Archive for the ‘ Doubt ’ Category

Glueing Paintings Together

This morning I woke up and glued two paintings together. I glued the “painting” part of the painting to the other “painting” – meaning I squished two faces together. Or perhaps I smashed two windows together. Or perhaps they are infinity mirrors.

I think I would like to show this first one on a wall where the cradles of the paintings would be hung so that the object sticks out like a street sign, but this is a first draft.

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Infinity Mirror 2017 two acrylic on canvas paintings and glue 12x12x3″

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Two Paintings Glued Together 2017 acrylic, ink, graphite, and oil on panel 6x6x3″

I have been smashing these things together for some time – taking what might be considered singular endeavors and straining them through a screen of multiple to change their vocabulary. I think I have been trying to follow the thought processes of minimalism by reducing things to essences, but I think I am doing that by foregrounding that minimalist process. So maybe it is minimalism staring at minimalism.

One Pixel of a Jay Hendrick Painting 006, 2012, digital print, dimensions vary

One Pixel of a Jay Hendrick Painting 006, 2012, digital print, dimensions vary

This is an older piece from 2012 where I zoomed in 3200% onto one of my paintings and then took a screenshot then printed it out. This one is fascinating because it also looks like a Rothko.

I have also squished multiple paintings together in order to conflate the whole process and praxis of making itself. In The Average Color of 100 Paintings, I made one-hundred paintings and collected the slurry then put that slurry on a microscope slide, declaring that an average of the one-hundred paintings made.

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The Average Color of 100 Paintings 2015 acrylic on microscope slide in wooden box 8.5x5x1″ at the University of the District of Columbia

The arbitrary number of 100 has consistently been something I have used. 100 is just a number – or a larger number than 1. It seems to me to be an ambitious number to append to paintings. Some people spend 100 hours on a single painting. Some people might not even make 100 paintings in their lives. So what does it mean to squish 100 paintings together?

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100 Paintings 2015 one-hundred acrylic paintings on a 20×16” stretcher on easel 74x37x37” at the Taubman Museum in Roanoke, VA

 

 

 

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How Long Can You Beat a Dead Horse?

The Joke Workshop was interesting. Participants were two comedians, Christine Ferrera and Ben O’Brien.

I think I gained a leg up on my understanding of theory versus practice. I have been trying to write my way through the topic. I wanted to see if there were parallels between designing jokes and designing art. I wanted to see if these things could enter the classroom and help me affect the situation of co-learning in a more meaningful way.

In essence, I want to be a better teacher. I have observed that students know more than they have been led to believe and they know more than they are willing to believe. There are many issues that create this situation but I think it is due to how they have learned their entire lives and due to the unfortunate result of modernist activities driving people away from art.

I think it would be helpful to foreground this situation to them earlier rather than later. I think many students could gain quite a lot from taking agency with their own education. I think that elucidating that they know more than they thought would be helpful. With all that in mind, I embarked upon this experiment between art and comedy.

During the workshop we discussed Chris’ jokes. Chris and Ben jumped in with their practiced knowledge whereas I felt a bit bewildered. I didn’t really have too much access because they were digging into subtleties and I am not a stage performer nor a comedian.

We then looked at images from the New Yorker’s Caption Contest. We bounced around some ideas but landed on a topic Chris previously discussed with me: writing versus performing. They are different animals. Perhaps similar to how many visual artists find difficulty in writing about their work. There is a linguistic issue here. During this portion, Chris suggested that dealing with the caption contest might require a certain kind of skill set, and she suggested having improv actors to assist. So I might create a workshop were I interact with improv folks.

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a recent caption contest image from the New Yorker. The winning caption was, “Long time no sea.”

We finished with looking at some art historical paintings as well as art history memes. We bounced around some ideas but the same kind of issues with the New Yorker caption contest arose with the art historical images.

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a detail from a painting by Hieronymus Bosch. A possible caption: MFW a Trump voter says, “we don’t need no Obama health and dental care!”

I think there might be some future activities that could bounce off the workshop, like some kind of tweet writing workshop. Maybe it would be a podcast or a video. I think the purpose would be an intersection between comedy and pedagogy.

One of the collaborators, Ben O’Brien, discussed networking jokes through fiverr. I often overwork paintings to the point where I call them kitchen sink paintings – they include all my painting ideas and the kitchen sink. I overwork them because I don’t know when to stop. I overpaint because I doubt my own knowledge. My doubt takes the form of erasing the previous painting over and over. Networking the joke over and over might function in the same way. Maybe overworking the joke would cause it to fall apart. How long can you beat a dead horse?

