3 pieces from the alchemical short prose/poem book (ongoing work) AGSKELLELIR
i advance naked lamb. hold me in your armored arms, homme armé. black king under the heavy armor, inner raging fire, embrace burning maiden of alvinitent moon I am, bones of rosy sugar. atoned by the half moon, uniting the firmament. i'm the hyena of fire who has ran for you for ages and ages and ages. you whiten, silver eagle, as my own as forest of blades. in the early lights our murmur becomes the same: the flights, the unknown heights. to fly from above speedily. towards the hands of the living.
LIBERATION TRYPTICH live @ Kings Heath 27417. Lumiére de mon coeur, force de mon amour.
I see you sleep. I wake you not. The fire dances in my hands, my eyes are upon you. You can't see my tears fall, from the joy of my heart, to see you. I wake you not. I wouldn't fear the night, for you're with me. My fire has never been faded. I am one.
I burn endlessly. Remember fire. You burn with me. Light of fire. This fire ours. Heart of fire. We rise together. Flesh of fire. We burn from eachother. Blood of fire. Into eachother. Life of fire. We ascend. Soul of fire. We belong side by side. Mystery of fire. I am with you.
Above this extense field of fresh black earth, the firmament of night, unfathomable shadow. White moon, under it a white eagle. In the ground lays a sleeping lion of fire. A white lamb comes and the lion wakes up as the lamb comes nearer and lays in the arms of the lion. Both become a wide unstoppable river, running speedily, taking everything with it. In the East, Venus rises and to the rosy early lights, green life grows from the margins of the river.
In the cold night my body advances disrobed, crowned by the crescent moon. The earth is a great open hand, a vast wound, a screaming mouth. I lay on this earth, my hands dig down. I open my mouth and scream endlessly into the earth. And if you are dead, then my bones hurl themselves into the depths of the earth full force. My bones swim in the sea of earth, unstoppable. Until they find yours. No other want.
HF presenting the piece for live electronics and spoken word LAND | TERRITORY, Birmingham
I'm forever naked at a shore, day and night. I know this landscape and this sea as good as the lines in my hands. from the waves roll to the sand where I move, the scattered limbs of a man, that I collect and assemble in the wet sand. I've been reconstructing his body since the dawning of the ages. where a limb is cut I place the other part. where the flesh is cut my fingers dig, my heat solders. where the bones are broken my tongue runs, fusing them together. my hands tie up his tendons, I breathe inside his veins, I scream into his open mouth and open his lungs and stomach and tripes. I gather his large body into a mass of indefinite flesh as a large fruit in my arms and proceed to devour him, half I devour and half I cram into my insides with my hands. I run through the beach, my stomach and my womb full of him. I jump in the water and he hurls himself from within me, mouth and sex. my arms grab around him and him, I speak, my words fuse him into one whole body. at the surface of the sea we face eachother. totally synchronized, we run, naked, towards the shore.
I AM THY SOUL is a short film, based on Ezra Pound's poem The Tomb At Akr Çaar.
AMALTHEA is a short film that invokes and evokes the Greek myth where Amalthea hides infant Zeus in a cave, keeping him alive and safe with her warmth and milk, her love and care, while outside, Saturn rages in search of him and other infants to devour. This stems from my own memory and experience where, in one of my most intense and long past relationships, I was a grown man's Amalthea - that name was also part of my password - where he ignored at all times while talking to me, that I wasn't a lover, a seductress or a flirt, but I was wholly and integrally on the role of his sweet and tender protector. This memory I don't want to be lost, and many years have passed, more than a decade, and still my heart feels the same: in the protective shadow of that cave, he's the child I hold in my arms, whose fear I relieve in my warm maternal embrace, and I want him to know well who I am to him: Amalthea, past, now and forever.
Image: Premiere of the short film AMALTHEA with live soundtrack, Birmingham, 2016
A painting from the universe of BROTHERLY LIKE DOGS:
The Mother and the Son (the Black Cyclops)
Acrylic on panel, 2016
The film NO FEAR moves through the initial/permanent idea: minimum means for maximum results.
