Page 21 - Demo

I tend to mix these themes together, transposing material which%u2014strictly speaking%u2014belongs to one realm, across one topic and into another. I am interested in biology and looking at tiny microscopic life forms through a microscope. In fact, I cofounded and maintain quite a significant web site presence on this a r e a o f s t u d y c a l l e d www.microscopy-uk.org.uk I suspect my interests across so many areas of our existence bleeds and leaks from one to another. I think though this makes for interesting and original imagery. Can you see the connection between blood, sex, birth, and death? The best sex ever isn%u2019t in one night stands, but knowing that when you ejaculate inside someone you are in love with, a whole new person might be created, that no matter what happens to you and her (speaking as a man) in the future, this new human being will grow and live as a testament to the moment you just shared, and what burned within you both to bring you to this moment. When I was eighteen year old, I was madly in love with a beautiful and intelligent lady called Marjorie. We petted, and fondled, but we never seemed to find a private place to make love together fully. I hope you like sad stories, because this one is true, and one which is part of my life journey. M a r j o r i e %u2019 s f a m i l y w e r e emigrating to South Africa, and as I did not wish to lose her, I did my best to try and go too. But I had little to offer, and the country would not accept me. So, I arranged with Marjorie that we would do a runner, that is%u2014we would run away together. God knows, I wanted to, but my earnings were poor. Instead, I went to speak to her father and confessed my plans to him and he thanked me for sharing the whole thing and promised me faithfully that if she wanted to come back to me after a year, he would allow it. In the last few days she was in England, I stole a week off work to be with her. We risked everything one day when I took her back to my parents house when everyone was out at work, and we went to bed together to make full blown love for the first and last time. Well that was the plan anyway. We never did. The reason is that on the one hand, I wanted to know her intimately and to have shared that special moment together, but I was no good with condoms, and I didn%u2019t want to take the chance on her becoming pregnant and then being apart from me on the other side of the world. Maybe I will tell you more about this great love of my life later. Meanwhile... back to art and philosophy. Most people now think that when you die, you%u2019re dead. In the past, we have believed in heavens of varying types and hell, depending on one%u2019s particular faith, but belief in science has all but removed this idea from western culture. Some people still do cling on to the hope of surviving death, but I am guessing even most of them don%u2019t really believe anymore, and are merely saying they do just in case there is a God listening. I believe in Science too but I also know science is not complete. It is a continuously error-selfrectifying process which ultimately can tease out almost every truth in existence and demonstrate it is really true. The problem is that leaves out all the truths which occur once and only once in an eternity. For example, if my computer suddenly lifted itself off my desk, flew around the room three times, then settled back down again%u2014I would never be able to demonstrate this actually happened unless other computers decided to do the same, or mine did it again and again. But supposing only my computer, or your one (not both), only ever did it once and never again? Science demands that a thing, a phenomenon, be repeatable under conditions similar to the original set for anything to be proven as a truth. Room here then for a wedge to be placed, thin-end first, and then pushed hard, if we are to be left with a little hope about death and surviving it. Let me push first then. The only proof we really have about us all being here and alive is that we all commonly agree on that one. There is not a proof however to say that we are all here and sane: we could all be quite mad to a man, woman, and child%u2014and just not know it. The wedge into our total belief in science can be widened further if you then put these two points together: one, we all agree we are here and are real; two, we may all be mad. But if we are all mad, how can we believe our common view we are all here and real. Worse: we are all mad... except me. And I say we are not here at all and we are not real. We are data in a computer program! Now who would you prefer to believe%u2014one sane person (me) or a world full of insane people (them)? Make your own choice but I prefer to believe in the voice of sanity even if it is just my own. What has this to do with art, you may ask%u2014especially art about women? Maybe nothing: maybe everything! As far as I am concerned, my life, your life, every life, every event, moment, consequence of every single action, event, chance meeting is for a reason, and that reason is to provide more data to resolve the answer to a very important question. I don%u2019t know the question, although I could take a fairly good stab at guessing it, but I do deduce that art and what it does to your head also provides data along the same route towards some kind of all conclusive/inclusive answer. In brief, what we imagine is as important as what we bring to the table of physical reality: it is all information inside the same machine! So, let%u2019s move on and see where the images I have created shift some data this way or that way inside your head. Biology, Women, Sex, Birth, Death, Genetics, Loss, Futures Sensed. 21