I awoke in the white gray morning to the sound of the dog’s breathing. I’d been in an elaborate dream where I was walking some back woods campus with President Clinton. We were looking for someone, or some event and having a convivial conversation. He seemed like a nice guy. I was going on and on about how the grid woven into a canvas must have had an influence on our very way of seeing and or recording that sight…. or is it that our way of seeing and knowing is somehow dependant on the grid and all moderin painting is the act of rediscovering the grid because it is just rediscovering the canvas and the streatcher… I was prattling on and Clinton did a good job pretending to be interested. Later, I found things in the street that seemed to echo the morning: a toy car trailer that seemed to be a sculpture of me dreaming, a link from a watch band like a moment taken out of time, and a small piece of graph paper.