Through stark contrasts of light and shadow, the motions of the body, the symbolic charge of the actions and gestures, very powerful mesages are conveyed, without depending fully on the inter -
- locking key phrases that orient the free narrative. An easy malabarism becomes a heavenly motion
where a giantess, sitting down, handles planets and their motions. We hardly see the face of the
figure who moves the ribbons, as here what is important is the motions and their cadencies. The
nocturnal scene is a fire ritual, where a half-circle of light becomes two shining eyes in the pitch
black, carried by the officiant's hands, just before being held to her heart.
On VERGENSEN, I worked with what was close at hand: an empty space with a wide white wall, enough natural light (best and more appreciated source), even if somewhat naturally filtered: my free body and its array of motions, with the obvious limit of a reduced [visual field] space; to create a stark figure in solid black, with the dramatic historical gown - solemn, sullen, severe and restricted, however gracefully carried.
The paradigm of voluntary servitude: Who do you serve? For who should we lower ourselves in service and reverence? When serving is the Highest Art. In reverence, there is highness. The conclusive cosmic spiral motion, an axis in the infinite universal loom. The reference to Schwob's Vergensen, the light-hearted Flemish damsel who consorts with the Devil in the forest and successfully escapes the local witch-hunts, running to very far away.
The fingers feel the line of ground in the corner with the door, pulling from the other side the pulverulent thread of the bomb's wick. Eyes open to the nocturnal clarity, lower not to follow the hand, purposeless gesture defined by herself as in childhood. Fingertips feel the fine torsion, the light grains, remembering the salty and cerous odour of Northern thread, never to me is never to lose thread. To forget, the only forgetfulness is that one beyond the branches of the trees that surround the garden, the sweet sibilating wind in the elm tree is the point of fugue, the successful plan of escape. If I double and leave to the outside of my body, and count the vertebrae of my dorsal spine, each one of them an infinite number of memories, rememberances, knowledges, stories, why does my heart suffer in that memory now so living and raging, all those as me who knew, testified, understood, and wanted, fearless, in their own voices and words, to tell what happened – because all of us carry in the front, in the eyes, the weight of the imposed yoke. The damn you if you speak. The remember not, ever. Do not lose thread. To lose thread is to die. The pulled bomb-wick, hand that does not kill and folds beating the wrist against the lenght of the nitroglicerine thread. When tears are too hard, this is how they're felt, as the hardest stone. When tears can destroy the harshest hardness, as the origin of it isn't always blessed, they jump back in an inner roar, mute and circular.
(Fragment from the suite MY MOUTH IS FULL OF EARTH, I WANT MY FIELD OF GULES)
because I belong to the race of those who have crossed the northernmost strait carrying with them the protected fire because I belong to the race of those who traverse the labyrinth Without ever losing the unknowable thread of the word Mother of living nature Naked and lunar Threatened alliance. Realm that with love I find, reunite, reconstruct. Vulnerable realm. Mortal companion of eternity. I became you, man, yourself, to rob you from mortality Decrypting the code of ressurrection. Delivering it in your hands that weave storms Face to face with the murmur of the arcane night I walked in the naked light like the ruined city I too was devastated reconstructed by none yet in the sunlight of my empty squares revolution lives intact and with me enters everywhere permeating as also in the occident where I set the gods are also vanquished and drained bloodless on the shore that is your bed where you sleep childlike and slow slowly return into your body as a young bull amazed to recognize itself as a young bull you are untamed and free and slowly you get back your gestures in your hands synthesis the clear line - in its horizon the light is cast oblique she of us feeds like fresh lit fire the ancient childhood even so distant and so lost keeps in itself the seed which is reborn because I belong to the race of those who dive with eyes open
Musical genre invented / term coined by composer Hyaena Fierling (Ana Cordeiro Reis, 1977) in the year of 2005 with the composition of the matricial piece for metal percussions and digitally treated and edited sound objects CATACLYPSA GALAKTEIA.
Cosmobruitism is a genre of music whose character is:
Cosmobruitism breaks a gap and stands for itself as a bold dare against predefined and rigid, formal musical structures.
