James Bradley

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ARTIST STATEMENT #44   My Honorificabilitudinitatibus dreams, my expectant heart, my hopeful head, my tingling, typing fingers, tinged with tinted dread. A blue sky with white, fluffy clouds lines the dome of my inner skull, blinking stars dot its curvature at night, like the points where the hairline fractures of battles innumerable reach the breaking point and pierce the brittle helmet of righteousness, like First Concubines ignite an otherwise dreary night in the Oval Office, like Obama's... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 2/21/14


ARTIST STATEMENT #43   The mummified hand of Edgar Allan Poe, generally thought to be authentic, walks on fingers mimicking feet through the landscape of my twenty-second year, the year in which I perceived that perception is possible, the year in which I presumed to see. The hand, having penned , having assisted the brain in piercing the ravine, would no doubt fetch a handsome sum on the black market of genuine relics of rarefied genius, were it not currently indisposed with the thorny task... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 1/28/14


ARTIST STATMENT #42   The Hyperboreans have infiltrated the database, black paintings line the Avenue of the Americas disguised as logos and window displays, a concise and timely expression of negation in an age of information affirmation. Pod People fill the sidewalks with revisionist histories of Modernism and its myriad heresies both pro- and contra-Self, the line being vague and the Pods having no room in their shopping bags for ambiguity or frivolity above and beyond the immediately... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 9/24/13


ARTIST STATEMENT #41   Swan Pond. Swans drift upon the surface of the water with their reflections, with their cygnets, with their entire cosmologies extending outward from the core of their corporeal bodies, through organs and bones, through sinews and synapses, through bacterial colonies drifting upon the surface of a pool of blood, through flesh and feather, through the pond and its moss, insects which skim the water's skin, ripples which extend outward from various points of agitation,... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 8/19/13

"Where Aren't They Now? SoHo Artists' Spaces of the 1970s"

   Posted on behalf of Penny Dartmouth.   View Where Aren't They Now?: SoHo Artists' Spaces of the 1970s in a larger map [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 7/25/13


ARTIST STATEMENT #40 Gentleness, loneliness, fatigue, boredom, indifference. What is the nature of our natural states of lethargy? What is the "evolutionary function" of compassion? Sighing is a signification of our higher nature, leaking out like air from a punctured bicycle tire. Our fondness for small animals is an endorsement, an appreciation of our own vulnerability, our own endearing weakness. We are what we are, we are what we become, we are what we long for, in the long run. "Kittens... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 6/16/13


ARTIST STATEMENT #39 Long, black hair of a Shinto shrine maiden, tresses swept by the selfsame currents which tickle the cherry trees and tease the blossoms from their branches with the gentleness of a mother combing the kinks out of her daughter's tangles. The trees surround the dirt path leading to the shrine, the clouds surround the sky path leading to the shrine's consummation. Birth and death debate the finer points of white powder on healthy faces, consider the potential merits of... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 6/9/13


ARTIST STATEMENT #38   S.S.S.S.S.S. Application Essay Excerpt, Year of the Dragon...thirteen cheerleaders forming a human pyramid, a marvel of estrogenic engineering, a monument of esoteric estrogen and pinnacle of my high school career, and I, only I, have been granted the supreme honor of forming the apex to this most essential of American adolescent rituals celebrating the worldly-yet-heaven-aspiring body of the teenage girl, envy of a drooling world. The A at the beginning of America is... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 5/18/13


ARTIST STATEMENT #37 S.S.S.S.S.S. Internal Memo, Year of the Dragon. Individualism lay sprawled across the dew-drenched lawn like a five-pointed star, spread-eagle or, if I may take the liberty of improvising a more evocative colloquialism, spread-phoenix, looking up into the glowing sky of early morning with eyes squinted, imagining a mirror on the ceiling over the heart-shaped bed of creation with which to witness its own writhing autoeroticism. Tactically revealing scraps of fitted fabric... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 2/25/13


THESES ON INDIVIDUALISM Individualism is the ideology of the abstraction of individuality from lived experience, the separation of the signification of difference from the essence of difference. Individualism is the exaltation of this signification. Individualism is the creatio ex nihilo of contemporary global (western-derived) culture, the substantive ground upon which modernity is founded, including its various historical manifestations, i.e. the enlightenment, capitalism, democracy,... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 2/7/13


