Frank Corcoran

Mikrokosmos and micrologos are fancy names for a little world which an art-work creates. With aura, of course; we are here granting irreproduceability, our Hapax Legomenon ( or should we ? ), the epiphany , a fumble in time, the split in the grainy film. Time seems to stop with and for the masterpiece ( but, of course , it doesn´t ). What´s all this about Barnett Newman´s 1948 “THE SUBLIME IS NOW” ? What does his death – or that of CyTwombly – do with all this ? A huge picture, just standing there, trumpeting forth just what? It´s all very fine and sublime to maintain that here “Being” ( but beware all bull-shit metaphyics, singer ! ) is bursting out o´ its skin , leppin´onto the stage in order to confound and astonish and remind and confuse and heal and rattle and medicate me by shock.
P.S. I cracked The Ciccadas´Song: ” Don´t be going out in that thermonuclear sun shining and roaring but seek quietly the shade.”