"If it wasn't for the mist we could see your home across the bay......"
You told me about Sandy. He floats in space watching a spacecraft flying on a mission to explore a planet. The astronauts in the shuttle know they are risking their lives in a tin bucket of a ship, but they will conquer. They will reach for the moon and land on the surface, planting their flag firmly which will flap and fly freely in the wind even though it is in a vacuum. Sandy looks at things, like flowers, TV, the head lights of cars, speeding scenery from a window, the surface of a planet, the death of a star, a spacecraft, the sky. Look down a street and your view of the buildings might be blocked by traffic (or you might look at buses and cars); look at a landscape, and fields, sky and sea might be obscured by buildings and electricity pylons or the speed at which you are travelling (or you might look at buildings and electricity pylons, you might look at the speed you are travelling); look at the fields, sky and sea and your view of the horizon, your view of stars, might be obscured by mist or cloud, but you might look at mist or cloud; look through a window and you might see scenery in the distance (or you might see rain, reflection or dead insects on the glass). I said I thought Sandy is playing around with a type of fiction which is like being distracted meditative. Because distraction is like fiction, a type of non-space where you get somewhere else and somewhen else now and here. It's as though Sandy looks at vehicles for transportation (capsules for meditation) which have interiors related to exteriors and where awareness moves between a here/now and a somewhere/somewhen else (interiors like minds) and tries to communicate a truth which is real depending on how you look at things, what you see and where you are. It depends, I guess, on what's going on inside.
And you said you have a friend called Dave. Dave draws and writes crude things in his room, his drawings are like stuff you find on desks and walls and in the back covers of notebooks--modern day monks' manuscripts--visions of heaven and hell (of after-life and daily-life). He makes objects and sculptures too--a stick, a skirt, a sculpture of God.... farts, bad moods and explosions.... things you might not possibly want to make sculptures of. These things are funny in a dark way (and it's been said that humour is near to terror). While Dave's mum and dad are downstairs watching TV, Dave stays upstairs in his room drawing pictures of torture and Satan. His mum and dad eat some crisps and then watch more TV. Dave continues drawing upstairs. His mum and dad drink some ginger wine and then watch the film. Dave sacrifices a goat and then goes downstairs and watches the film too. Dave draws the devil a lot. The Devil, who was good once, delights in causing havoc and inconvenience for it's own sake--and though divine judgment is without an end result, it's a game of football all the same, between Good and Evil, which Evil wins 5-4 on penalties after extra time. I suppose God, Dave and the Devil are worried, despairing and imperfect like us and they worry and despair about the things we worry and despair about. I guess the things which are sent to try us, try them too - the number thirteen, falsehood, no money for a taxi, injuries, deformity and life threatening illnesses, the phone being cut off, never being forgiven, scary stuff like things written or played backwards, foreign languages, substances which stick together behind and between the cooker and fridge, other people knowing what you're thinking, something underneath your bed, no choice, identical twins, being made to sing in public, having no time and nothing to wear, deadlines, your job, neighbours and relatives, losing a sock, being sad, getting old, dying. I suppose it's about a journey through life where small things are actually quite big. I wondered: if God and the Devil made drawings and sculptures would they make drawings and sculptures like Dave.