A little Elizabeth Taylor, a little Joan Miró, a little Arthur Schopenhauer, a little Alain de Botton.
Where are we before we’re born? The little death. Here in a little house.
Tears, cracks, rifts, schisms, borders, skins, interfaces. Real and imagined. Visible and invisible. Emotional and rational. Everyday. All the time.
there’s little time
but not much else
things to do
and things done –
but what?
what lives from this day unto the next
what memories of my thoughts survive even the hour
these night winds foreshadowing an approaching storm
that storm, too
will pass into history
unremembered by the plants
by the earth
by even the water fallen and remerged with the water of before
a little bump
a wrinkle in a tablecloth
a tapestry of all the times we have and have had
but being here with you
is finer, is greater than the memory of any moment
all moments
being in the now
with you
is eternity enough
OK, I know some other guy did a few nice sunflower paintings.
I grew up with a needlepoint version of the Van Gogh Sunflowers on the wall of my parent’s living room. Here’s another remix of the same set of photos, done 3 days earlier than the one above.
Another journalist from Washington Week in Review on PBS.
I’m a big fan of Washington Week in Review. I usually watch it on the little TV in the kitchen. And, often as not, I shoot photographs of the TV screen. I’ve shot a bunch of photos in the kitchen, one day I’ll shoot the frozen orange juice container, another day, usually Fridays, I shoot the TV. Somebody has copyrighted the graphics on the OJ can. Somebody else has copyrighted the TV program. Is it Fair Use to remix an OJ can or a PBS news program? I think so.
So, I’ve made a portrait of someone, in this case Barbara Slavin, who I don’t know. I’ve done a bit of research, since making the piece, and she seems to be an accomplished journalist specializing in foreign policy and the middle/near east. Her resume is pretty impressive and all, but that’s not why I’ve created a portrait of her. I made this because her image was in my kitchen repeatedly between 8:00 and 8:26pm on Friday, June 19, 2009, while I was being “snap happy”, taking lots of pictures in a short period of time.
Here we go.
Twisting and turning.
Whipped around here
Slapped down there.
Accelerating, stopping suddenly.
It’ll give you a headache.
Now, we’re stopped.
Everything’s quiet.
Nobody is saying anything.
We’re all just listening
to the sound of the ride stopped.
This pregnant silence.
We know it’s gonna come back on
at any moment.
We’re still holding on.
We don’t trust stillness.
We know this isn’t the end.
It’s gonna swing and swoop
any second now.
Any second now.
Just sitting here.
Somebody coughs a little.
Somebody else mumbles something.
Just the tiniest click.
OK, it’s gonna start now.
Shortly.
Still no movement.
We’re just sitting here
waiting.
This can’t be the end.
My hometown – Bloomington, Indiana – has a particularly fine and enthusiastic Farmer’s Market. This piece is an uncommonly straightforward collection of views of the market. The title is taken from a variety of red pepper seen at the bottom center.
