The thought that devours
The thought that devours,
that craves to be the Fate.
Thought that’s not aware,
but yearns to become
to give existence
to this love of the eternal
and ferocious abhorrence.1
When we try to define what a thought is, we tend to simplify the matter to a set of ideas and concepts that are linked together by a logical thread. This detrimental definition doesn’t do justice to what the essence of a thought is.
A thought is a purely creative energy, which craves to be always the trigger, the spark which starts the fire of its own tireless action. A thought has no reason to be but to produce something beyond itself, to surpass itself in a creative and destructive vortex.
As Nietzsche would state, this vortex leads to the most magnificent destiny: the super-human (or, a better translation, a beyond-human), the being for itself, the form in its formation: the form that withdraws the same moment that is drawn, and gives birth to the other-than-myself: a new super-human, a new thought. To generate the other-than-self is an act of supreme love, a sign of the humblest disposition, like an actor cancelling his personality to make way for the pure act. And it also is a sign of deep abhorrence for all that is fixed and debilitating: the actor that does not act, the seed that does not grow.
It is therefore my love for the surface that gives me the power to penetrate it with gestures and brush strokes. To break through it, and shape it, with super-human marks – that is, without a motif or a will to put myself and my personality in it. This power is raising from the will to generate the other-than-myself on the paper, to generate it in myself, in a spectator, or in space… it is a delirious vortex out of space and time.
And the abhorrence for the same surface, on the other hand, is the brute and savage force urging me to destroy that unbearably pristine whiteness of the surface – which is the place where everything can be, but is not yet – just to trigger that process by which the form forms itself, and it becomes other than myself, already since the very first moment of its generation. And I am nothing but its actor, acting my part.
Riga, May 2016