Oliver Braid

Oliver Braid


♦ Twenty Firteen Fourfolds N’ On 


Someone who didn’t like me very much shared a dream in which they were appalled to encounter me wearing a combination of sandals and bright pink socks. Assumedly as intended, this recounted mortification initially possessed me as a depressing abstraction of how, not only clothing-wise, I had always gotten it slightly wrong.


Much later I considered that to comprehend getting it wrong as pejorative was absurd and fragile. If getting it wrong designates a disruption, then getting it right is the counter, a campaign complicit in presupposing unity.


The transcendental unity of it isn’t what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the it judged after the tying together of sense data; the it after understanding, the it encountered, the it we get. The desire to make a necessity of experiencing this it in a unified way is something impossibly twinned with the additional necessity of an anti-hedonic, illogical quest for an ungrateful Ideal. Pink socks and sandals, disharmonious concoctions as it gotten wrong, aren’t a cause for concern. They are how I would most likely opt to be concretised if ever again I arose in a rebus.


To be offended by mismatched materials is akin to encountering two opposing opinions and falling to pieces. I use the latter expression in the sense that those who desire to get it right might more usually interpret as undesirable.


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Hello, my name is Oliver Braid and I am an artist living in Glasgow. www.oliverbraid.com


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