who does not speak is a fool forever. – Confucius

This morning, I spent some time contemplating the subject of regret. Those who know me intimately know that I have shown a large capacity for self-doubt in recent years. Of late, my confidence has shown a return and I am beginning to become pro-active once again.

About fifteen years ago, in Hawaii, I participated in a group activity which I will not explain in any great depth here, but which revolved around the subject of regret. I didn’t really know, then, what to say as, in my arrogance, I had little awareness of my own regret at the time. Hindsight has given me some further insight into the subject, however.

In spite of what the dictionary says, there is a line to be drawn between regret and guilt, as I define the two.

Guilt relates to culpability, to things we have done which have yielded ill fruit. Usually, this is based upon breaking a code of conduct which is foisted upon us by our elders or adopted from the philosophies of those we respect. We have done something wrong. We are guilty. We must therefore be punished.

Regret, however, is tied more to things we have failed to do. To things we have not said and actions we have not taken. We regret not taking opportunities and we regret not taking vacations. We regret not kissing that girl in college and we regret not pursuing that job opportunity. We regret not making more of our lives, more often than not.

One of the most venomous regrets we have, in my opinion, is not opening one’s mouth. Occultists tend to adopt a philosophy of opening the mouth and saying what they don’t mean, which amounts to saying the wrong thing. Philosophers tend to do much the same (for case in point I refer the reader to the rest of my blog entries). Others like the idea of hoarding their knowledge and keeping secrets.

When important things go unsaid, they cause a whole snowball-effect of pain greater, usually, than when people say the wrong thing (or, worse yet, dress unimportant things in important clothes). The lover is preyed upon by her partner’s malice and greed and, out of a misplaced affection or out of fear, fails to speak and is leeched dry of her self-worth. A friend has issues with his friend’s behaviour, fails to bring it to their attention, for whatever reason, and the whole thing becomes a massive problem, down the line.

Someone can bear witness to a terrible thing and, out of fear, fail to speak and therefore give their literally unspoken permission for further terrors to come.

In the last few months, I have learned the value of avoiding this. I still hold silence in great reverence, though when things need to be said, there is little to be gained by not saying them. Indeed, the risk of speaking and causing an avalanche is lesser than not warning one’s friends they are walking off a cliff.

Of my personal and philosophical dilemmas

I am beset by a few quandaries. While I am posting these on my blog, I am not necessarily looking for advice on how to deal with them. I believe there is something to be said for the writing down of a thing and its subsequent transmission.

First off, I have an artistic dilemma. I am still searching for ideas on how best to add colour to my ink drawings. I do not wish to completely forsake the tangible drawing in favour of the digital paintings I have begun to play with.

Speaking of digital art, I am debating actually publishing my first experiment with the digital painting. I am thinking it might be best to shelve it and revisit it later. Or, perhaps, redraw some of the elements in the background which screw up the perspective. That might be best and, perhaps, easiest within a digital medium.

I have a large number of projects in mind for Edgar Gruesome. I am concerned, however, that my more playful alter-ego will eventually overshadow the more serious and austere. Edgar is supposed to be peripheral to the central, Proprætorian work, the nature of which is the all-consuming focus of my life, these days.

Although, I am reminded that the band Death Piggy used to open for themselves at performances by dressing up in outlandish costumes and putting on theatrical and depraved shows. The gag band later ended up overshadowing and eventually assimilating the earlier band as Gwar.

Is it wise for me to differentiate my artwork so? I feel it is. The Gruesome works, which no one has really seen, yet, will be more playful and gothic, as opposed to the sacerdotal, alchemical and allegorical Proprætorian works. Will this differentiation end up becoming more of a problem for me in the end?

And what of my vocation? I have been “studying” architecture for some time now, but the field is rapidly losing its appeal for me. I have a daring and personally intriguing career trajectory in mind for myself, but I am afraid to take such a grand leap and such a vast gamble. Of this mystery, I may speak no more.