  I noticed this while walking through Manhattan recently. The photograph on the left is of a bronze plaque found on the sidewalk alongside the park on Union Square East. It represents the layout of the park itself. The image on the right is a standard dipiction of the Kabbalistic Tree of Life. All ten sephirot appear to be accounted for. I have created this post because I could find no other mention of this striking correspondence on the internet. It is interesting to note that at some point... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 1/29/13


ARTIST STATEMENT #35 A glistening lawn of undulating blades of grass rises one quarter of an inch above the nurturing soil, and one quarter of an inch is no small feat, no insignificant portion of a foot, or of feet. Treaded by bare feet with painted toenails, haunted by an otherworldly mist of pesticides, weighed down by travelling wasps seeking respite from the pre-ordained flight of the wasps' great work, a single blade of grass rises from its daily trampling with remarkable resiliency,... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 1/24/13


ARTIST STATEMENT #34 Non Plus Ultra. The breeze brings (in from the rocky cliffs which mark the last line of defence against the teasing aggression of the ocean, the advance and retreat of a maddeningly ingenious strategic mind) our discarded rhythm back from the vault of aeons. Our past churns within us, our spent expenditures still spin on spokes of spirit. Memory is the meat of the meal of the moment, the primordial mortar of mortal portals. The orange light of the sunset, falling... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 1/4/13

SUNYATA: A Subject Guide for the Western Reader

  Śūnyatā: A Subject Guide for the Western Reader   Sunyata is a Sanskrit word which translates as "emptiness." In Buddhist philosophy, sunyata refers to the non-dualistic, impermanent nature of ultimate reality. This subject guide has been compiled as a tool designed to introduce students of Western philosophy to the concept of sunyata, particularly as it relates to modern philosophical concepts and figures. Links are provided for online sources, while all of the print sources can be... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 12/9/12


ARTIST STATEMENT #33 Many dreams occur around 5:30 in the morning. Artists, artists, bless your neurotically sociable hearts. O artists, with your colored blocks like toddlers in a day care center, endeavoring to find the fit the manufacturers intended, and like toddlers, giving no thought to the manufacturers themselves. The elements of the symbolic order are yours to manipulate...on paper. The nuances of the consensus reality are at your keys on a computer keypad. Paper... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 12/1/12


ARTIST STATEMENT #32 Judy Blume in the twilight hours, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing while sipping cheap red wine from a chipped mug with the words "MANNA FROM HEAVEN" printed along the side. The Swan Princess has heard it said that red wine is good for the heart, and though she pays little heed to the self-serving assertions of the medical industry, with its dark allegiance to pharmaceutical phantasmagoria and its sublimated ecclesiastical narrow-mindedness, in this case she was forced to... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 11/17/12


ARTIST STATEMENT #31 Schopenhaur in the afternoon, the best she could cajole a sagging will to undertake, the only path the rain smears on the cloudy windows could conceivably approve. Swans before dawn, trumpets in the morning. A bubble bath in a sudsy, bubble economy, soap in the Eye of Horus burning red. The Swan Princess languished, taking to wearing her glasses upside-down in halfhearted hope that the displacement caused by the discomfort on the bridge of her nose and on her ears, as... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 10/28/12


ARTIST STATEMENT #30 1849, Dresden, Prussian troops advancing. The commune existed long before any particular barricades. Mikhail Bakunin advocated the looting of the National Museum, armory of the seven color spectrum, and the utilization of famous paintings, time-tested masterworks, veridical bulwarks, as parapet between value systems and color theories. Cherubim with flaming swords guard the misplaced gates of Eden, firewalls and ancient hieroglyphics of air-faring vehicles guard the... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 10/16/12


ARTIST STATEMENT #29 Anti-Earth poems, wrapped in anti-human waxed paper, transited through the postal service like kidney stones, like mail bombs through the torpedo tubes of bureaucracy, auto recite the longing lost on long, lingering localizations on a desk top, presumably. Movement is the key. Agitation keeps the pulp from settling, keeps the nutrients from dispersing. Traipsing through the chain of command, the nuisance of chain letters and their hesitation to travel upward, the... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 9/8/12

The Five Aggregates

THE FIVE AGGREGATES I. Form. Shadows cast by physical obstructions of the sun's light lengthen and lengthen as the day progresses, until eventually the shade covers all, and this we call night. II. Receptivity. The moon sometimes obstructs the sun's light, its shadow dilating until eventually it blankets the land, and this we call an eclipse. III. Conception. Shadows cast by flashing lights and hollow promises lengthen and lengthen as the new aeon looms, until eventually the shade... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 6/7/12