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Asking the question, “How long can you beat a dead horse?” Apparently the answer is, indefinitely. 

Another thought I had is perhaps there is a major difference between comedy and art: efficiency or function. Essentially, the joke needs to be funny or its purpose is thwarted. However, the art gesture/object need not have any purpose other than its making. There might not even need to be an object. There is “process art” but is there “process comedy?” Is there a point where comedy is the thing itself? I need to research theatre and comedy.

Continuing this thought, I was once offered a skateboard to use as a painting surface but there was the stipulation that it still be ridable. The efficiency of form influenced the content. I never did make that painting because it felt like some kind of external demand that had nothing to do with painting. If I made that skateboard painting I would have just been designing. However, in retrospect I was completely misguided because I have been designing around the “edge” of the painting for years.

I have been making paintings that are aware of the end of the painting in order to foreground that inconsistent modernist convention of the painting as a window. Form and content do not exist solely within the painting. The painting is not a universe. The painting hangs on a wall that exists in some kind of institution. That institution has its own values and thusly those values influence the painting and the viewing of that painting. There is no such thing as four neutral walls. The point is, I think there is no distance between form and content. I think this is a central tenant in my world view.

A good example of this pressing against the edge can be seen at Trestle Gallery in Brooklyn right now. The show, Introductions 2017 was curated by Julie Torres and is up through February 19.

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from Katerina Lanfranco’s instagram: A Many One Layer Lie, second from the left, at Trestle Gallery.

But my world view might be completely bat shit crazy. Further research into comedy might help me ride the horse off into the sunset rather than into a lake.

See more of Christine and Ben at their websites

http://www.christineferrera.net

http://benobrien.net

And check out Trestle Gallery at

http://www.trestlegallery.org

Goddamn Darlings

Artist John M. Adams came by the studio yesterday and we talked about process. We discussed how my piece, 100 Paintings, foregrounded both process and design. I think content is available via observing how the maker made the item. Likewise, John appreciated the aesthetics of the thing. So it looks good and thinks good.

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100 Paintings; 2015; one-hundred acrylic paintings on a 20×16” stretcher on easel; 74x37x37”

 

I think I have made many works that are trying to find some axis between looking good and thinking good. Process has been an important component of my work as a means at standing back from painting issues like re-presentaiton, the canon of art, and my skeptics world view. The stretching and re-stretching method of painting was a process based approach to get a leg up on the image – the front of the painting the viewer sees. Painting Paintings at Both Ends was a culmination and cousin of 100 Paintings.

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Painting Paintings at Both Ends, 2017, acrylic on canvas and two stretchers, 50×216″

John helped me realize that I have been bouncing between a content oriented process approach to making and rebounding back towards the most elemental origins of making: the mark. I have recently been just trying to make paintings that stand on their own sans my gimmicks of layering or exploding the painting.

The mark making goes back to some of my first interactions with sticks of charcoal. You put the charcoal on its side, then pivot, leaving its center axis on the page. By doing this, you can make a circle. Or you can slide the stick around and create a network of what looks like pipes. The recent painting is doing this same athletic gesture but with the brush.

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Untidy Pivot, 2017, acrylic on canvas, 28×28″

 

I followed Untidy Pivot up with Sixteen Cornered Darling and an as yet to be titled painting yesterday…

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Sixteen Cornered Darling, 2017, acrylic on linen, 19×19″

 

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currently untitled, 2017, acrylic on linen, 19×19″

and today. This one might look black and white but it is actually very dark blue.

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A 42 Broken Arm or So, 2017, acrylic on canvas, 50×50″

 

I am already seeing a problem with these paintings (and why I have done the more process oriented works in the past): the paintings are pretty, sensuous, and goddamn darlings. So I need to think about them but they feel good.

See more of John M. Adam’s work at his poetically titled website:

thefullempty.com

 

An Aimed Shrug

I think everything comes down to knowledge. How to justify knowing and further, how to make choices. These are very frustrating issues for me.

When I was young I had two solid pillars of knowing: the church and the university. I grew up hearing church goers speaking with authority. Truth was present – present in the deity. I also grew up, almost quite literally, in the stacks of a university library. My mother was a librarian and so my babysitters were the books, college students, professors, and other librarians.

