Saturday, May 27, 2017

VESSEL and reflective future

 Brain and skin form a resonating vessel. Stimulation turns inward, is folded into the body, except that there is no inside for it to be in, because the body is radically open, absorbing impulses quicker than they can be perceived, and because the entire vibratory event is unconscious, out of mind. Its anomaly is smoothed over retrospectively to fit conscious requirements of continuity and linear causality.


Monday, September 26, 2016

Recent Artist Statement/ Draft of Art Proposal

Artist Bio:
Marval A Rex is a self-proclaimed mutant, artist and Jedi apprentice to the Master we call Life. Although he primarily identifies as a ceramicist, Marval is open to any and all mediums in expressing his indomitable spirit. His most recent artistic forays include video art and the photographic memoir of his gender adventure. For the sanctity of his mental and emotional health, Marval lives Life as Art, where every moment is full of intentional wonder and hidden masterpiece. Alongside his surrender to his inner muse (boy is she sassy), Marval holds a deep sense of spirituality, moving beyond any existential angst to find magic in all things. His daily meditative practice includes throwing a hexagram for the I Ching or Book of Changes, consulting astrological transits, and imbibing the wisdom of Gene Keys and Human Design. 

Testo Yoni: 
Semiopolotical Codes for Male and Female

My current body of work involves genitalia and the “codes” prescribed to such organs over time. Utilizing ceramic sculpture and digital glitchart in the form of installation, I expose a collective understanding of genitalia as it existed in times long past, and in the postmodern present: what I like to call the technopornographic era. 
The ceramic sculptures are handmade fertility vessels (raw clay) that take the form of reimagined genitalia— that of the intersex and/or transgender body. Their lusciousness is open and vulnerable, they exist in utter fragility. 
  The glitchart prints, a new form of digital art, depict internet-based pornographic scenes that have been analyzed, obscured and destroyed through the heavy editing process characteristic of glitchart. Their electronic aesthetic are purposeful and speak to the overwhelming and highly digitized desires of the modern day. They exist in an untouchable and thus impenetrable realm, fading in and out between the crackling of hi-tech equipment.     
By melding two seemingly separate bodies of work into the same space, I force the viewer to consider the emotional and conceptual qualities associated with genitalia as they appear ancient and sacred ( in the ceramic vessels) and as they occur through the technopornographic lens (as the glitchart prints). What is our relationship to our genitalia today? Do we honor them or simply use and consume them? Do we presence the seat of our desires as ancient civilizations once did? Do sexual desires—and thus our genitalia—exist now somehow beyond the physical…in a realm of electronic binary code? 

Perhaps a question for the future: how will technology further change the biology of humanity? 

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Pan and Hiz Worms, 2016

Pan & Hiz Worms

I find myself a most vicious pan
After the god
And because it is
Forced upon me
The pretending of a man

I jauntily accept and even
Cherish the pretending
Because it feels
close, slight
To recognition.

But I also
Work it out of my body
Like a worm

Because I know it’s not good for the health:
To be a man.

And yet I keep on pan
Right on cue
Clockwork pomme
The finest refined actor,
Like many of us:
For all our lives.

the deworming
Leaves a residue
A scent
My history is stained
With olfactory factories
Chugging out the truth
While the birds die.

And the gods to which i
Pander to
That I ruse
I pretend
I hide some details
Here and there

And they peek out
Of my work pants
And plaid red shirt.

While I lay
very flat
Against the crotch of
my stiff cotton trousers.

Pretending to be a man.

A Man.

Friday, July 8, 2016

ANIMA REX, my foundation.

My underdeveloped Feminine

There’s the sea

She smokes a cigarette alone on a pier
White cropped hair carried in the wind,
Solemn and mysterious,
Curved and sexy.
I see her,
Behind a glass case.

and I, on el otro lado,
I critique her with the janitorial squad.

I listen, I know,
I talk, I don’t listen.
I agree and look out at the sea,
And she Is cradled in my wind
And I am regaining my consciousness
Or my awareness
Sometime. as
Salt on my tongue.

