Ryan Sullivan - Listless <|>
Ryan Sullivan
-Archival spray
-Glassine sheets
-Negative holders/binder
-Conte crayons
  These are the items on my list of things to get. It’s been sitting in the corner of my desk for two weeks.  For two weeks I’ve been avoiding going to any store where I can get these items. Initially I held off because I saw them as frivolous purchases. Things I shouldn’t be spending money on when I don’t know where my next paycheck is coming from or when. I’ve recently downsized my studio to the desk where these items stare back at me in their hasty script. But as I sat down to try and write something for this journal I picked it out of its corner and glanced at it again. I thought about the items differently.   
  Something in a sketchbook I’d forgotten:   
  “Are the stick figures an attempt to redistribute the history of the image, or to subjugate the real and the imagined? Or simply to pull a reveal and purport the structure of psychic/psychological image politics?” Something I’ve written, have no recollection of writing, and no ultimate meaningful understanding of.  Something has been transmitted. At times one feels painfully aware of their roll. Identifying with a bee’s knees.   
  When I look at the list now each item resonates as some snarky metaphor for the elements lacking in my life; an un-buyable list of my insecurities waiting to be crossed off. It also occurs to me that I have no list of things to do.    
  First thing, a lamp, to illuminate…things. I’ve spent most of my life trying to get somewhere and keep forgetting that it’s the getting, not the somewhere, that’s important. Second, it would be nice if one could spray themselves, as if they were an acidic paper, to neutralize their self-destructive contents. Three, glassine, to separate and protect. I’m left remembering something a volcanologist told me as we looked at a family of mountains. He charmed me with a beautifully sad scientific love story.  How Glass is formed when molecules cool too quickly to crystallize into a solid element. The molecules that compose glass are always moving toward one another trying to form microcrystals, to become something solid, substantial. Glass is always moving; the slowest liquid, the getting, not the somewhere. It amuses me to think that even the narrative of glass can be reflective.  
  Negative holders/binder. Conte crayons. Rethink criticism. Get back to basics.
Stick figures and blocks, black and white, lets begin from the end, and move toward the light.
As I started writing this I felt the desire that anyone who makes anything is familiar with. When faced with a blank page or canvas, when staring at a rough stone or section of timber, when looking at a chunk of clay, your child, your life.  You want to be the one to help make this thing into something that others can admire. Then I thought I’d better leave that part out.

“In the presence of extraordinary reality, consciousness takes the place of imagination.”
-Wallace Stevens