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CURIOUS RICHMOND
EX TENDED
288 pp.
39 OZ.
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FRIDGE A Get 4 eggs.
FRIDGE B Can’t find the eggs. They’re underneath the greens. There’s only one. What? Throw something away?
2 day supply
2 week supply
fresh
packaged
fresh
shriveled
Cilantro is tasty in everything, even mango. 1 apple, 1 orange, 8 oz blueberry, 1 mango 2 cartons of eggs, naked fruit Cook it now. Use it. Fridge A asks Fridge B: “You own a hazmat suit?” salt & pepper? Scenario: Long awaited guest arrives: “Sorry there’s so little to eat.” no leftovers spinach and goat cheese omelet Fridge for 1 v- thank goodness, those days of being a provider are behind me... No contents, no expectations. limited palate Keep it simple. Fridge A: My owner wants to downsize. He’s talking about trading me in for a styrofoam cooler. only what I need now saving the planet
orange marmelade, raspberry jam, fig preserves raspberry jam with 1 teaspoon left. (The owner of this fridge is both frugal and loyal) packaged, prepared, cooked, jars, bottles cans Take it away. Save it. Fridge B asks Fridge A: “Where’s the beef ?” capers, horseradish, dijon mustard, stone ground mustard, lemonaise, Tiger sauce, truffle oil Scenario: Long awaited guest arrives: “Can I get you a beer, sparkling water, a cheese plate?” all leftovers Fridge B asks Fridge A: You need teeth to eat that stuff ? Just strain, blend, boil or scramble. Fridge for 5 - just in case the kids arrive. Hoard it and they will come. curious palate Mix it up. Fridge B: My owner wants to throw a block party. Here comes the 32 cubic footer. what I might need someday loads of recycling
Easy to decide what’s for dinner.
Toss a coin, test the permutations.
A healthy fridge has lots of circulation.
A healthy fridge has lots of choices.
Cooking implements - pan & spatula
Cooking implements - telephone & car
The owner of this fridge doesn’t worry about where the next meal is coming from. The universe will provide.
The owner of this fridge worries about conserving grains of salt and scraping out the last quarter teaspoon of mayo. The next depression, market crash, hurricane or world-wide drought is just around the corner. - Deanne Schlanger
Everything is The Kitchen Sink Leon Finley Andrew lives in what a real estate person would call a studio apartment. Already there is something exciting about the interpenetration of uses that the space proposes: you cook and eat in the same room where you sleep and have sex. The bathroom is never far from the kitchen. The body is everywhere in this kind of living space, with no clear boundaries that safely hold its activities in their appropriately separate arenas. Andrew’s home is perhaps an even more wondrously confused type of studio apartment. The first thing you notice is the smallest room, which I want to a bathroom because it has a toilet and a shower. But there is a refrigerator sitting next to the toilet, and a pantry full of food across from the shower. It is decidedly both bathroom and kitchen. One can’t help but imagine a naked body toweling off in front of the butternut squash and bags of mixed nuts, or the same body sitting on the toilet and then opening up the fridge to take a swig of milk. If you go to wash your hands, you will find the sink filled with strange objects. Andrew explains that these are plaster casts of food (cereal, watermelon, toast) that he is slowly dissolving with water as he uses the sink. I think about the toothpaste spit and the shavings from his beard flowing over these indigestibles. I wonder if this room is also a studio. I’ve known Andrew for almost a decade. He is the most exuberantly corporeal person I’ve ever spent time with, so it’s no wonder that he would inhabit a space where the body, with all its excesses and misuses spills into everything around him. The body present in this space is, I believe, a queer body. It is a queer space. Nothing is what it seems to be. Everything is slipping. In an area that could be called the kitchen, there are two sinks. One is next to the stove; the other, a few feet away, sits in a slab of granite Andrew found on the side of the road. The first sink, he explained, does not have a working drain, so he attached a short hose that extends to the second sink, which does not have a working faucet. The second sink is also without a working drain, but Andrew installed a pink 5-gallon bucket underneath to catch the water. He demonstrates the system by rinsing off some dishes and then bringing the full bucket around the corner to the toilet, where he empties the water and flushes it away. In this way, the kitchen bleeds into the bathroom, and the functions of one thing are extended into three. I find myself wondering, where is the sink? Is the toilet the sink? What a joy it is to have trouble speaking about something as simple as a sink. To not know what to call it. It’s the same pleasure and discomfort I feel when I don’t know if someone is a boy or a girl. Can something be a sink without a faucet or a drain? Can someone be a boy without a penis? Ambiguous and in-between, Andrew’s apartment shows me the importance of doing the wrong things in the wrong places. It is only in such moments of transgression that I find myself reflected in the world around me. In these forms without clear edges or distinct names I recognize the strangeness that make up my experience of being human. They enter me into a conviviality with my surroundings that I require if I am to ever really know myself or the truth of my own body.
