Electra - First Installment by request

Not knowing how to begin, the beginning begins for me. 

After my post referencing her for the first time, Electra contacted me to present her primary art form to the world.  As I have said, I don't really understand my role in all this.  Why me, why now?  these are questions that plague me, but I think I know by now not to question too much, but to just act and reflect upon it later.  

I felt an instant connection with Electra that 15 long years ago, but something inside me questioned even that at the time.  I suppose she must have seen something in me which I still do not see, but there is something that happens when someone trusts you unconditionally.  In love relations I have played the fool too many times.  When it comes to art - in this case the written word - I know there is no right or wrong.  Only opinions.  In my opinion Electra is a force to be reckoned with.  Her words are powerful to me for reasons that go beyond my limited vocabulary.  I feel something, connect to something else, and the obsession with wanting to know overwhelms. 

With her permission, here is something to share.  Let your mind wander and absorb. I will gladly accept any comments on her work, and do my best to consult and find answers to your questions should you have any.  I don't know when the next contact with her will be, but I know she will pass this way again to keep the fires burning. 

And now, Electra....

The Prance of the Panther

I’m not a number

My fingerprints belong to me

--my fingertips

what I do is my life

 & not for public scrutiny

your opinion does not count

I don’t care

I’m not your number

And time is when we share this planet

But I didn’t create your rules

If I was in some other time

There would be other scorecards

I walk away from chains and uniforms

There’s freedom but not

On your time.

There’s freedom on my mind

But it’s not your kind

Premise:

     I am going to tell you a story about a girl.  Let’s call her Electra. She creates a comic strip that tells a story. Within the comic strip is a diary that is known as Electra’s Dictionary. Through this it is possible to tell. There is no need to explain or apologize. There is no type of repercussions for the things that she reveals.

     The density of words allows more to be said as the interpretations of words can always be defended by the subjective tendency to error in understanding, especially on the behalf of the reader. I think that in order to be a good secret agent you really have to be a good spy.

     If this were a trail of clues the blue print would look like splices of a cross-section diagram. You put different colored films over the surface and examine how this influences the way that it looks. Other realities are exposed. Within every one of those realities is an infinite number of interpretations. Which is the right one? This question is irrelevant because all and none would be the answer and I know that is a contradiction in terms. Follow me.

     You take a knife and cut into the cross section. You lay a film of ultra-marine over it and then alizarin crimson. You take away one and view. You put them together in two separate orders. Ultra violet is my favorite color; it contains so many, like the violet dawn.

     I would make a series of mobiles; three-dimensional sculptures to explain that the dimensions actually are more than three-d. Maybe they are like solar systems. Every planet, every moon, every galaxy… contains many mobiles, many cross-sections and infinite dimensions. With so many possible realities the pondering of Truth becomes erroneous.

     I remember being handed my assignment before I was jettisoned to life. I forget my way and exhaust possibilities while spinning in a battle to steady the focus. I get lost.

     I am lost.

     But let’s talk about her. Our heroine. The one who draws a comic strip. Why comic? Is it funny? The tragedy of life is hysterical. I still think the Greeks did it best. So let’s invite their chorus for this comic book opera and this splice may be seen through Freud’s interpretations or the lunatic inside. Either way. Not sure. Which way it goes. Or will go.

     Ready? Let’s go…

Let Go