Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
I saw a man with tears of blood in a wheelchair alone and abandoned in the cement and heat, wrapped in felt like Beuys, dying in the sun like everyone else.
Since being in the "Free World" I've seen horrors daily. And all I've to say is, "Man's inhumanity to man." Over and over and over. And I wonder how they all do it, how does one stop their heart from caring? Their eyes from seeing? Their mind from thinking?
One gun, always one gun too many. One dead, one dead too many.
"I don't sing for love of singing
or to show off my voice
but for the statements
made by my honest guitar
for its heart is of earth
and like the dove it goes flying
tenderly as holy water
blessing the brave and the dying
so my song has found a purpose
as Violetta Parra would say
yes, my guitar is a worker
shining and smelling of spring
my guitar is not for killers
greedy for money and power
but for the people who labour
so that future may flower
for a song takes on a meaning
when its own heartbeat is strong
sung by a man who will die singing
truthfully singing his song
I don't sing for adulation
or so that strangers may weep
I sing for a far strip of country
narrow but endlessly deep
in the earth in which we begin
in the earth in which we end
brave songs will give birth
to a song which will always be new"
Friday, August 20, 2010
As I helped put up an Ox piece with Jordan Seiler in Atlanta a man in a wheel chair sat unmoving in the intense heat of a blazing sun completely wrapped in felt, unmoving, undead. His body, completely covered in open wounds, I called to him repeatedly while standing over his chair. Eventually I thought that he was dead, but then he began to move, some recognition deep down. I was offering him a bottle of water. As his head tilted upward to look in my direction his eyes began to open revealing no pupils nor whites, but a solid red as if blood, not tears, filled his eyes. His shaking hand slowly moved to the bottle and his fingernails - as long as his fingers - scraped upon the bottle, gently, cautiously, then he took it a made a sound like a slow moan, almost mimicking the highway just beyond the cement wasteland I found him in. He was thanking me in a universal language which we both understood. And then I moved on and encountered more and more. Since arriving here I am constantly shocked and outraged by Man's inhumanity to Man in a land which prides itself on an ideology of equality, freedom, justice.
I am both inspired and saddened to find myself in a land where life is cheap and death sits on street corners alone and abandoned, like the city itself, little more than dead space. There is nothing in such a place which enables me to feel more pride than sorrow. Yet patriotism can be found even here. His chair had an American flag bound to it.
My God! What a place!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/greg_foster/ for the above image!
On my last night in Berlin I set up a gallery of sorts in the corner of a small parking lot beside many little houses in Berlin's Kreuzberg. If you follow the Paul-Linke-Ufer it's between Glogauer & Ratiborstr. Here are a few example shots - all but one taken at night, as my flight left early in the morning.