Biting into clay plate and spitting it out // where Collapsing lipsticked kisses into clay // Collapsing Leora biting into clay plate and spitting it out // Submerging head in a Biting into clay plate and spitting it out // where strawberries come clay // Collapsing lipsticked kisses into kissed clay // John in rubber bites // Submerging head in glass cube of pureed peach (camera out bites // where strawberries come from, slicing plaster clay // John in rubber mold, John slipping out of mold, open-faced Submerging head in glass cube of pureed peach (camera attached) slicing plaster strawberries on bandsaw // popping plaster cereal out of slipping out of mold, open-faced body mold, filling body mold with foam, cube of pureed peach (camera attached) // alginate strawberries on bandsaw // popping plaster cereal out of mold, pouring filling body mold with foam, putting foam cast together, covering foam cube of pureed peach (camera attached) // alginate falling cereal out of mold, pouring plaster milk over plaster cereal, plaster foods cast together, covering foam cast in latex, peeling off latex skin, latex skin attached) // alginate falling over plaster copy of my face from hole under eye, milk over plaster cereal, plaster foods left to erode in sink // hand covered latex skin spread open, latex skin sewn back up, pour spouts attached in crotch, latex layers casts of tears on face, final rubber mold for gold casting // Blowing air into latex sink // hand covered in latex, latex hand skin stretched over time into a figure and filled with plaster. latex placed back in mother mold upside down, mother mold and latex removed, balancing final figure. // Blowing air into latex bowl, Bowl of borscht rising and falling.
Upsidedown Man
Eroded Food
Eaten Plates
pigmented plaster
plaster copies of food digested by my sink, toilet, and shower
glazed ceramic plates and half-eaten food
Bowl of Borscht
Hand becoming Figure
15 min. video loop
pigmented plaster
Tears for Sarah
Becoming a peach pit / what the sun looks like through closed eyelids
gold, glass, paper 15 min. video loop
Mom and Dad, thank you for letting me look inside your fridges; Leon, thank you for looking inside of mine. Mom, thank you for making those two fridges talk to each other, and Dad, thank you for the painting. I see it every morning as I wake up, curled on my side staring into the bathroom. - Andrew
FOOT ON FACE 2013, cover MOTHER AND CHILD 2012 TOURIST 2014 UGH, EVERYONE HAS A MATISSE IN THEIR BATHROOM 2013 NOTHING COMPARES TO YOU 2013, video still I’M SINGLE! 2014, installation view SHROUD 2014, digital print FORME PLASTICHE 2014 LISTENER, TALKER 2013, pen on paper TOUCHED 2013, video still HEAD AND VASE 2014, digital print PAPER MOON 2014, video installation PAPER MOON 2014, video still MATCHING JERSEY 2013, paint on canvas and tee-shirt BUSH 2010, video still PRIMATES 2013, dad, me
BECKY SELLINGER
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ArchITecTS ArchITecTS creATe creATe BUILDINGS BUILDINGS — — rAreLy DO We TAKe Them DOWN. rAreLy DO We TAKe Them DOWN. # 10016
INTO TRADITION Around the time that I started listening to punk rock, my Sunday visits to church became less and less frequent, until one day I didn’t go at all. It was only when I wanted to get married, that I suddenly had to answer for a decades-long truancy spree. I made the rounds at several churches, assembling a paper trail back to my childhood, and presented my case to the holy people. When they finally gave me the green light to get in the tux and get married, I was looking forward to avoiding church again. From now on, I thought, I’ll go maybe for weddings and funerals. Boy, was I wrong. That January, my new in-laws invited us to join them for a weekend getaway in Jalisco and Leon. It had been years since I’d visited those states, so I was excited to get out of town and see some sights. Days before our trip, I started noticing bicyclers riding along the side of the highway. At first, I thought they were competing in a race. Clumped together, they would take up entire lanes, causing traffic jams between Queretaro and Mexico City. When pickup trucks joined the procession—each deco-
