the effect on the music which somehow comes through me while in the midst of sculpture and in particular Kirili's sculpture is not known to my conscious self. I have no doubt that somewhere in my being the effect is known whatever "known" might mean. being in the atmosphere of his sculpture ("his" sculpture(?) whose sculpture? what is the identity of the sculpture?, his hands working/playing on the "materials" made of atoms made of energies swirling so fast so invisibly, his spirit ("his" spirit? who and what possesses what and whom in these networks of networks, some openings in oneself one self many selves, teeming uncountable trillions of selves, all fiery swirling energies, forces, influences, generalities, specificities, particularities, reveries, glimpses, faces, finger prints, a beautifully wooden floor, worden flower flowering flooring "his" works playing dancing still moving stillnesses nothing could keep from moving or keep from being inspired in the electricities of people in an encouraging atmosphere encouraged further by the presences presentnesses' presents gifted moments in fleeting nows almost howling refinements unleashed from countless repressions by fireways of coming into being sculptural entities their now more familiar faces and bodies how were they born where were they born who and what gave birth to them? their presence in the room or in the air-lobby city inscape welcoming of customers and clients vacationers supplicants and worshippers but the mere but glorious surface smooth or more rough skin its multiple colors and shapes all affecting light reflecting refracting and this is only physical but then when one begins to contemplate the dimensions of dimensions all coordinated dances orchestrations choreographies one can not help but be moved not only by the gathering but also by the gathering for there are the visible sculptures and the visible people and the very beautiful physical flower of an interior exterior already beginning to disintegrate into multiple ecstasies' potential of transmissions from and through these pieces into other pieces called music through other bodies' moving sculptures called people called musicians up from their walk through the city drawn forth by sound and the prospects of warm interior(s) peopled by stillnesses' signatures and shapes the flatnesses and roundnesses coming out of their planes and the spectra in between and amongst only a beginning first falling back away as if to flea most certainly obliquities abound in their myriad self-births prismated liquifying archetext tours through fonts beyond typecast celebrate fleeing any and every into constant reverie impossible possibility abound plural singular cracked planar surfaces by laughter and seriousness simultaneously frustrated by the hustle gamefaces' delight in chrome plasterings all blasted by dreams aspirations stoicisms soldiering for peace in the untiring grip of war there is hope still undestroyed commingling blazes of differing sorts monies honies bunnies sunnies their ludicrousnesses all agleam and raggedy fabrics so flesh and so glean I steady my stance as I dizzify in the atmosphere of all of this stabilized and destabilized by those sculptures existences catapulted and welcomed into smooth and delicious landings only to be spat up back into the air of there still contained but loosed from anywhere they sit rest and stand silent sounds they exude the space they occupy among musicians visitors and audiences pedestrians motorists all cubistically brought together in a very un-neat but still elegant mess of sound light stirrings within polite listeners guests currents revealed concealed counterpoints toward noise lovely chaos without which we'd have nothing to work and play and work and get off work with and from away from home we ride and want to get off at the right stop and go on from theire alephoenix deathbirthings all and nothing sublime avoidance zero dance of the void infinity spectrummed cycles dewrite the white fire into bringing be linkings blinking on and off offerings offer feuther linksblicksflickser rings of bells off fingers remarriagings within the one divorce thus chanced opportunity the impending hazard all dancing there on the flower brought inside as well devoured ideally completely divinely annihilated bliss neither the words nor the sounds nor the looks of the pieces of wholes within wheels crowns of letterings would stay put from this vantage the game up in flame to be recast for your actively participatory viewing pleasure and horror on the edge if not on your couch then in a not uncomfortable chair seat the good cheer of being there as co-creator standing sitting dancing swirling twirling curling straightening up majestically as well as intension not clear though clear beneath and above that blue star of two triangles rotations oppositely in their directions stone and stein both philosophical spiritual and sexual lexical spine all intertwine cooled and further chilled flames blazes caught by rescuers skewers askew eye ask u t' ask t' be performed beyond and including all profession itself destroys itself back into the light whence it periodically came in delight shame and pride a new bride he as well as she consider the mother in him oscillating incarnations scintillate up out da prison into the reverieday experiences paralleveling takeoffs would settle for nothing shy of the next in the many but finite rounds of this go-round of rounds made a piece of the whole gathering sculptures embracing without suffocating being their as dance partners intone to themselves as they step together up and down a classic black and white cinematic staircase thus glassified specimens resolution but for an instant for then back into the color of a room warmly lit by sculptured sounds audible sculptures play through often undisturbed by witting maneuvers luckily mental gauntlets notwithstandardizing shown through what it do even there in the water blue and red float fast cut to stacked pages thicknesses tall reaches white stone like pages stone rock planed sheets edges protruding through the plane(s) those pieces where I've never been except through pages distance from actual playing among them remind of abstraction into this particular concretization of the dance stood still now for more than a moment's reflection and thanks blessing we flowerers bled of wounds inflicted by indeterminate determinations not to have to return home with the bland scents that one had not even g(l)o(w)ne anywhere he ventured out somewhere for real and just as real wrote home ”

Daniel Carter

Sculptures, Jazz et Improvisations, Magazine Fusées 10, 2006