Professors always awed me. Professors always seemed to have justifiable answers to difficult questions and it was professors whom society always sought when faced with unknowables. The university was the place wherein knowledge was arbitrated.

As I grew older I began to see an erosion of my confidence in these knowers. Church and university represented knowledge but were just as prone to error yet I saw, and have continued to see, a fear of and inability to admit this potential error. And quite often I have seen fear replace knowing. So if authoritative knowers set aside knowing for the sake of their own fears, then knowing itself becomes problematic. Knowledge becomes uncertain. And the knowledge that led to that realization is itself uncertain. And thus knowledge, in all forms, appears to become unjustifiable. And in this situation is thrust a person who needs to choose – a person who needs to make value judgements. But the value judgements are questionable because the thing that precedes the judgement is the knowledge, and if that knowledge is unjustifiable, then making choices, about anything, is problematic. And in this situation I shrug. An epistemic shrug.

Because it does not seem as if I can trust anyone. Not my parents. Not my pastors. And especially, not my teachers.

This is why I paint. This unjustifiable situation. The painting is that epistemic shrug. There are many ways to make paintings, but none seem better than others. The variables are endless, like axiological choice in daily life. There are many ways to paint, and many ways to live.

This is a major component of why I am making this Painting Painting at Both Ends. Each painting is yet another attempt at knowing – an attempt at making a judgement. Yet continuously the attempt is yet another shrug. One painting atop the other, wetness touching every attempt. Each painting dripping on formers and latters until the thing is done, stretched, and hung. But until then it is just unity and variety of waking up in the morning.

Maybe the painting is more of a directed shrug. Pointing painting in a direction and depending on the action itself to produce some viable situation.

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Painting Paintings at Both Ends, in progress, acrylic on canvas, dimensions variable currently

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Painting Painting at Both Ends all strung out

This situation of knowledge is also present in the collaborative project I am working on. Each person who contributes is doing whatever they are doing for their own reasons. There is some kind of world view (and thus value judgement) behind each person’s choices to make a painting. This project is attempting to squish those approaches and world views together. Perhaps in their co-mingling will be some knowledge that will satisfy this epistemic shrug.

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unfinished collaborative painting with Becca Kallem and Jay Hendrick, acrylic and spray paint on canvas, dimensions vary

The collaborative component of this project is proving to be vastly difficult. How do I make choices? Should it occur like an exquisite corpse? Should I respond to the previous painting? How can I not?

This collaborative component is a real mystery but I think I will likely learn the most from this portion of the residency.

Also, here are some works on paper.

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talking heads paintings

Just Do It (or not…I don’t know)

This process is is slowing me down yet slowing down might be a good thing. There is some sort of wisdom in taking one’s time – allowing learning to take place.

Part of the reason I am doing this project relates to the urge to work. I just want to make paintings, but I always need new substrates. I have to wait to work. I have to do carpentry, stretching, gesso, etc. In the past I began painting on cardboard to deal with this issue. I would be able to work – just nail the cardboard to the wall and start painting.

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Etcetera and its Discontents (Air Filtration), 2013, acrylic on cardboard, 72×72″

This current painting is using what I am calling a “stretch/re-stretch,”method of painting. I stretch the canvas as normal, but the stretcher is much smaller than the overall canvas. I then make a painting, un-stretch, then re-stretch to create yet another. For this particular work I am using a 60×216” canvas. I am painting paintings at both ends – vomit and poo reference, burning candles at both ends idioms. Over and over till the paintings meet in the middle. But is slow going. I am have made four painting per side and I don’t know how many more I will need to make. Time is limited in this space, and I may not even like this painting when it is done. I will also need to make a stretcher that is six yards long.

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as yet untitled painting, acrylic on canvas, 60×216″

The thing has to dry. Each painting needs to be pretty wet so as to drip on former and latter paintings – because I am seeing that the thing will eventually need to drip on previous paintings too. So as I work I am painting on previous finished paintings. As if they are never finished – mechanically following the process of designing and re-designing.

It is also an exercise in functional relativism. If each painting could be seen as a world view, then to have them all swimming together would suggest that multiple world views are being squished together. Some might be louder than others and some may be totally silenced. I do not know how to deal with this seemingly dominant contemporary epistemology. How do we justify the power we have? How do we justify our dominance over others? How do we justify our beliefs? How do those beliefs become justified in a crowd? Who profits? Who suffers?

