I found these in a book while doing a late night rearranging (see photos of books arranged by color). I don't know why they are there, or where they are from. What occasion did I memorialize and subsequently forget by pressing asters in a book about Chagall?
My birthday is on Thursday. I'm going to spend it at the Los Angeles Art Show, doing demonstrations on printmaking techniques. For all of my complaining, I think I secretly relish the ghetto-ization of the medium I work in. The mystery of it, the secret knowledge, the potential that no one knows much about how the image came to be, not because they just don't care to find out, but because such processes are concealed.
Anyhow, happy 4th annual 25th birthday to me. I'm going to give myself a set of taxidermy eyes.
PS:
Message me for address if you've met me in the flesh and you've a fairly good idea that I don't find your presence intolerable.
1 comment:
Happy Birthday
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