In response to Denise's idea of revisiting the wall that 'blemished' her face, I went wandering this morning to the local village and on my way took photos of all the sites of imperfection I encountered. Whilst Denise is intending to conceal/hide the blemish on the wall, I wanted to reveal the imperfections I found. I am enjoying the play with the fruitless attempts to perfect and the finding of beauty within the imperfect, reducing the quest to an obsolete, as Denise says.
These cracks are, on first glance, surface 'faults, lines, imperfections'... in the dried soil and on my sun dried face, showing the damage of the strong sun here on the built environment, my body and the recent flood water cutting through the land.
However, looking closer, beneath the surface, these cracks simply do not exist. They are the 'space between', the void, the unknown, the horizon line, the 'far more intriguing than'... we can only see them due to the light hitting the two surfaces differently which surround the crack. The horizon does not exist, the cracks do not exist and therefore the lines on my face do not exist.
What does exist there though is the interesting, the perverse, the margin.
That's where the life is - in the cracks.
That's where the art is - in the cracks.
I am currently living and working 'off-grid'/outside the system, therefore am I in the crack? Am I a margin? Perverse, anti norm.
Further exploration is required of these unknown spaces/voids. The negative space, the zero of the female.