BETWEEN SCRUPULOSITY AND DISGRUNTLISM

I offer the following as a supplement to my inscrutable paintings, each one an invitation to transcendence, to which you are no doubt in awe. Those who have preceded me on this quest, leave behind an outline of their work, as yet uncompleted. It is my intention to fulfill, through the work seen here, this final act of human evolution, the irrefutable code. Those who can understand my message must carry the torch, oblivious to the mocking masses. Those who cannot, must dare to raise their blindness to exquisite heights of nobility and, bearing their token of lunacy, follow me without question, for such is the definition of faith. Allow for the total immersion of your petty equivocations if you are yet unwilling to reach for the priceless wisdom that I offer. For it is the hopeless and absurd labor of savages to risk the unforgiving totality. But it is the task of unrestrained divine daring to succeed in this expression of immaculate totalitarian love with dimensions numbering only two. An unspecified reckoning awaits those who so recklessly confront the promise of unity through piecemeal assemblages of minerals, microscopic and colorful though they may be. To that particular vain audacity, plagues and / or messiahs are the great and inevitable answer.

These epic quasi-depth-animated light symphonies allude to a multi-dimensional continuum, creating an unprecedented conundrum: pictures of words of pictures of terrifying infinity, which is elliptical, inwardly directed and predicated on shame. Thus prostitutes of every gender will fall naked from the sky, ridden bareback by Gurdjieff and Rasputin, as both the majesty and the horror of the unquenched cosmos sit together without argument on a mahogany throne at the head of a congress of quarks. I alone, as the conduit of ultimate charity and justice, can accurately represent this profound abstraction. But I repudiate abstractionists as dystopian ideologues, as craven mongers of eye candy, and as purveyors of double-speak in an idea vacuum, who fail to realize that every enduring work must represent, if not resolve, certain fundamental mysteries. But vainly attempt to stare directly at the hermetic light and risk blindness. Those who speak with clarity and certaintly about their work, fodder to the maw of time, are deluded numskulls, sycophants or liars who shamelessly pander to the pseudo-intellectual pretenses of their audience. The beauty and the power of my work lies in its interpretive superiority, far beyond the attachments of petty meaning. The inability to interpret my paintings means that they cannot be misinterpreted, and thus I instantly unify and correct the shortcomings of all previous beliefs. As I have often said, when inquiries have been made as to the precise utopian mysteries revealed in my work, the truth is much more challenging than the facile answers most are happy to provide.

Remember, dear disciples, that my paintings have little individual meaning, each residing, as intended, on the merciless edge of coherency. Their powerful and revolutionary substance is discerned in their non-sequential amalgam. Together they are a pure revelatory burst, an epic, religious anarchic picture poem, which, like any true orphan, longs to be freely distributed to the people. Unlike the puerile and pusillanimous wards of a forgotten matriarchy, cloyingly sentimentalized to a nauseating irrelevance, these orphans are my spiritual guardians, grave, fearless pink dwarves, employed for my own protection, sweeping away before me the unpleasing husks of barren humanity, leaving behind a salted field of gravity in an endless and contradictory quest for absolution. Thus a terrible ethereal drama is played out in my work, frozen at its supreme moment of perfect circularity, blurring the effervescent but irresistable tide of fate.

On Tuesday I painted a raven. On Wednesday one fell dead from the sky. My power is undeniable.

                                                                                             Frank Ramme, 2009