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NOAH ELI GORDON on JOANNE GREENBAUM |
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Noah Eli Gordon
Color System Or collision system, or systemic corrosion, or the convulsive stance of one attempting to orchestrate constituent elements into an elemental whole, or the holes one might find in the plot, in the piece of land one crosses, in the crossing of lines, in the lines with which one configures a loop, in laced or latticed movement, meaning another conductor now takes the helm, or hem, or exposes an alternate route, the routine upon which the system depends, or the dependence upon which routine is systematized, or a small sample of fabric offered in an array of color, or an offering colored by one’s stance, by the manner of the hands in motion, by the motion of the hands in midair, by the air around the object, by the objection to closure, to constraint, to constancy and its leading of one back toward the tiny gears inside of what one imagines to be the system’s exposure, which wends, or mends, or motions always toward itself moving away, an afterward winding from the preface to the precipice of the optimal units of thrust, a propulsive machine imagining its face a measure of projection’s geometric malignancy, no malice, no metonymy, no mark to indicate where the actors must stop, no voiceover, not option among levers, no loss, not luck, no trail of bread crumbs to lead one out of the scorched cliché, nothing analogous to the dead metaphor of a body splayed out among the abstraction the end of abstractions is predicated on, which is a system building itself out of the contextual restriction, a restructuring, part staircase with no end, part end with no ability to navigate between horizontal planes, half lazy affirmation, halk caustic supplication, mostly a map of it’s organs, or origins, which are the same, which is not anatomy, not an answer collecting into the shape indecision might take, might truncate, turning a visit into a move, a mood into an outlook, or the rigid collaboration of rules accruing into the system’s sense of an architecture whose autonomous navigation of space requires no one behind the curtain, behind the camera, behind a catalogue of possible combinatory outcomes, or the aftermath of cataloguing possibility, possibly a formal extension of foundational praxis, perhaps a form practicing it’s scales, it’s soliloquy, something found in conjunction with topographic malaise, with mutable trope masking the tracks of its mimetic flow chart, which is the system taking stock of its lock stitch approach to locomotive percussion, to longitude, or latitude, which rejects from the system an alternate current one might allow agency, which is the system adjusting the angle of its argument, arguably a metabolic process mirrored in the algorithms of the system’s inorganic oscillations, most likely a directive whose density allows orders a mutable fulfillment, a microscopic widening of optic inference, which is not a metaphor for the source of the system’s ills, but a sound of which the system is able to tune itself, to true itself, another shift in the system’s attenuation to immediacy, now a nexus for catching currents, next a notation of the anchor, or undressing, a nakedness requiring no body to elicit it’s definition, not defensive posturing against exposure, against expansion, against the same edge the system is suddenly aware of, or awareness edging the system into an acceptance of its borders, its boundaries, the bold line bisecting a lack of substantive composure, or composing a substance of disclosing a frame on which the system hangs its theoretical wardrobe, several real suits in an impossible closet. |
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