Cosmobruitism isn't limited to strict canons and appropriates all sound elements that will contribute to its richness, within the rigorous level of aesthetics it demands.
Cosmobruitism creates a sound environment likely classified as fantastic. Legends are allowed to exist and thrive within its borders.
Cosmobruitism is an open genre. Any musician or person with love for music can learn and practise it.
Cosmobruitism is music to be felt as much as listened. As in its composition, all emotions, feelings and sensorial cues are active, so in its listening it will arouse same feelings, sensations and emotions.
ACR: NOTES ON MUSIC (III)
Intimacy of the creative process. Matricial ideas surge in the mind in its primary state: loose and random or (seeked for) sounds, structures, diverse matrices, simple and/or complex patterns, repetitions, unchainments, counterpoints, parallels, sequentialities. These all surge vague and discreet in the order of the stable mind, in the chaos of disturbances.
Establishing relationships mentally between the desired sound elements.
Graphic ordination (meta-scoring; ideographic compositions; notes and lists). Resource to emotional memory fund.
Practical process: intimate. Never making manifest or explicit technical operations. Not for "keeping tech secrets"; personal reasons and the complexity of operations, the mutability of the sounds as they progress and are operated with through the technical process; each sound is a sound/each case is a case. Infinite/finite variable possibilities - countless outcomes; of all these outcomes, only one is correct/desired.
The mind gestates the musical idea through intense and prolonged effort until it's well defined, its limits clear.
The mental idea is aligned with the heart's feelings. Intense mind/heart work to enter into absolute consonance.
Lack of the latter = lack of precision = less meaning/potential to waste/incongruence and incoherence.
Bring together no matter how much time and effort applied it takes, the hard to get, extremely delicate balance of emotion and reason, that must be reflected in the final work. Imbalance of the two brings an incongruent work, plenty of undesired
To be demanding to oneself as artist, to the point of the most severe discipline.
Mask a whole video in black screen if not done properly.
Discard whole pieces if they sound incoherent.
Take time for a creative break / if by night nothing works properly, sleep over the idea, idea is refreshed and developed the next day.
Music is feeling + reason. A sound may not be at its technical best, and should be brought to its audible best through post-production, but even in a lo-fi state will convey the identity of the presence of emotion and mind put into it.
The most incongruent piece will remain incongruent even if technically polished of all audible impurity.
Any practical/technical phase of the musical work is never to be discarded or underconsidered, however, the essential mind&heart work of the development of the ideas is crucial. Lack brings unclassifiable aberrations.
The idea as it is developed by mind and heart, becomes a perspective (or manifoldness of perspectives).
Lack of meditation on the idea brings blind incongruences.
Zen posture. Absolute severity in a fluid form.
The sound of one hand. Lifetime of self-effort, trial and error, quest for illumination.
Never comes by the declaration of a superior, but by one's own breakthrough of the gates of perception, only and unmistakable.
The Ichtus. Knowledge that absolute silence only exists in organic death.
Thus music equals life and the life of life itself.
ACR: NOTES ON MUSIC (II)
Aim towards the development of an original methodology, a particular vocabulary for a particular practice of sound art; closed hermetically to those diametrically opposed to, and viscerally averse to; meta-purism.
The sound artist IS A (as opposed to "as") carrier of memories and story teller.
Sound artists don't tell enough stories, or to enough people.
The opportunity to transfer knowledge, history, values, wisdom, and cultural legacy for those that come behind us.
NOT ONLY SOUND ART but touching practices that imply a particular convention between the storyteller and the public.
The storyteller doesn't have to assume a told word, the public doesn't necessarily have the intention to be told as well.
Run from the linear sense of storytelling. One is not conveying a message. One is re-membering memories.
Run from the alienation of total abstraction, but run also from the absolute linearity of message conveying.
Sound art as carrier of hidden elements that come alive in the perception [alsthêsis] of those *awake*.
Do not mistake awakenness with curiosity. The sound artist, if genuine, is devoid of such.
Implication of a physical presence, the Akousmata makes oneself manifest as navigator of sounds.
