...or tries to...

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

A lot

What it is about too much? We seem to value the two extremes, the one and only thing, and the way too much of something. We love and fear them, afraid to lose the single thing, afraid to lose the bounty. And afraid to be buried under it. I was reading today about a woman who recently died, and left behind 3000 stuffed bears for her husband to give away. Yet who hasn't, at some point, wanted to roll around in a big pile of way too much? Who hasn't seen a multitude of something and hasn't, at least, stopped and thought, ohhhh.

Thursday, March 22, 2012


A rare mid-week night out, with my favorite people, all lamp-lit and spot-lit and chandeliered.

Pictures of pictures of pictures, all glowing little screens.

And an Edgar Allen Poe craft show.

And Clematis Street's penultimate night light.

Monday, March 19, 2012


I left my camera in a dressing room yesterday.  It was the first time since I took it out of its box that it hasn't been near me, and its sudden absence reminds me not only of the loss itself but it problems it creates - that distancing from direct experience. In a way there's less urgency to be where I am as fully as I can because the camera will, I imagine, save it for me. I can trap time, grab at it. But of course it doesn't hold time. It replaces experience, it changes it very much like memory does. It helps choreograph what we remember. How many times have you had trouble figuring whether you remember a long past event, a place, or whether you remember the pictures taken of it instead? Not a novel concept at all, of course. But the lack of camera forces me to remember that. You can't keep it. You can't keep anything. That has to be ok, in some way.

But what the camera does wonderfully is take you out of direct experience. When I get the lens up close, it makes up a world in a rectangle, makes very small hidden and neglected things as real as the faces of friends. That's something very difficult for the eye to do. That's what I would miss most if I never had my camera back.

(The shop owner found it, I'm picking it up this afternoon).

Sunday, March 11, 2012


Last night was the first opening at Xtra Small Contemporary Art Space in Fort Lauderdale, a jewel box of a venue near the ocean. Artist and independent curator Sibel Kocabasi, who worked a miracle of transformation in a converted antique shop last summer, has created another alternative space within a jewelry showroom. The First Three features the video animation of Sam Perry, paintings by Ryan Toth, and ceramics by Gerbi Tsesarskaia. The space has the clarity of the clean white box artists covet, but the feel of a wunderkammer, with all the discovery and individuality and juxtapositions and details that a curiosity cabinet provides.

The First Three

March 10th through April 8th, 2012
3020 NE 32nd Ave Ste 107
Ft Lauderdale, FL 33308

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Hungry Eye

Yes, I finally joined Tumblr. I stopped waiting for the tall, wide studio wall that I could cover with postcards, quotes, scraps of fabric, pictures torn from magazines, that glorious wall of influence. I save folders of paper, bins of scraps, but they began to feel like a burden, the kinds of things that start you on that long, slow trudge towards being featured on an episode of Hoarders. And I still work in front of a shelf covered with barnacled shells, sea urchins, Frozen Charlottes, paper cicadas, fragments of hornets nests, a wax head, feathers, pods.

In the barn doll house, in the second floor studio, I mimicked a manageable post card covered wall,

a cork board wall pinned with pictures of as many of my influences as I could think of, tiny versions of cards I kept in boxes, taped to work lamps, stuck into picture frames. My hungry eye is a glutton, it needs to eat up as many as it can, to find patterns in all these images, insist they tell me who I am, why I make things, why I need to add my own pictures to the binge.

So you can understand, the internet is an avalanche, a horror show of way-too-much, a virtual hoardfest. I get lost  going from one picture to another, finding things I wasn't looking for, finding things that I didn't know I couldn't live without. Searches used to be so particular, maybe that was a good thing. I gave each object or idea I looked for its own time. Now I get snagged by other pictures in an image search, called off track by showy sirens. The common denominator is always me, so there must be a reason for that, we are what we notice, in a way. In Tumblr, all about the patterns, I get to be the denominator neatly, cleanly, one at a time. And I don't have to worry about the county workers finding my body buried under piles and piles of fallen postcards.

My favorite Tumblr pages:

Saturday, March 3, 2012


The last few minutes of lunch served at a cafe in a museum. There's no one left but us, and the staff, and tables to be bussed, things put back in place. Everyone is preparing to be somewhere else. Even though we're still here, we're done, thinking about our own particular next. It's the last gasp of the day's table flowers, in the long light that's particular to here, low because it's winter, but lit up green because it's never really winter. They look their best this way, in a way, as they bow and droop, they seem most alive just before we're done with them.