The Gallery and Tom Thomson Lungs
I've been collaborating with Swiss composer and artist Tobias Reber. One of the strains of his work is to generate AI images which are an intigruing blend of the organic in nonorganic spaces. His work has a dreamlike intensity, if your dreams were filled with mold, lichen, moss, art galleries and wooden doors. He asked the question about aestheticizing catastrophe and so I began to speculate about that in this poem.
It’s remarkable how things melt.
Consider the design of a deer.
The world is our gallery.
We’ve made a world of tiny Mona Lisas and our brains are galleries.
Adorno said, “During climate collapse to make a gallery is barbaric.”
Or, we’ve made a world of tiny brains and the world is Mona Lisa.
Climate collapse is a gallery.
No wonder Mona Lisa is smiling.
Consider coral reefs.
It’s not so much Climate Collapse but a sparkling apocalypse.
Every time an iceberg is born, another passerine loses its wings.
I’m beginning to think of our brains as icebergs.
My heart was and always will be a songbird, no matter how broken.
Let me sing a slow goodbye.