Completely Incomple

Completely Incomple
[a body of work by Urban Robert Bauer]

"imperfection is perfection and perfection is not perfect."

I believe art provokes, it rubs you and you respond. How you respond is not important, so long as you respond. Not everyone is ever going to like everything the same.

As humans we have a strong instinct to express ourselves. We express ourselves through our actions. This includes what we purchase. We must understand that the way we choose to express ourselves is in accordance to the things we associate with, not good, but familiar feelings. If "bad" feelings are familiar to us, we are going to, perhaps subconsciously, express and respect bad things. This body of work hovers between unfinished and finished (good and bad, right and wrong, beginning and end...), to make this point apparent I consciously tweaked certain things [in this body of work] to question the norm.

I want to go against the grain, I want to run my finger nails down a chalk board, because what it does to my body may not be comfortable, but it is interesting. I am bored with the expected, so I strive to be unpredictable. I wanted this body of art to not "seem right," because right is expected. Right is boring and not interesting, because it is familiar. I say change it up, do something different before you despise everything besides the few things you think you know.

This body, or art presses on the idea that what we would consider to be ugly, unfinished, wrong, or ignorant are in fact good things. Innovation is a derivative of mistakes, or embracing the unexpected error. Art is practice, practice is experimentation, experimentation is flux, conclusions are plateaus. Therefore, I believe to conclude is to level out, stop moving, or to die. Life is not all healthy and good, I needed to embrace that, therefore this body of work's conclusion is the conscious choice to be inconclusiv. So long as I am alive a conclusion cannot exist.

A tip from the artist: Hang this work crooked.

Still Okay

I'm just another idiot trying to afford self expression. Giving excuse to why everyone should listen, but I'm just another idiot trying with no intention. Unaware, selfish, ignorant, and in sub-constant despair. I'm just another selfish idiot thinking about number one; putting myself in the foreground, far ahead of everyone. Still I'm just a selfish ignorant asshole, pleading with self worth, typing tens of millions of worthless words, mixing them together, and making them my work. I am worthless. I am a pothole in humanity, popping tires of the sleep deprived working class. I am just another dumb ass motherfucker trying to hover above whatever comes around me. I am just another ignorant dumb ass fucker screaming sanity to a deaf grandmother trying to catch a bus. I wish I had some other way, but the profits aren't as great, and so long as you're listening... I'm still okay.

on the internet

what I do on the internet aint no fun
I always find myself writing something about someone
who, of which, I haven't no idea, but
in all honestly I think it might be Sophia
I don't stress about what she is
I just let the words keep typing themselves in,
never would I give it a plan or understanding
cause as soon as I become attached to her, I loose what I was sayin.

Tao?

incomple

complete,
incomple

a thing and a plug

a thing and a plug plugs into a thing and a plug plugs into a thing

we knot

never be timid of cold showers


You presented how to
I present how not.


Onlike
anotherone

we beef

we knot
 we are knot
etc.

blackbook

just nothing.

Just Nothing

a just nothing
nothing a just
as just nothings
nothings as just
a just nothings
as nothings a just
a just nothings
as nothings adjust

The Poet

All of the sudden there was a note
in-script it taught
only visible
All of the sudden there was a note
in-tune to a key that turned a lock
All of the sudden there was knock
to the massive suddenly of a soundly note
giving off remittance of  another door's code
to the one, only, please pass the poet.

Traffic

When life gives you traffic
close your eyes and cross the road.

Over Seas

People! O, my people. Where are we now? How can we survive in this dismal crowd. People, oh-my people, how are we now? Where will we go when we are here now? I am a survivor, the right hand of a lefty, hanging patiently, waiting to be forth-putting. I am a back, out of your vision and out of my own contact. I am lonely, but I hold myself up and pray that one day someone will know me. Vision, eye, see. Nothing behind me as the same in front of me I am still like a tree. I feel we strive to be, but we are mistaken, because first we strive. We need to let be. I am a good company, slap a sticker on me and send me over seas.