Patrick Simons, Falmouth based artist and sound artist passed away, friends have posted a blog for reflections
and a sample of his sounds is
Coincidentally, I was reminded of a a short story-poem titled ‘Eyewear’ that I wrote in 2006. At the gathering where we celebrated Patrick’s Life, an excerpt from Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself” was read out at the end. Later that same Solstice evening, we dedicated a reading of “Eyewear” to Patrick at the Caravanserai Fireside session.
read the story here:
You took your eyes out to stop your stomach expanding. It didn’t quite work, but you were convinced it made you look thinner. Eventually, a friend talked you into putting them back in, and everything seemed slightly odd, as they’d gone in the wrong way round. Not strangely odd, more sort of funny odd -even the weight thing. Once back in, your eyes looked pretty much like everyone else’s. Not necessarily colour wise, but the shape, the size was generally the same as any others you might see at first glance.
And although they were the wrong way round, they were still the right way up –like a mirror, if you see what I mean. It’s not like shoes for instance, where the whole shape of left and right is different. Eyeballs – even in pairs – are roughly symmetrical, so either way they see pretty much the same stuff. The important thing is the space between them, that’s what gives you a sense of perspective.
I was reading Walt Whitman the other day – as people like to quote him all the time. In this poem he described this kind of transforming merger of his body into the earth, where he finally became the mud clinging to the sole of his reader’s boot. That enchanted me – though it’s hard to imagine leaving behind the senses entirely. Everything that surrounds us also shapes us – even as we blink – those little moments of nirvana that pepper our perception like a film projector’s shutter – they give us a sense of the spaces between everything.
Even when our eyes are in the wrong way round.