The manmade dies for the night, a rectangular eye, an eye made by Man. As everything else he makes it is all done in squares, triangles and straight edges, as all must be uniform for ease of construction. In his mathematical books Man made everything to be aligned since words always were the key to his whole human logic. His creations had to conform to regularity, equality and man-made perceived perfection. Man looks for perfection but also to the facility in achieving it.
A perfect round circle is more difficult to achieve. To succeed in the reproduction of irregularity, as in nature, is something that doubtless has to appear terribly unworthy to man the architect and unworthy of nature because he considers it imperfect as he strives to always improve it. But the quest for perfection does not bring this feeling of accomplishment when one attains it through facilitated means because squares, rectangles, triangles, are absurd angular forms. These forms, created by Man, give a picture something uniform with the aim always being easy perfection, material as well as ideological. But then, why not construct ovoid windows replicating the eye and its beauty? Is it because it would take too much strain to achieve real perfection! That is the reason for Woman, a perfect example of ovoid structures. Every window ought be in the form of Woman.
Try to convince yourself
of what happens when
you measure traditions in a creek
with cotton restraining the washing
of the thick paste that you apply as
some sort of wistful barrier.
A protection against being soaked
by the laws of probability
that strip you of metered colors.
Relativity is not a measuring stick.
Relativity is slowly cracking.
It is hardly a surprise anymore.
It dulls the glow of your stripfilms
that glitter like the coconut husks
cupping your protuberances
relatively so easy to nip and tuck.
No! Relativity can be a gross tableau.
Relativity is a maniac wearing
one white glove around San Cruz
with madness whacking his middle.
I’ve been told it’s vicious, does not
protect from the knife you plan
to slice me. Relativity is some sort
of rubber washing me with lunacy.
I become a gross tableau vivant.
Conceived in Ukraine, Alex Nodopaka exhibited first in Russia, 1940. Studied tongue-in-cheek at Ecole des Beaux Arts, Casablanca, Morocco. Foremost Artist, would-be-Author, Art critic and Great Lip Servicer in 4 or 5 languages and gibberish after a bottle of Fire Water.