rated with crowns of flowers, painted blankets, and a shrine strapped to the roof—I realized that this wasn’t a race, but some kind of pilgrimage. Everyday on my way to work, I watched the numbers swell, as the faithful trundled down the Queretaro-bound section of the Mexico City/Queretaro Highway. I asked my wife if she had seen the dudes on bikes. She said, yes, then informed me that, not only were they were part of the annual San Juan de los Lagos pilgrimage, but that’s where we were going. So now I was part of a pilgrimage. In San Juan de los Lagos, Jalisco, we crammed into the Basilica with masses of fellow travelers—some entered walking on their knees, crawling down the nave until they reached the priest, who doused them with holy water. After the ceremonies, we bought souvenirs and ate tortas ahogadas (famous in Jalisco), then continued on to Leon, Guanajuato to visit the state fair, which locals claim is one of the best in Mexico. I’m not sure about that fact, but in my book, it’s right at the top. Leon is also known for their leather footwear, so we went shoe
shopping before heading back to Queretaro. It was a lovely trip. This January once again, my wife told me to clear my schedule, because we were going to San Juan de los Lagos. But this time, she didn’t ask. When I wondered aloud if this was going to happen every year, she told me a story. My wife’s family has been making this trip for almost thirty years. When my mother-in-law was having difficulty getting pregnant, my wife’s grandmother took her to the church at San Juan de los Lagos and pleaded with Cihuapilli to give her a child. Soon after, she conceived and eventually had two daughters. The youngest is now my wife, and as far as she can remember, her family has never missed the yearly visit. Their means of travel is much more comfortable than the dudes on the bikes, but they are just as committed to the journey, as their own personal pilgrimage which I am now a part of. Tagging along again, I asked more questions and took a lot more photos. I even saw a lady being carried out of the church, after she fainted in front of a priest. Had a swell time all around.
nice way to finish them. I went to Lowe’s and talked to the paint lad She recommended an oil based primer (use Rustoleum) and a good exterior latex hous paint. I picked the color “Swim” and als picked up a quart of white exterior sem
Emily (I think she’s bringing up a couple more for me to finish). Scott has a spray paint deal that hooks up with his monster size air compressor, so he thought that would be a
Cheryl and I were hitting a few garage sales a couple of weeks ago and I found the green and white chairs (not for sale, but stashed away in a garage) I asked if they were for sale and sure enough – got them both for 15.00. After I brought them home, I noticed the original color underneath the seat. It was a great 50s aqua color. I got the bright idea to refinish all of our metal chairs. The other dark green ones have been around here for quite some time. Two of them are from the original Thudin cabin a couple of doors down and one came from
dy. ed se so mi-
gloss. The paint for the project cost under 30.00! I made a few phone calls hoping to be able to get them sandblasted, but at 50.00 per chair, I voted “NO”!! I proceeded to sand and clean up the chairs. Scott got me going with the primer and we figured out how to hang the chairs from the rafters to make sure all the parts get painted. Also got some face masks for all the spraying going on. After the primer dried, I painted the arms and legs white.
After they were dry, I wrapped strips of newspaper around them and t a p e d them up while I painted the aqua color on the seats and backs. I had some technical problems with the aqua paint – it was quite a bit thicker than both the primer and the white, so I had to thin it down a lot more than the others – also had to take
a break to unclog the spray deal. Once the aqua dried, I removed the newspaper strips and touched up the white agin and VOILA! They turned out nice. Bonus – I sprayed a couple of nasty looking plastic resin chairs we’ve had hanging around forever – they turned out good too. They still have the dings and dents that they always had, but I think I’ve given them another few years to hang around the campfire!