When voice is used, extreme care for intonations, tones of voice, expressions of the face and body.
Rewriting through debited sounds. To be immersed in the re-membered memory conveyed through sound, in history, in the facts, in the characters, the places, its intelligence, its sentiment, its sensuality in the complete sense of the term.
In order to give absolute fidelity to the memories as well as to oneself, storyteller-sound artist incomparable to any other; all the work previously done in capture, modulation, mixage, post-production, and live emission.
Sound art as memory re-membering and work revealing a wealth of inner sensations and their externalisation.
Sound art in this way can vehicle all human feelings, all the dreams. To us, to re-member them, to embody them, to give them a sound body, sound voice, sound life. To work greatly the human IDENTITY.
The pleasure of the sound artist's memory and heart being a gold mine, a treasure vault.
ACR: Ideographic scores for herself + Ade Bordicott, for 3 musicians and for Jonas Runa (2011-2013)
ACR: INSTALLATING ARTS (2011, Porto, Casa Amarela Ateliers)
ACR: NOTES ON MUSIC (I)
Makes sense "sound" is also used to describe a state of balance within the rational thought - a "sound mind"...
Get rid of mistakes and preconceptions found along the way.
A good knowledge of my own means: being sure of what I got, and provide myself with, as working elements.
A greater complexity of working elements as well as its greater number does not imply a better final work.
There is no greater precision instrument than the own musician as a precision instrument. Precision comes from the acknowledgement of own mistakes; the mistake transmutates into an asset.
There should be nothing more abhorrent than to be a mere executor of music.
At each second of musical work, to find within myself a new self, different from whatever I could previously imagine.
Immediatism in invention and reinvention of the self.
To create music is not necessarily to invent or deform sounds and objects.
It is to weave between sounds and objects that exist and *just as they exist*, new relationships.
...one only mystery involving sounds and objects: the SOUND TAPESTRY.
Composition, sound assemblage, live deliverance, free improvisation:
To be in a deep state of desire of knowledge and pure wonderment, and to FORESEE.
The sound tapestry of Cosmobruitism: a new form of mind projecting and writing, as, feeling.
Free, unadultered expression by contacts and exchanges of sounds and the transmutations that result from such.
No laws (no imposition, nor existence of laws); no roles (no role study as well); no "fixed" method of composition, but rather pattern recognition - and therefore its natural assembly - taken from real life experiences. TO PROVIDE (matrix) and TO BE (pattern) instead of TO REPRESENT (facade/laws).
Just like there is no law deciding what one should do regarding creation (while the stale and obsolete will think it's more of the same - the imitation of painters, writers, sculptors and the representations of their objects), your creation and invention halts at the different *locuses* where you weave inbetween the seized different patterns of the real.
There is also the choice of assembly. Your flair decides.
Has music become an art of the bourgeois? Strive to never fall into this cathegory.
Composition / Sound Assemblage / Live Deliverance / Free Improvisation: make manifest into sound that which without you could never perhaps be listened.
Your own way, by and through yourself, to choose and coordinate patterns taken directly from nature and real life.
To communicate through sensations, impressions, and feelings.
The quality / qualities of a new world no other existing arts could ever make possible to imagine.
Extreme complexity (of life). Your music: essays and attempts.
The patterns in the sound tapestry: the important about them is not what they reveal me but what they hide from me.
And above all, what they carry within them that can be still transmutated.
Two forms of music:
The musician reproduces or the musician CREATES.
The sound tapestry of Cosmobruitism is a sensitive language borne unto sound through sound patterns in motion.
A sensitive language of sounds and meanings forming an auditive ultramatrix ("hypertext").
It does not analyze, it does not explain, it recomposes.
Sounds have an intrinsic value, and a value in potency. That value in potency is powered by their positions and relations in time and space.
"Sensitive motion" of the patterns in the sound tapestry.
Music: always emotional, and never representative.
To provoke the unexpected. Expect it.
Put everything into question.
May the action follow the consequence rather than preceed it.
Evolution within a zone forbidden to all other existant arts, unexploitable by these.