“I am the soul in limbo”

our demons lurk in the dark recess of living and crash upon us in the darkness of our dreams yet we find ways to persevere to carry our heavy loads forward until we find a weightlessness that may last a minute or years. many of us cannot pray about these horrors or ask that they disappear for there is a comfort in their shadow that reminds us why we are here. do not pity the person who wears the badge of ugliness or worry the friend whose tears never break for it is the reality that feeds their being and we must consider our hunger a vestige of living.

It is interesting to read your posts sometimes. I pause and wonder who is behind the words. Who, though, is perhaps not as intriguing as ‘What’.

Tonight has fortuned me time to read at least two of your blogs whose confessionals give me confidence that the idea of this platform is indeed the possibility of art. Art in its many forms. Art as words – art as action – art as a movement that brings all of the ‘who’ into focus.

Art was on my mind earlier today while listening to my weekend ‘lecture’. As I seem to draw further and further away from religious dogma, I find more usefulness in said dogma. There seems to be some conduit, some energy, that allows me to focus creatively while sitting amongst thousands of people ready to worship. Perhaps the divine really does wish me to be an artist, though, there is no doubt that these expressions are perhaps not divinely wrought.

“Who are you?” And she, without a moment’s hesitation: “I am the soul in limbo” ~ Nadja, 1928

Today, AndrĂ© Breton’s “Nadja” was one of my used book shop finds. I was searching for Bataille, but found Breton instead. Unbeknownst to me, “Nadja” is considered THE surrealist romance novel. I’m a bit perplexed by this as being halfway though the book and finding its opening a memoir of events and the introduction of Nadja a possible real person. Meh, what do I know…

…i know this… Breton posits “Who am I” early within this novel and continues the dialogue. If you read the last posts of this blog, the poem with no name, you will know that its words contain great turmoil; it is written in ugly truths. It is a true story – it was written hours after the incident – a female biking home late from work almost hit by a cyclist in her lane going the opposite direction. When she expressed in angry tone “what the hell” and perhaps called out asshole, the man came after her to ask her why she had to be so awful. The event has left me shaken- yes, a bit for safety on a secluded trail at night, but more for what I have become “who am i”. This blog is not a confessional, but I will confess this – at 40, perhaps it is time to reframe the anger and tear a few holes in the exterior…

I shall leave you with two things if you are still here:

1) a picture from “Nadja” – it was the selling point of the novel – Breton uses photos of Paris and people to help tell his story. This one is of the clairvoyant who informs him of his fate to meet a Helen (imagine French spelling). This made me smile for I once had a palm reader tell me I was to meet someone too… years later, I’m still waiting.


2) ideas kept pouring forth (inspired in part by a few of the things that the young pastor had used for his intro – one being how one artist chose to represent the human population with a grain of sand for each person)…this had me thinking about art – how i desire my art to be an interaction for thought, for inspiration, for participation, for action. One idea that came to mind was a way to represent those that die everyday due to starvation – to build a floor to ceiling plexiglass box with slots running the length – the slots would be for the observer to become artist by dropping in a piece of candy every time a person dies of starvation. It would be an ongoing commentary/recording of this travesty – and yes, the candy is intentional as statement. (At first, I thought fast-food wrappers but was not sure how that would work.) Below is a quick sketch on my phone during service.


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  1. It’s fascinating what happens here… your post about the incident with the cyclist pushed me over the edge to write what I needed to write- to tell the story I have never publicly told; then two blogs do the same for you. Who knows what comes next, and from whom?

    I heard of a conceptual art piece not unlike the one you’re conceiving here. I don’t remember who created it, where it was installed or what exactly it represented (perhaps people dying of AIDS in Africa), but it involved participants eating a piece of candy and noting their reactions when they learned what the candy represented after they ate it. I know you would never choose to do this- how awful an idea!- but adding the idea of someone eating the candy to your work would add a kind of disturbing, sardonic irony the candy that represented someone’s death from starvation would be eaten as an insignificant treat. Sounds like something my father would come up with if he allowed the slightest hint of creativity in himself or anyone around him.

  2. some how Breton and the plexie box go together but I need more info to understand .
    But the box is a good conceptual idea. yet I bet someone would write “Fuck you” all over it, if it was public. Morality/ Conciousness is a tough thing to sell … it needs to be snuck in , under the radar of the instant rejection response. The crucial aspect oft this piece is the context of the box-. where do you place it? In a grocery store? church? museum? but it is an idea worth exploring. maybe like other conceptual art pieces it just needs to circulate….


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    Words are my own unless otherwise noted. Creativity is something to be shared, but that decision should always be left to the creator.
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