The Hollows series is one of my absolute favorites. It is right up there in my “BIG THREE” urban fantasy/paranormal series, along with Karen Marie Moning’s Fever series and Patricia Briggs’s Mercy Thompson books. I’d read the first book, Dead Witch Walking, in 2006 and quickly devoured all the rest that were available. Since then, I’ve not-so-patiently waited for each new annual release, hoping that the chemistry I felt sure was there between Rachel and a certain male character would FINALLY come to fruition. Rachel Morgan is the heroine of the Hollows series. She is a witch who, by the time we read The Undead Pool, has also turned into a day-walking demon and has a cluster of quirky and diverse friends. She lives in a “PreTurn” church (Pre-Turn meaning before the plague that wiped out a large population of humans and evened the playing field enough for the supernatural folks to emerge) with her best friends Ivy Tamwood, a vampire, and Jenks, a pixy. In The Undead Pool, we see Rachel and her posse of Ivy, Jenks, a werewolf pack, some gargoyles and
Emily‘s Review
other assorted humans, vampires, and elves try to figure out why sporadic waves of magic seem to be spontaneously occurring, causing chaos to erupt in the not-so-stable relationships between the species in Cincinnati and its neighboring supernatural city, The Hollows. In the midst of the chaos caused by the waves of magic, Rachel has confusing feelings of attraction for Trent Kalamack, a super successful and sexy businessman that she is working as a bodyguard for. Rachel believes Trent is planning to become engaged (again) to Ellasbeth, the mother of his child, but somehow, she can’t quite get that to matter. Trent and Rachel have had a love/hate relationship for years, with all the necessary sexual tension and innuendo to make things super interesting. Frustratingly (for me, anyway), neither of them have any interest in finding a semblance of harmony or acting on this tension. Well, it seemed
that was the case…until now. It must be said, I’ve been Team Trent forever! I have been anxiously waiting for Rachel and Trent to wake up and realize that they belong together. I’ve watched Rachel go through some serious duds and, sadly, lose a few good ones along the way, so I went into The Undead Pool with my fingers crossed that maybe she and Trent would finally act on all the sexual angst that has been building up for years. Did they hook up, I’m sure you want to know? Bwahahaha…I will neither confirm nor deny. You’ll just have to read it for yourself. I will only say I was dang surprised by the route their relationship took in this book. As usual, Kim Harrison’s writing is a wonderful combination of humor and depth. She has a gift for making complex, fantastic story lines believable and understandable. You go right along with her when she delves into new territory, both in supernatural subject matter and world building. And the best part of there being all these larger, complex theories to discover? We still get the pleasure of hearing the story from inside Rachel’s head, which is a fun and crazy place indeed! In writing this review, I surprised myself when I realized I would not recommend The Undead Pool to a Hollows newbie. There is just so much background that you need to know to get the full impact of the story. The Hollows books really should be read in order to best appreciate them,
so if you haven’t started them yet, get moving! There are twelve just ready and waiting for you! Bottom Line, I loved it. Can you tell? Did I gush-eth too much? I can’t help it. It really was good and brought me right back into Rachel’s world. I have never been let down by the Hollows series – they stay captivating and interesting. They seem to be subtly moving toward a finale that I’m sure Ms. Harrison is busy using her creative genius to craft, and while I cannot wait for it, I am also glad it did not end with this book. I have another one to look forward to once again! For those who are fans and have been awaiting this book to find out what Rachel and her posse are up to, I ask you, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? For those urban fantasy or paranormal romance readers out there who are not (yet) Hollow junkies, I recommend you start at the beginning and give this series a try! Wine/Beverage Pairing: Coffee – which seems to be Rachel’s beverage of choice in this book. Best served when made by a sleepy-faced Trent.
New Orleans
is not a skate-friendly city. The roots of hundred-year-old live oaks riddle the sidewalks, and potholes abound, filled with old mattresses or battered orange cones. In poor neighborhoods, Hurricane Katrina destroyed unpaved streets. Somehow, this almost unskatable landscape is the birthplace of a new kind of skateboard community, subculture, and unique Southern style, paralleling the rise of Lil Wayne and Pharell. After the storm, instead of getting caught-up in the city’s violence, kids started grinding curbs, launching off debris, and flying through the air. Older skaters observed the lack of sanctioned space and responded by fundraising, pouring concrete, and negotiating with city planners. Despite bulldozings and police crackdowns, they’ve successfully nurtured a DIY skate spot under a highway overpass, down the road from the prominent AfricanAmerican college, Xavier University. This is Parisite Skate Park and the skateboarders who call it home.
