May 2010: in Berlin's Mitte district (Rosenthaler Platz) buckets of paint of various colors were splashed onto the street to record traffic movement. But it became much more than that. Think of the initial color splashes as the source of one idea being drawn out, taking a journey, crossing roads and intertwining into a complex network. Link together language (thinking), color and movement. Is this a record of a process? Stream of consciousness physicalized and collaborative? How much of poetry relies on working with and around chaos, and do we limit ourselves when we restrain from letting "accidents" or "illogic" happen? Or when we involve other people into the making of a work (such as the internet)?
AND... could there still be beauty and pattern if we do free ourselves of control? Is anything really ever "chaotic" within the vehicle of our own minds and bodies, everything secretly perfect?
(What is perfect is what is hidden, is what is brought to light. All art is bringing something into life, a becoming.)
Here movement becomes, through color.
p.s. The paint was environmentally-friendly and water-based. It washed away with the rain.
-Teny Eurdekian
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