JAŠA

I'll try not to talk about what was, let me talk about the still impossible
of a passing sent
that wish to forevermore
exist
within this 
touch

There are many parallel threads of thoughts that run side by side or entwine during my late night intersections. My sleep became even more fragile, as my restlessness was anchored by this raging pandemic that has stopped the world. At first, I felt and observed a rush of surrealistic euphoria, as if a hand of god had thrown an imposed rest and distancing upon all of us. The ever-persisting dilemma was resolved: with or without others? The backbone of desire and lust. But as usually happens with any camouflaged situation, you start striving again for what you just wanted to get away from, while receiving slaps from all other sides in your mind: how long will it last, how far can it go, with everything up in the air will this bring me to my knees, another round of post-war, neo-turbo capitalism, or will it refrain the 2008 economic breakdown? What future can I offer or paint for my children? 

The world went mad long before we managed to screw it up so glamorously, while still chasing some stale, over-chewed, outdated but once again present illusion of how we will all be so fucking rich and famous, or "successful," as we call it. Let me just smoke another cigarette, maybe that will spin my head back to la-la land. Unfortunately, I make the same mistake, flip the phone….probably not strange, given the reality show star running the White House like a spoiled brat on a roller coaster. Looking at it from a bigger perspective (or maybe I should say smaller), when Italians voted in Berlusconi (the famous Bunga -Bunga sex party animale) for the second time and Brazilians gathered around the openly Fascist Bolsonaro (who it still, btw, claiming that COVID 19 is a hoax) adding Erdogan and let us not forget Orban to this amazing blooming natura morta - let’s admit, at least we are in good hands...and I think I need to smoke another cigarette. A mad circus, featuring lots of metal music, that would be it, while thinkers, brilliant and inspiring people, would steer humanity towards embracing all the imminent threats with dignity and charm.  An artist can still raise a brush, as a poet can stop a tank with a verse, I say to myself. Growing apart, isolated, we will defeat the invisible enemy. Believing in science while cooling our lusts. But what can we do with all the restless, invisible and even more devastatingly imminent threats that the aforementioned colorful bunch of "leaders" represents? Should we ditch isolation and build barricades instead, out of our own art? Blow out our lungs singing songs of hope and light? Turn this into an opportunity to reshape it all, the art scene included? Stick together, gathered under colorful flags of unity, strength and common sense? Will this be the next summer of love?

In the morning I wake up in my mobile home and studio--inside my own head. This is always home for me, no matter how turbulent and globe-trotting my years have been. I go back to waving my pencil or whatever tool happens to be to hand. Materials come my way, ripping a verse out of the air just to define the still impossible; making art makes the most sense to me.