As I have said earlier, I have lost much of my faith. I have lost my love of chaos and I have embraced a deeper darkness than the merely sinister. That which has been called “sinister” by some is merely the depraved and bestial dressed up in the garb of the sacred. The deeper darkness is the pure truth of life, undefiled by clutter and delusion.

I am by no means free of clutter and delusion, but I have a clearer picture of what that freedom is, now. Though it begs the question as to whether or not the truth is to be found in the beast or in the human. Is the human will indomitable in the face of the animal? Is there hope for the preservation of the nobler aspects or am I merely wasting my time and life?

I find I am beginning to wonder about the kind of person I have been in my life. Have I been a generally “good” person or have I been a tragic fool? I like to hope that I have been neither. I certainly hope to endure as neither.

There is something to be said for maintaining detachment from the universal flow. Yet how can one be free from association and reference and still maintain identity? Is it possible that identity becomes self-referential? I am beginning to think that it does and that therein lays the ultimate result of identity – a self which is not dependant upon comparison. That prospect appeals to me, yet is it feasible or even possible?

These are things which I have been pondering. I’m not asking for answers, though if anyone has further philosophical questions to add to the pile, feel free.

Of the alchemy of my faith

As I had mentioned in a previous post, I have been paring down many aspects of my life, of late. I have been removing many things, adding few things, returning to some earlier states of being and yet evolving in some unexpected directions.

As several people are aware, I have spent a few decades migrating slowly from one religio-magical tradition to another. I have always felt that science is mostly insufficient to explain all of the mysteries of life. While I do put a good deal of stock in scientific knowledge, I like the idea of tempering it with metaphysical wisdom.

I have wandered through the purely philosophical and bestial arena of Satanism and the bland and impossible world of Christianity. Paganism lacked the fire I was seeking and Thelema turned out to be a swine in priest’s clothing. Atavism, as romantic as the Egyptian and Norse traditions were, seems a little stale when said traditions are taken directly out of their own context and placed into ours.

Chaos, of which I spoke in my previous post, once held a promise of truth, harkening back to the churning sea of Absu from which Tiamat was borne. I have come to observe that sanctified chaos has been used a vulgar excuse for the indulgences and whims of the juvenile and a convenient scapegoat for the depraved.

My god was once Seth. In a different sense, he still is. Conflict is still sacred to me. Storms and nightmares follow me. While Seth is not, in fact, a god of chaos, he does represent disharmony. The difference between chaos and disharmony exists insofar as it is possible to be disharmonious with one’s external world and still retain sense of self. Indeed, the sense of self is reinforced by disharmony and consumed by chaos.

The chaos of religion, in general, has lost much of its lustre for me. So much of the dogma is based upon a list of dos and don’ts. The majority of the religions I have favoured thus far, as can be expected, tend to proscribe more dos than don’ts. Many of the dos, however, have grown stale and, indeed, many more have shown their true faces as excuses for aberrant behaviour.

In this current time of purging, I have opted to wilfully pare down my faith. I have dismissed all ritual, with the one exception of my prayer to the Muse before I begin my artwork.

Of all the historical traditions I have explored, the Romans had the aesthetic which seemed to gel most with my psychology, though again, placing the festivals directly in the modern world, while still in their original context, just seems inappropriate to me. I, instead, distil the festivals down to their essence and commemorate them in my own fashion.

Side-note: According to the Roman Calendar, I began the draft of this post at the end of the festival of Quinquatria, in honour of Minerva. According to Ovid’s Fasti, it was in honour of her birthday. While I do not propose to commemorate Wisdom through Strife with gladiatorial combat, I do think it is appropriate to use this time as a purging – of gaining wisdom through the wise purification of my life.

Metaphysically, the only real practice which I have opted to retain is one which has been unlearned into my normal mode of thinking and acting, that of alchemy, which has shadowed my life since I was a child.

So has the Gorgon. There is no getting rid of Her.