ARTIST STATEMENT #27 The shackles itch. The mask itches. Ineffable wisps of pure love and undying sentiment occupy the sensory deprivation of my forgotten life and I am becoming as blind as Milton or Homer as they recorded the pulsations of the universe and its ungainly beatitudes, as all-seeing as Hildegard of Bingen as she cast her gaze to the mountain's summit and glimpsed the angel in her cloak of eyes, bathed in a music so serene one could scarcely resist, upon hearing, curling up and... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 5/13/12


"NOTHING CAN BURN THE SUN" The solar plexus, for the purposes of our current inquiry, will henceforth be referred to as the chink in the armor of a garlanded, stratified guild of thieves and sun worshippers. Night in their temple of luminosity is the respite from usury which others call day in the temple of straw. The kindling of our repressed interaction, like the exhibitionism of Dogma, Inc. parading glints in an infant's emerging subservience, the miracle of unfolding cognitive... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 5/6/12


INVISIBLE BEAMS OF SOUND AND SIGHT The torture of a turning phrase, which I, in turn, have turned withal. Danger in the solitary cell tucked away in a corner of a nearly forgotten wing of the dungeon city of Saint Francis! What torments await the one who presumes to while away the days of boredom and the nights of horrific visions and condemnatory apparitions of abstract transgression with the soothing balm of pen and scraps of aloe leaf smuggled into my traitor's cell by the hand of a... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 4/29/12


YOUNG GIRLS WHISTLING BLOWBACK The street is night, only when the questioning of the location of the night is pressed. Otherwise the street is hypertextualized, flowing ever and ever outward, like rivers and streams dead tired in the search for ocean. It all happens if you allow it, that, in any event, is what I would tell those serpents of water digesting pebbles if I had the heart, but I know that to deprive a system of its systematizing is a fate potentially worse than death, and... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 4/24/12


ARTIST STATEMENT #22 Painting is a highway to low ideals, base physicality and redundant mimicry, or else it is a "low way" to high sentiment, subtle metaphysics and jarring revelations. Or else it is neither, or both. By nature of the very process by which a painting is created, that of building up layer upon layer, each willingly subsumed by the subsequent, the painted surface is a locus which reveals as it conceals, which diverts attention as it instructs, which withholds in order to... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 3/24/12


ARTIST STATEMENT #21 A stranger's recalcitrant glance across a room full of frightened children, unrepentant as the day is long. Swans of the east, guilty of the crime of not acknowledging Christ, as well as of brandishing those flaming swords on hallowed ground at inopportune moments, feathers all akimbo like a woman who knows what she wants. "My scalp is all sore, I miss you tons;" the sweetest, most innocent text message of recent memory, and suddenly the feeling of smallness is... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 3/13/12


ARTIST STATEMENT # 16 There is a sense in which it can all be attributed to the dreamers and the wanderers congregating at the "Occupy Wall Street" protests down in the phenomenological part of town. There are book hauls and gandharvas, public libraries and karmic traces, returning heavenly bodies and signposts that don't leave a trace. There is presence and there is radioactivity. There is uncertainty and there is melancholia. There are technicians and galactic clusters, absence and... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 2/5/12


ARTIST STATEMENT #15 Movements of the night, waves of sound swell, on your blood-purple stirrings and songs of the latent spark of the east I rest my sight. Who among us dare discover the way of the principalities, the wrath of the void? [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 1/16/12


ARTIST STATEMENT #14 It swells, it churns and it boils as it waits, this diabolical ocean of faith and cowardice which men call 'Global Governance.' To be honest with you, I have had enough dreams in which overturning a large rock to reveal a thriving colony of writhing, kicking insects plays a paramount role, and this repetition of symbolism of such obvious pertinence has caused me to shy away from the larger public discourse, opting instead to pursue my own investigations into the cyclic... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 12/3/11


ARTIST STATEMENT #13 She glanced quickly toward the dusty cardboard box marked "Art Supplies," knowing the neglected contents to be the last thing a girl in her circumstances should concern herself with, here, in this room, in an age of darkness. Like an ill-advised message smeared with an unsteady forefinger upon the frost of a winter window pane to a forbidden lover who waits, wandering the urbane streets below, she must wipe such fancies from her mind. She must be the strong one. She must... [more]
Posted by James Bradley on 7/7/11
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