I am also working on multiple paintings besides this work. Works on paper, works on canvas, and yes, a return to cardboard (though the cardboard is unfinished).

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acrylic on canvas, 19×19″

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acrylic on paper, 9×12″

But perhaps slowing down is useful. The painting dries, it drips on the as yet un-painted canvas, and it waits over night. Apparently painting is a thing that can push back against the speed of this contemporary age. The stationary painting isn’t timed based, it doesn’t move – it is at rest and thus the viewer can take a cue from the inanimate object. The viewer can be still. The viewer can plumb the depths of the maker’s smudges. This mark here. That mark there. “What was the maker thinking?” The viewer gets to empathize with the distant human. The human who is not even present. The viewer gets a chance to walk in the maker’s shoes.

These things might be true. But I just want to work. Which might really mean that I think that work makes work or one should, “Just do it.”

On Affirmed Knowing

Why would I believe in what I believe in? Why affirm my own values?

Henry Thaggert and I went to the Hirshhorn and saw Robert Irwin’s All the Rules Will Change. We looked and talked. I kept telling him I needed to go home and re-think my life. And I kept saying it was because I was seeing so many affirmations of my own values. Irwin’s work seemed too familiar, like I could have made it. His ideas felt like my own.

I have never seen his work in person. I have never seen the body of work that comprised much of the content of Lawrence Weschler’s book, Seeing is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees. The show at the Hirshhorn seems to have been curated by almost copy and pasting directly form the book.

That book made the rounds in American art programs. At least on the east coast. From New York to Boston to Washington D.C., it seems to have made an impact. I know people who read it. I plan to assign it when the proper class presents itself. The book is used in art programs because Weschler’s interrogative writing method chugs along like a steam engine. Pages turn. It reads easily. Chug-a-chuga-a, it ends.

And the content is like a mind being read. Irwin laid bare. From being a dickhead, hot rod douche bag, to a number crunching horse racing gambler, and to being a considerate thinker, that text functions like a film of Irwin’s mind, and the reader has a front row seat.

The book was influential for me because Irwin began looking deeply. He began empathizing with objects, reducing what he needed, and tossing everything else out the window.

There are show spoilers below, so if you haven’t seen it, you might read the rest later. 

The show started with a mid-late object, the disks. A good place to start, a good place to draw the visitors in. This was the first time I had seen one. It actually felt like a let down, because I had only seen it in the text or online. The object had too much canonical sacredness in my mind. It was really just thought, until I had to address looking at the thing in person. I’ve encountered this let down before.

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Next was the hand held paintings, breaking up the passive looking and turning looking into an active thing.

Pick it up, look. Touch. Observe. Multiple senses at work.

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That active looking seemed to resonate with me. The act seemed deeply political. Art becoming a spatial thing. Like a sculpture you must interact with. Asking the viewer to not merely view disrupted the history of merely looking at painting. The painting had to enter into the issues of sculpture, the thing in the round. Further, it was intended to be picked up. To be smelled at close distance, to cover in hand oil, to be interrogated with blood and bones, not just wet distant drippy eyes.

From there the show followed the book to the larger messy line paintings. The mark was still there, the hand, the impasto gloppy gloop mark.

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But Irwin started removing that hand thing and just held onto the line. Pushing variables further and further afield, looking deeply at “one” thing.

Beyond the hand held paintings there were a few dot paintings. I didn’t photograph them. What I didn’t realize is the present opposing grids pushed back against each other creating subtle pattern. In the first one, there was a sort of circle created with opposing horizontal/vertical grid and the diamond shaped grid. The second dot painting’s edges flicked like fire, but barely perceptual. The dots dappled as they neared the edge, creating a sort of heliosphere of solar flares.

But the show went on and Irwin kept removing variables. From the dot to the line. Why have the hand? Why not just the line?

And so next, we saw the line paintings. Depthless yet misty, the painted lines were staples for holding down distances. Slightly raised off the canvas, resonating with the more neutralized neighboring colors; the lines wavered sometimes, glowing yet still sitting quite still. What I hadn’t remembered form the book (or perhaps was not present) was the ground treatment. The ground of these was actually quite “hand-present.” They were painterly painted. Not with big brushes for a real mechanical covering, but many small gestures with a single three-finger scale brush. Scritch scratch coverage, all over. Then the lines. Henry said he thought there was color under the ground; seeping through and pushing the ground around. I saw it sometimes, but wasn’t sure what I was seeing. But the ground was still quite mechanically executed. The smaller brush was used in a single direction, each time. Observe:

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See the mechanical execution of the ground? More examples:

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As an aside, you can see the luminosity and color relationships with this particular close view. Painting under the painting.