I have grown weary of the trivialities and the vulgarities of social matrices, especially the brinkmanship and pretence so frequently paraded by esoteric social cliques. Individuals, who function independently of the pressures and inertias of a group environment have always struck me as being closer to the mark.

My initiation has been alchemically reduced to philosophy and art. I no longer actively seek after the divine. If I continue on this path, which is the one set out for me, I will find divinity on my own. I have not come to disbelieve in divinity, but instead of following the cues of others for it, I am now simply doing what I feel I am supposed to be doing and keeping my eyes open for further signs on the road.

Of Chaos and Humanity

I was recently invited to attend a workshop concerning chaos magic. Once upon a time, when I was in love with the depravity of the age, I would have been excited at the prospect. This time, the notion of chaos magic repulses me.

I have met and interacted with several people who claim to be chaos magicians, or at least philosophically aligned with discord. With the exception of one or two of them, my interactions with them have always left me feeling either soiled or violated in some way.

My understanding of what comprises humanity, in the abstract sense of the word, rather than the apparent, is always evolving. One thing which I came to understand about humanity from the onset (and long before) is that it is dependent upon the notion of identity, which is dependant upon a stable sense of self and that self’s relationship to the world around it (which includes its own inner landscape, as the self is profoundly minute and abstract compared to things like thoughts and emotions).

Clarification: when I refer to the “sense of self” I do not refer to the ego or to the flow of thoughts and emotions which comprise the lesser sphere of human identity. I refer to the indefinable core which can only be realized, but not observed or quantified. This is the thing which truly uses the pronoun “I”.

When immersed in chaos, the sense of self is diminished in the face of the external world, the pressures of which are omnipresent and potent.

Example: while typing this, I have been consistently messaged by a good friend of mine. No complaint against him, as he did not know, but it does stand testament to the external world’s constant pressure. I was also assailed by one of my cats until I dismissed him.

One can attempt to sit peacefully in the center of the storm, but when one attempts to align with the storm, thereby becoming the storm, one looses that central place of balance. In the eye of the storm, there is nothing but void. All the substance of the storm can be found in its winds and in its destruction.

Romantic as this notion may seem to some, this is the path of the animal. As I have said before, people who behave as animals are slaves to this age, and in the words of an occult luminary whose words I espoused at one time, “slaves shall serve”.

I have heard and read that some approach chaos magic with the intent of retaining that sense of self while manipulating chaos. This is hypocrisy. In order to manipulate anything magically, one must create a resonance between one’s will and that thing being manipulated. See the above metaphor of a storm.

There is no hope for the survival of humanity in chaos. Chaos will only consume that which is truly human, no matter how allegedly “strong” one’s will is. All that remains is sickness.

Of hope, courtesy and purgation

The recent weeks in which I have been neglecting my blog have seen some rather heavy changes in my life. Some changes are for the better (such as the ever-deepening relationship between myself and my new muse, S) others not so much so (such as the socal conditions at my day-job).

I have found that Newton’s most famous physics axiom, “For every action, there an equal and opposite reaction”,  applies to non-physical phenomena equally with the tangible. The more one attempts to pull one’s life into a direction more conducive to one’s happiness, the more resistence one is met with. The resistence can manifest as a clearer understanding of what happines is to the individual, or as the outright defiance of others. I refer to this latter as the  “Thou Shalt Not…” concept.

One’s attempts at forging or re-forging one’s life can be met with disdain of the conservative, the ridicule of the self-righteous or the desperate leeching of the selfish or incapacitated. Whenever I have tried to effect a grand change in my life, I have been met with any number of these obstacles. I have always tried to interact with them on their own terms and usually have been forced to compromise my dreams and aspirations in the name of the path of least resistance.

I do not intend to compromise on my dreams, in this time. I cannot afford to.