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Phoenix Tears

“I think the world now is begging us to let the breaking happen. Within. To mirror and heal the breaking happening all around, without. We are being asked to break. Break Up. Break down. Break out. Shatter. Bleed. You’re on the right track now. The right track to break into radical loving like a thief hungry for soul, ready to serve sweet, dark humanity and the earth’s tangled questions that insist we return her urgent call to let our hearts break into compassionate action.”

                                    TRANSFORMATION 2016  

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Neuw Moon, Old Poetry of What Trust Is.... Circa 2009

Right Now, 1:12 pm on a Friday in October of 2009

Right now I am lost in her irises.
They are easy pools of contemplation
That I slip into with a zealousness
of the greatest intensity, but one
pock-marked by my many years of
walking wounded.

In fractions of seconds of minutes
of hours of days of years I’ll
see tribulations.
But I think I’ll always come back to her irises.
And rest.
Drink from the endless gourds of life kept grounded by
her mind.

And she thinks she’s gone,
but she’s not. She’s right
and I am in her irises.  


Monday, April 25, 2016


Processing Aloneness and the Pain of Others,
Which is My Pain Too And I
Am Blessed Enough to Taste It,
Bitter and Sweet, Like Rich Hot Cocoa
And Burnt Roof of Mouth;
La Dulce Culpa.



By Marval A Rex

There is only so much you can do.
There is this breath.
There is this moment.
We as this species are built to believe we know.
Right now we think we know.


I sit here, embroiled in my own emotional wave.
Also attune to the other that is myself.
And I think I know.

The truest wisdom I’ve heard so far
(and I just cleaned out my waxy ears literally, so my hearing is more clear)
Is that you can’t truly know anything.
The trick, the dance:

It’s about having boundaries when you feel that there are
No boundaries between
anything and anyone
And the terror of that truism
Keeps us all thinking that
We know.

I’ve seen two people become one
I’ve witnessed swaths of people act and breathe as one
I’ve felt this species as one.

And yet our mind runs us around the track and shen-pas and
Shit storms all over
the unification parade
The consolidated dance
The everything messiness
That our brain even prescribes it
As mess

When it is our brain that is run amok.
And I know that all the hateful, distrustful, saddened words
Of everyone everywhere,
All the people who distrust you
Distrust themselves

Don’t have their brain in order.  

And let all the genius truths of their body be distorted
By the mind and let
the  brain build

A castle of defenses and supposed truths
And blame the other
And feel resentment
Out of their own sense of
Internal chaos

Further muddied by the shit slinging mind out-of-bounds
The mind is not inherently evil
Nothing is
Nothing is inherently anything
Our minds have created evil 

As a response to information from our bodies.

Our minds give words and the words
Hold weight
And sometimes these words

can weigh us down.

Sometimes we chain ourselves to words
Words chain themselves to us, clandestinely
When we think we have freed  our self.
When we think we have it right
We crucify ourselves with the smugness reserved
Only for the Mind.

it’s amazing!
To evoke Awe.
The complexity is the majesty
Of kinesiology.
The kinesiology of God,
Our truly weighted word for
Sheer luminescent brilliance,
As prescribed by the Christians. 

Felt by all,

Even when in deep deep denial
For darkness darkens your mind
And crumples the body
But the awesome-ness exists on
In your fecundity
Brighter than ever

For your mind to grow weak
While the body grows even weaker.
It waits
Licking itself to a shimmering bold hue
until you break
And then grants you release
As some form of death.

Sometimes our bodies follow along with this death
And we mourn for the change
We don’t understand.

I’ve seen some darkness.
I’ve gone down into places,
Which allows for my beacon
My lighthouse ringing near and far
To expose more of my shadow.

They’re handsome, devilish
Toothy and well dressed
Ivory skin and like every gaunt
And banal vampire of every romance novel ever

But actually a phantom
Who craves music first
Blood second
Love third.

