I think of manifestos as being about passion and exhortation, a call to arms.
I collect them. I write them. I remember them. Sometimes I act on them.
You have nothing to lose but your chains
Marx and Engels
Go in a friendly manner
Go with an open speech
Be eager to find new evils and new good
Be against all forms of oppression
But, above all, go to practical people –
go! jangle their doorbells!
Say that you do no work
and that you will live for ever.
My manifestoes are buried in many secret notebooks piled in many cupboards. A random opening of them reveals more quotes, more words. Sometimes I think everything I write, every review, essay or editorial, is a manifesto, to encourage a sense of possibility and awakening in art, in life.
The next decade must be one of accommodation and maturation if the Dreaming with its deep and vital philosophical contributions to the human condition is to be maintained.
Every story can be told in at least two ways; a feminine one and a masculine one. This doesn’t depend upon the gender of the teller. The masculine way is linear, sparse. The words stride out and try to leave the world behind in search of a new truth. The feminine way is enclosing, incantatory and essentially maternal. The words are used to arrange the world, and the world is forgiven, even if the story is a lament.
Art, a narrative, of piecing together, a journey, putting aside all the doubts, regrets and uncertainties, to allow it to happen, to make it happen, with all its complexities and hesitations, for it to be real, even if no-one likes or understands it, to be a story of hope.