I also do not intend to broadcast them to the world-at-large yet. I have found that when I voice my dreams and hopes (the latter of which I try and spend as little time with as I can), they find themselves either shot down by the overly-pragmatic or they merely fizzle out, having lost their power. I have told my dreams to S, to my good friend G and to a quasi-random fellow who works in the same building as me. I will eventually share my vision with my best friend, J, but not yet. I love my brother, but I want to keep the numbers down for now.

I usually try to support the dreams and visions of the ones I care about. I try to support them as practically as I can without unecessarily quashing the romanticism of aspiration. All I ever ask is that the same courtesy be repaid to me. Given the spirit of the current age of the Kali Yuga, that courtesy is rarely given by those who play by the current age’s rules.

In fact, courtesy seems to frequently fall by the wayside. I am by no means exempt and I loathe myself when I fail in this regard, but I have noticed that the social norm has mutated into an ego-centric one where people work to aggrandize themselves unduly or to ingratiate themselves to those who have already done so. Sometimes it’s both. This creates two distinct castes of  residents in the present world: vampires and slaves. The philosophy can generally be summed up as, “It’s all about me and what you can do for me and what you can do to bolster my ego.”

When flaws are pointed out to either one of these castes, the suggestion is not taken seriously or is immediately deflected in the interests of perpetuating a false self-image or ignoring a fault which would be more constructively acknowledged and addressed.

I know many of my own faults. I am arrogant and over-emotional and impatient of folly, especially my own. I chastise myself when I fail and am never satisfied with my successes. I chalk these up to an over-zealous desire for a discipline I could never hope to live up to.

I usually endeavour to temper some of these faults with a self-aware approach, whenever I can manage it. For example, I try to temper my arrogance with a sometimes overly-respectful attitude. If I am disrespected, as a result, I will try and politely point this out to the offender. If I am disrespected further, then I decline further respect to that person until they show some. Sadly, this philosophy finds its way into the work-place as my fellow vetrans from the print shop can attest. Nevertheless, I live by the notion that respect is a two-way street. If it becomes a one-way street, it’s not respect. It then becomes servitude.

If I end up disrespecting someone initially, I would hope it is pointed out to me (ideally, in a manner other than “you are such an asshole”). If the specifics are brought to my attention, I will do what I can to fix the situation. If my attempts are appreciated, then all is well. If my attempt at rectification is ignored, see above.

That having been said, I have been going through a bit of a purgation of late. I have deleted people from my Facebook friends’ list, I have been getting rid of CDs I just don’t listen to any more and have been throwing out a lot of useless things I have been holding on to. I’ve also been doing this internally. I have been spending way too much time being miserable and traumatized. It is time to make myself happy in some way and the best way to do that is through art.

Though I still need to retain a little bit of pain in my life, otherwise the art will lose its edge.

Speaking of the art, the first of the Edgar Gruesome pieces should be complete within the next day. I will post the link to the appropriate spot on the web once it has been published. It is not going to be entirely indicative of the content or mood of the Gruesome Works proper. Indeed, it is little more than an experiment. More on that later.

Of Change and Evolution in both Technology and Habitat

I apologize for the delays in posting. A good deal of things have changed or are changing.

First, and most relevant to this record, is the addition of a new tool to my artistic arsenal: a Wacom Bamboo graphics tablet. This is something I have been meaning to add to my toolbox for some time and I have begun to play with it in a free program called GIMP with encouraging results.

I have long been uncomfortable with the notion of creating digital art. I have often been under the misapprehension that digital art can be horribly easy to make and that the additon of technology to the process would, in some way, cheapen the artistic experience owing to that ease. It would seem that, while it does make certain things easier (the introduction of colour, the manipulation of it, the creation of some textures), if one takes the “from the ground up” approach to digital art, one can retain the same level of work ethic and satisfaction that one has created something entire, rather than stealing and pasting and blending, which was always my fear.