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So you can see that the grounds of each one of these paintings is pretty painterly, yet still quite mechanical in execution. That seemed very odd to me. It seemed that Irwin had not tossed out the hand variable. The Line paintings still had that painter painting thing present.

Next we came to the more environmental, large line paintings. We stood there and let the thing overtake us. Wingtip to wingtip it was supposed to envelop. The red, meant to burn the retina, creating fatigue and a real sense of…redness. A red world, a potentially dangerous utopian/dystopian red world. We talked about Rothko with these.

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The book talked about all these things and there were more objects but the scrim needs to be discussed.

We reached an uncanny room, the anticipation for this was building. I knew it was coming. The skrim room, like other Irwin skrim instillations utilized the location’s architecture to create its form. The skrim held back some curving walls. The place was all breath.

The previous variables of line and hand removed. It was all light and fog. It was astounding to see it. It was difficult to look at, because the eye kept wanting to penetrate. Maybe it functioned similarly to Agnes Martin or Chuck Close. Distance and nearness changing the experience contextually. If close, X, if far, Y. But with the skrim, X and Y played together. Becoming a shifty third letter. Essentially an X with a dangling dick.

But the skrim had depth but no depth. It was flat yet deep. It wanted to be touched, because the eye wasn’t sure of what it was seeing. I talked to guards in each section and the guard in this section said he was frustrated by people constantly touching the thing.

The book laid all these things bare. It was like reading the book through seeing the things. And with each seeing I was reminded of my own content, my own inquiry. That book affected me, the ideas pushed me around.

The book was influential for me because I could see a way through some of the complex issues of art and life. I came from a theist background. A small town in Texas wherein the second question anyone asks you is, “What church do you attend?” This was disruptive. It seemed there was only one way to think, anything outside that method was flawed and would produce ostracism. At the age of fifteen I decided to be an atheist and I always felt tense and unwanted. This background made me doubt an affirming a world view. The people around me seemed to affirm each other’s values. One set of values. But I doubted the core premises of those values. It was/is all disruptive to my ability to think.

With this background I came to Weschler’s book and the MFA. The important core concept of Irwin’s work is looking deeply. To look deeply and  remove what is unnecessary. To interrogate an idea to its conclusion and beyond. This approach allows for mistakes and play. Potentially, this approach doesn’t favor any other approach over another. Irwin allows for plural possibilities. And this resonated with me because I grew up with what felt like a singular possibility. One method. One holy text.

But Irwin offered multiple possibilities. The book laid this all bare. The show laid this all bare.

Looking deeply engenders empathy. To accord a thing such weight is a substantial learning opportunity. This situation can enter into life, allow for accordance of weight to another person, to their values, to their world view. To look deeply allows for a willingness to empathize and thusly to treat other things and beings with dignity. This is why Irwin is important to me. This is why that book and the show are meaningful.

As we walked through the show I kept feeling an unease. As I walked through the show, I saw my aesthetic history on display right next to each object. Each object was a bookmark in my thought. To hold the painting, to be active rather than passive, this is the clarion call and exit ramp out of moderinist solipsism. To remove the hand. To only have lines. To reduce to a disk of light and glass. To create an environment of mist. And each work thereafter seemed to resonate with my work. The setting aside of unnecessary variables resonated with my Average Color of One-Hundred Paintings. To squish it all together. Compact paintings, compact mist. Compact history. Compact values.

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The removal of variables resonated with 100 Paintings. 100 potentials. 100 world views. 100 paintings.

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But as I walked through the show, each work showed me that I might have been affirming Irwin’s values. I might have been affirming some values at all. To affirm itself continues to feel dangerous. But of course interrogative thinking requires challenge and affirmation. It seems to function just like painting. Play, make mistakes, learn, fall down the stairs and break every bone. Then rethink the thing and repeat in some way.

But I thought I should go home and re-think my life.

It has been several days since seeing the show. And after writing this I think the issue is really that, no matter what, I am a doubter. I remain skeptical. Weschler’s book isn’t a holy text. It is useful but not any more sacred to me than the dangerous Bible. But I honestly got quite a lot from both sources. From my hometown I learned to be wary yet my home town created me, created the situation wherein I would be willing to analyze my situation. From Irwin I learned to look deeply. Or more precisely, I was allowed to look more deeply. Irwin made me think I could slide art and life together.

http://hirshhorn.si.edu

 

Can I write an essay with only questions?

