spent the morning ripping apart old fridge doors I’ve been storing. There is nothing quite like the industrial smoothness of a a circa sixties/seventies fridge door. Like an old Chevy, but hung together with a million bolts (the newer ones are all glued together like a Stealth Bomber… it is funny the revolution in adhesives in the last fifteen, or twenty years). It took a lot longer than I’d hoped to get the backs off. Then I carried one over the Gowanus to the G and to the studio… an awkward and sweaty affair. Once in the Studio I felt my typical despair about canvas and started drawing on the old Admiral fridge door with a lumber pencil. I’m crazy about the line. It sort of reminds me of the drawings I did from Goddard for Ashes and Oil a while back.
Now it seems that the three characters dining at the Admiral’s table are sort of the cast of Willoughby and or the face and psyche of America right now, or are they Dadaist at the Cafe Voltaire?
