Sunday, February 01, 2009
Photographing artwork in slowly failing evening light.
Students in the liminal state between attentive and distanced pass me on their tour of facilities, assuring the university of their intent to retain all fingers and various other necessary appendages for the duration of the time spent in this facility remark quietly about my prints, saying methods as questions, waiting for confirmation.
Last night, I delivered the entry form and images for an exhibit; the directions took us on a circuitous tour of Los Angeles, through the curling pearl necklace streets of Beverly Hills, with the occasional sad handpainted sign directing the interlocutor to where star maps may be purchased, guides to see people whom they will recognize and know intimately but won't recognize them, the tourist playing out the role of the reject, the unbelonging, in larger and larger spheres--up to the steep and comfortable manicured dilapidation of Laurel Canyon, the shops mimicking the drowsy friendliness of small resort towns. The prices I left for my work on the entry form are optimistic, an attempt to align with the economy of where I am as opposed to the economy of where I was and who I knew.