zero dimensional art

sadoo nogueira, a great early explorer in apophatic aestheticism who rode a lonely skiff of absinthe to the vorticial cliffs of dream, writes –

in the classic age art developed consciousness on the level of the three dimensional sensation – that is art applied itself to a perfect and clear visioning of reality considered as solid. postchristian art has worked constantly towards the creating of a two dimensional art. we must create a one dimensional art

now though, in the presence of the internet, global capitalism, ecological collapse, and the omnipresent toxic mirror of humanity splintered in the plasmatic soul of god, only zero dimensional art is possible

what is zero dimensional art?

it attempts to go nowhere and goes nowhere

in dark emptiness it manifests light and plenitude, light and plenitude that then manifest their manifestor

our nothingness seems so expressed not that it creates an object or an audience, reaches for audience or object, attempts to effect any sensations in ourselves or others, but, if anything, precisely not this: that it remains in the intimacy of objectlessness, it remains without audience, its inevitable sensations contained in that boundaryless cell that does not effect, that cannot

sensations have not disappeared in zero dimensional art but tumble over themselves as numbers falling down a hole

all directions are uncertain. i retreat but this retreat is an advance, i fail but this failure is a success, i deinvest but this deinvestment’s an investment, i go mad but this madness is a sanity. in none of these movements is anything lost (and in this amassing rests a vast heart of forgetting): the retreat though an advance is still a retreat, the failure though a success is still a failure, the deinvestment though an investment is still a deinvestment, the madness though sane is still madness. and these totalities of cancellations are the zero that is written

but no. not even written. seen, but barely seen. glimpsed, but only in thick fogs. intuited, but as a truth in an unspoken formula in a dream

it pitches its tent of identity on the rumoured decentred desert of namelessness. the news, opinions, facts, careers, schools and workshops and degrees, parties and watering holes and openings and jostlings that comprise 0+n dimensional art and so are subsidiaries of transnational conglomerations perhaps worthy of videos taken on phones of plays of ancients

ghoul'd herbert presaged in a particular way zero dimensional art through its withdrawal from the social apparatuses of art, desiring that communication of consciousness to consciousness, that language that hasn’t been toxicied through the scrimmages for power and money, through conventional and clichéd grammars and concepts, propriety and a barbaric elite

in zero as the mystics have long known and articulated in their necessarily elliptical and abstruse ways, god grows. and what is god but possibility (as the woman in white cotton intuited)? : polyforms of the desert, an immense choreograph of emptiness. so zero dimensional art aims – as the protestant reformation aimed to eliminate the unnecessary manifold, bureaucratic and frequently pompous layers between soul and god and long before it hinduism knew that evil was nothing but inserting viability between brahman and atman – to minimally make irrelevant and more fully dissipate solid facticity from art

only zero dimensional art lives what the twentieth century theorized: it erases the artist by denaming, decentering, disappearing, decreating, through untraceable identities that no more experience art as career as shitting. zero dimensional art is breathing and art is the conscious expression of this breathing. zero dimensional art returns to the roots of religion, animism, wildness, wonder by de-arting art in the nothing that is

our frequent dealing in ennui, indifference, renouncement before the sanest and simplest things is entirely intermingled and subsumed in detranscendences that are no more multiplied than divided, added, subtracted, subject to every possible mathematical operation whether irrational or imaginary, resulting in results that have as much to do with sense as bananas with dental benefits

consciousness is a compost of zero that decomposes, an analysis that’s heterogeneously catalytic

of course we concern ourselves with politics, religions, morals, society etc to the extent they concern themselves with us. news is the rain in my nonexistent soul

zero dimensional art is not about art or creating or being an artist. it is at least as much as and maybe more about not being these things – of traveling through time to achieve a new naïveté. any zero dimensional artist (but even this name defies the spirit of our spirit – rather: zero dimensionalist) will dissociate itself from all forms and channels associate with the edifice of art, will sustain itself through activities wholly disconnected with art, will – should it somehow be discovered – immediately and naturally relocate itself to new places of exile and unknown. only in this way does a disparate anonymous tribe of zero creators compost effectively the crude hypocrisies, dominations, wretchednesses, sufferings of the villainous world: by taking these attributes into itself, into the vast plethora of possibility, and maintaining them there

and to our ancestors – chuang tzoo, nogueira blake, billy pessoa, sadoo – we give not our thanks for there is nothing to give – we do not even give our nothing – but possibly a hyphen and a colon, for these are their inheritance to us and what we have effectively become – glyphs of punctuation, indicators of continuation and what follows, pixels of voided colour, a collapsed hyperventilated hypersphere whose once thin grey hint of a shimmer of an outline has been erased by a kind of excess of accounting of functions and relations

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