As a creator of asemics, I consider myself an explorer and a global storyteller. Asemic art, after all, represents a kind of language that’s universal and lodged deep within our unconscious minds. Regardless of language identity, each human’s initial attempts to create written language look very similar and, often, quite asemic. In this way, asemic art can serve as a sort of common language — albeit an abstract, post-literate one — that we can use to understand one another regardless of background or nationality. For all its limping-functionality, semantic language all too often divides and asymmetrically empowers while asemic texts can’t help but put people of all literacy-levels and identities on equal footing.
Since asemic writing emphasizes the visual, representational quality of language, it creates a unique dialogue between the writer/reader and the world of signs, one that allows for multiple, subjective acts of decoding. This paradoxical, cosmopolitan-yet-personal quality, I think, lends asemic writing a hyper-contemporary sense of being and makes it much more than art. I read it, in fact, as an archetypal language, as a (recon)figuration of the words spoken by the Babel-builders. Asemic texts, as it were, serve as a projection of humanity’s desire to reconnect with the mythological root of all languages and, by extension, one another. (…)
via SCRIPT
r3ckon 