What do you see?
Its an amorphous movement
But can become anything,
Your shadow.
It will tell you things
You need to know

What do you see?


In reparations for my
my bleak shadowness gifts me:

My light grows bright.
For I’ve embraced darkness
known darkness
Felt darkness and
Succumbed to the black
Of my night, your night
And the world’s night.
I’ve turned every sound off
And violently torn my eyes
Apart in the deep silence
Of inverted mass.

I have been gifted with the darkness
The drowning loudness of death
And in its shamanimity

That has groped me tenderly
I have been given
The eyes of others.
To see their pain
Their worlds
Their hurts
Their discrepancies
Their dislocated tendencies
Their flashing pasts
Their tone all the way down to the

And my broken inner child
Climbing the mountain of its new
Bodice, no dislocations there
Asks and call for one slice of
Weighty words:

“I don’t understand,
But I want to. I want to try to
Understand you”

If I look to understand you
I come to see more of myself,
Us broken angels, some
Of us don’t want to understand ourselves
Out of our broken bottomness
Out of the shards
We refuse because
they sting on the reuptake

And even then
Even momentarily fused to
Another’s brokenness
A reflection of my own stained brittleness
I am still grasped by the beauty
Broken or whole

Because it is all mine
All of it is in me
And I am in all
Basic basic basic
It’s been said before
The mind comes in and judges and analyzes and takes all apart

But it doesn’t make it any less true
And logic loses here
So I don’t spend time focusing on the A or B or C
I focus on my love
My listening
And my surrendering
To my moment
Your moment
And the broken to whole
And the just plain broken

And the plain glorious whole of
All of it
With holiness in sight,

Or not.

Because it is wholly holy no matter what
You think.
Caving in,
I will offer you a hand
I will listen
And try to understand.
I will try I will try.
Even when I can barely handle my own depth
Of the summit of my sadness
And the whispers of my psyche take over me
And consume and frighten me into
A shivering child whose
Fear is of its own

You did nothing wrong.
The wrongness is a judgement
Based on an illusion
Created by a mechanism
Infiltrated with fear

How do I release the Movie?
Focus on the beauty.
Focus on the Love.
Focus on the Art and the Truth
And the soft purr of cat cheek on my arm
And the softness available
In every touch.

And the connecting and blurring with others.
Focus on self gratitude and self care.
And creative loving, living.
Don’t act out of mental fear,

Sit and wait and
wait to respond
And fall in

With your generator,
Your holy turbine of trumpeting
Fall in love with your vessel
And the mind will quiet and
Serve a dull texture
And lose its weighty words
And beg you to come back
Even if it's a back to come with a
Body full and present
And as the center console of your

My design is to empower and
Provide support
When it is your design and when it is your aura
Others will react as they do
Depending on their stage where they
May or may not dance with their darkness
I have so far to go I feel
But it is exciting
The challenge
And it is rewarding

My heart croons to me.
And one day my hunger will lessen
My thoughts will gain buoyancy
And will fade when need be

And I won’t
Treat anyone
Just because my pain is weedling me around it’s little thumb

I will know all my pain,
And be open to knowing its newness
As it rises each morning
For layers grow like skin
And layers scar over for revisitation
The raised resuscitations of whimpering memory
Scars are legacy.

And I am nothing
Nothing and a q/hero:
So I keep on keeping along
Floating down the river
Trying to find the strategy

In a swift paddle move here and there
To graciously kiss the space between
Myself and jagged rock
And love the river
And surrender to the jetting stream
And open myself up

To the deep dull sadness
And explosive almost violent joy
That is caught in every swing
Of river bend and
Paddle sweep.

I am River
I am Bird
I am Marval,
Marvel of neux-ness
Of spiralling presence that
Announces full and bright

“I am Now”
I am Now
I am here Now
I am here Now Doing
I am Myself here Now Doing
I am Myself here Now Doing and I’m Busy

Busy empowering and supporting
Myself and others
And surrendering
To this wild wild ride.

What a Long Strange Trip It’s Been.