Category Archives: ink

Hanging Myself

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Not funny really in this time of Infinite Jests, but maybe it is really exactly how I feel. I mean in the sense of eternal return, or Metampsychosis, or however you spell it and whatever Joyce was talking about…. I’m hanging the show. I feel like a worker… in the Marxist sense of that word: working on the ladders with the back into it. I mean to say that hanging a book is a physical act. I’ve been training for it like a boxer at the gym.. but my fucking thumbs are still weak for the push pins and the map pins and the pins and needles and needles and pins…..feel like a carpenter… feel like Christ crucified… stigmata on my thumb. LOL. music here is some odd Brian Wilson post Smile mid mad period song. Fucking lovely and perfect fit for my raw time lapse. More to come…

Conversations With Myself

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fragile.gif portmap.jpgRecently, I’ve had cause to want to point out the documentary bits out of my last couple of shows in Portland and New York. They were extruded onto the blog in bits and pieces several months back. I thought it might be nice to have them all together in one entry so that I could just forward that link to people. It becomes something like a four channel video piece if you can play them all at the same time, or a story if you play them in order. The box gif is new.

Fusilli

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I visit a friend’s studio and he has created a staircase like a large fusilli pasta. It is a spiral ramp of plaster up to his loft. I see there are tons of my book page drawings layed out on the ramp. I find it difficult to climb the thing. It is so steep and smooth and I’m wearing socks and keep slipping down and scattering the pages.