For example, the piece I am currently working on, digitally, began as a sketch in one of my many sketch books. I scanned it in, brought it into GIMP and began to layer the work overtop of it. The work being wrought, however, is not too much different from the work I would be doing manually, for lack of a better word. The main difference is that instead of a pen, stippling away on paper, it’s a stylus sweeping across the tablet. The image takes its tangible form much faster than on paper, mind you, though I suspect that is owed to the phenomenon of brush size.

I have much the same observation about many forms of internet social interaction, which several of my friends tend to deplore. Things like instant messaging and Facebook and blogs and the like serve a specific social function. I regard such technology as being either an extension or an evolution of the social mechanism. Alas, like any technology, there will always be fools who abuse it and degrade it. Nevertheless, there is always potential for growth in such evolutions.

This is very exciting for me, as I feel I will be able to evolve my style considerably through experimentation and tutorial. This also opens up another artistic door for me, insofar as it gives me a potentially different venue for some of my other works. This is what I mean…

I recently went through a large box of old papers, searching for some legal documentation which I required. In so doing, I came across a small stack of old sketch pads which were all filled with doodles, sketches and random visual ideas, motifs and explorations. I have long noticed that some of my images are rather tedious. Others perhaps a bit more inspired or, to my mind, profound. Still others are interesting and fun, again, for lack of a better word, but do not fit into the overall oeuvre of the Proprætorian works. This merits a division in my works.

Therefore, it is my intention to continue working on paper with ink (it better be as I just acquired a whole box of my pens) and keeping the content alchemical, initiatic and homogenous with the already established works. These will constitute the works of Proprætor.

However, the more “fun” and macabre pieces, which have long been needing a home, will be rendered digitally. To that end, they will be published under a new name: Edgar Gruesome.

Both the Proprætorian and the Gruesome works will be published on DeviantArt until such time as I can acquire an umbrella site for the Atelier.

The tablet itself was a Lupercalian gift from my new muse, S. She has been an immense help to me, psychologically, and her encouragement has aided me in feeling like my stronger self again. Indeed, I have come to love this woman.

She spends her weekends in the cell with me, pending her move to the Kitchener/Waterloo area. She insists that I work while she is there and reprimands me when I do not accomplish as much as I want to in a day with my art. She inspires me and motivates me and helps me attain some measure of equilibrium-without-fear. She will be present in my art, I suspect, in the near future.

In any case, I will direct the reader’s attention to the appropriate spot online as/when my new pieces are complete.

X-post: the Return of Viktor Frankenstein

This is cross-posted from DeviantArt. I apologize for the lack of capital letters, as sans-caps is the standard format for my DA blog.

the current piece, which i have yet to name, is almost complete. if i can buckle down this week, i should be able to get it 99.99% complete by the weekend. then comes the quandary of colour.

i have experimented with letraset markers. the effect is not quite what i was hoping for. i am beginning to think dry-brushing (and i mean really *dry*-brushing) the page with acrylic paint might be the way to go. I will need to experiment with that a bit more before applying it to the piece in question.

the use of colour in my art has always been rather sparse and irregular. i have always had a deeper fondness for more subdued colours. subtle hues or, more often than not, just straight black and white allow for the image to be fleshed out without detracting from the piece’s essential meaning. bright, flashy colours, when unnecessary, are a distraction for some people who cannot see past them.

once this piece is complete, i have another piece to complete in my current style. then i will begin experimenting with other means of administering the ink to the page. i would like to come up with something a bit more smooth than my usual stippling for some specific effects i am hoping to achieve.

i am also hoping, next month, to acquire a graphics tablet and begin my digital art experiments in earnest.

in other news, i have pulled myself through my previous doldrums and have found new inspiration. i have a new musa prima (see [DA blog] entry seven concerning this term) emerging in my life and the Muse is gradually forgiving me. i am also learning to forgive myself.

with any luck, i should have two more large-scale pieces to display here within a month and a show organized by the summer. once the digital art starts to happen, i will hopefully be a bit more prolific than i have been. it will be a welcome return to activity.