Can I write an essay with only questions? How would I write something like that? Would it be readable? Would it be interesting? How long can I keep this up? Would it become pedantic in form? Would it be too ironic? To self involved? Too self referential? Would it just be an annoying attempt at shoehorning skepticism into a textual format?

And, most importantly, would it make sense? Would it be an analysis of a piece of writing that only asks questions?

Would it just be a logistical experiment in writing? Would it be merely a formal exercise?How could I begin each sentence? Would each sentence begin with speculative language? How would it all be designed? Would the structure not lend itself to variety? Would it be merely a thing of unity? How could I structure a thing like this?

And how could I transition to new paragraphs and new thoughts? Would I just move on? Can I reference previous ideas or would that be problematic in the document’s continuum? Should each sentence relate to the previous sentence? Would the whole thing really just come out like a torrent of questions? Shouldn’t I use a period at some point? Don’t I need to pause and take stock of things? Don’t I need to make a declaration?

And in writing this am I not analyzing the structure of the question itself? Does this form of speculation lend itself to a certain world view? Does this method of writing create a platform with which to inquire?

Does this method of writing lend itself to being a skeptic? Or is this some kind of dogmatic relativism wherein nothing is ever stated, nothing is ever claimed? Is this method of writing merely a way to never truly address knowledge? Is this investigation just a method to hide behind? Is the skeptic a coward?

Shouldn’t skepticism be a tool in the philosophical tool belt rather than a philosophical Swiss army knife? Can skepticism precede knowledge? Is that the most valid approach to knowing?

Am I merely putting my anxieties about epistemology on display? Is that what a question truly is? A fear? What can I know? How can I justify that knowing? Who tells me I know? Who measures the knowing? What do I do with doubt?

Is doubt all consuming? Does doubt ever go away? Does doubt polish the knowing? Does doubt strengthen knowledge? Does doubt lead to certainty? Is it possible that doubt strengthens knowledge and therefore strengthens conviction? And if conviction is strengthened then is it possible that doubt is weakened? Can knowledge be stable when it is continuously challenged? And if knowledge can never be stable then can doubt be stable? Can knowing exist at all?

And is it possible that I am merely making statements but asking them in the form of a question? Doesn’t that seem quite likely? So is the issue here that I am not really asking questions but instead, leading the reader as much as any other argument building writing method? Am I merely writing a standard sentence and applying a question to the end and a speculative word at the beginning?

And by this point, am I not desperate to put a period at the end of a sentence? Do I not want to make a claim? Doesn’t writing and thinking beg to come to a close and respond to those questions? Doesn’t the format of writing beg to end in a period? How long can this go on?

And don’t things end? Don’t they just? Don’t sentences end? Don’t lives end? Isn’t that just the way of things? Endings? Declarations? Claims? And can I ask a question with a single word and a question mark? Am I leading this investigation? Shouldn’t this end at some point?

Could I use the scientific method to end this essay? Could I use the scientific method to assuage my doubt? Is the scientific method really the thing I am using here? Is the scientific method a loop rather than a line? Is it possible that instead of generating outwards infinitely, the scientific method circulates infinitely. Does this inquiry follow the scientific method of observe, question, hypothesize, predict, test, theorize, question, hypothesize, predict, test, theorize, etc? Where is the logic in doubt? Where is the logic in this language analysis? Where is the logic in epistemology? And should logic enter into this discussion? Can the scientific method be used on knowledge?

The question is, how could this end? How can this essay terminate? If the essay is itself a question, then how can that question cease? How can a question end? Is this essay solvable and therefore capable of ending? Should it end? Is it an infinite thing? Does a question just lead off into infinity? Is a question an infinite pendulum swaying on a gray horizon? How could I ever reach that horizon? How could I see through that fog? How could it end?

Why must there be periods? Are endings to sentences actually expressions of fear? Are sentence endings, our endings? Endings we need?

Graceful endings? Are they good endings? Weak endings? Whom do those endings serve? Whose ideas do those endings serve? Whose world view is justified in these endings? Who can sleep at night because questions can or cannot be answered? Who can sleep at night because an answer is enough?

How do I end this? Why do I end this? Where is my graceful ending?