Dear Mr. Tesla Have you Austrian & English patents on that destructive terror which you are inventing? - & if so, won’t you set a price upon them & commission me to sell them? I know cabinet ministers of both countries - & of Germany too; likewise William II. I shall be in Europe a year, yet. Here in the hotel the other night when some interested men were discussing means to persuade the nations to join with the Czar & disarm, I advised them to seek something more sure than disarmament by perishable paper-contract - invite the great inventors to contrive something against which fleets & armies would be helpless, & thus make war thenceforth impossible. I do not suspect that you were already attending to that, & getting ready to introduce into the earth permanent peace & disarmament in a practical & mandatory way. I know you are a very busy man, but will you steal time to drop me a line? Sincerely yours, Mark Twain
I’m in week 3 of my training program for Grandma’s Marathon, which takes place on June 21st. I’ve officially signed up for the race, there's no turning back now, I usually wait until a few weeks into training just to see how my ankles, knees and hips respond to the increase of miles. So far so good. Just this week I’ve finally been able to start running outside, as Minnesotans know, this winter has been a
Just stepped out
the door and off for a quick ru n, I love that much of the snow has melted off the roads and I’m not as worried about falling.
bear! With so many days below zero I’ve taken comfort in the warmth of my basement on the treadmill logging miles while catching up on reality tv shows. Training for a marathon is a challenge. I’ve found training for Grandma’s this year to test my will power and patience. Trying to be super mom is tough enough while working full time, throw in a marathon and home renovation and I’ve found that the only way to get the running in
This picture was ta
half way through
ken about
my run, the sky looks really co ol here.
that I need is to run in the morning, or after dark, or whenever I can squeeze in a few miles. I was working on a project for This Magazine and They asked me to take some photos while out on a run, to catch a glimpse of what it’s like training in the winter. It was kind of fun, usually I’m out running, listening to my music and decompressing from the day. I don’t always stop and take time to enjoy the scenery, but this run I did and I was really impressed with some of the pictures that I came back with. I love love love that I’m back to running, my ankle is feeling good, my spirits are lifted and I’m training hard to set my PR and qualify for Boston, ‘cause as a runner that’s what we do!
JAKE BORNDAL'S SQUID SHEEK - VOLUME 1
mirriors are all supposed to be 'accurate' to one degree, but a flat mirror will generate a different view compared to a mirror thats concave obviously. but i also notice that in the few mirrors i have in my home, i look different in each, for example, according to people i know they seem to think that i'm not attractive (how cruel people can be ah) but when i look at myself in my mirror in my living room, i truely see myself as an attractive man, whom if i was female would happily date me, can't explain it, but
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One of the artists there did this little tabletop volcano mountain of what looked like shit, but was actually fudge, and I had a piece of that. The eally good chopped-vegetable salad there. It was like edamame... I honestly don't remember, I was so tired. Then I went to Osteria Mozza an mozzarella that was fantastic. I had this spicy Calabrian pasta with white anchovies and chilies, and an unbelievable, totally phenomenal mixed ust the greens. Oh, and then I had this ribolita, which was genius, amazing. I think it's kale and potatoes or something. It was like a brick of rib made into a patty and then browned. I don't know if that's a new way of doing it or if that's a classic way. I didn't order it, Mario [Batali] sent i f Morellino, a red Italian wine. Then I went to LAX and got on the plane and went home.
en I took some of the people who helped me to this place around the corner called BLD for a drink and had a glass of Carménère and a bite o nd had this amazing crostini with mozzarella, artichoke, pine nuts, and raisins. It wasn't really mozzarella, it was a cross between ricotta an d-greens salad on the side. Being in L.A. and eating those greens they grow there, there was nothing about the dressing that was amazing, it wa bolita, and I think it's normally more of a stew. It reminded me of fried grits, not that it has that texture at all, but kind of that stewy thing that' it out. He knows me well enough now not to send out 10,000 things, because as you can already see, I eat too many things! Then I had a glas
your pretty thanks what’s one mistake you keep repeating? waking up everyday what is the most important thing in a relationship? Communication and making sure u like each other no matter what do you prefer lakes, rivers, or oceans? the ocean
barbie ISN'T a real womanget a grip. My dog is all messed up now because Littlest Pet Shops have Big bobble head, and he doesn't... poor thing... and yes I'm a fat chick who used to be skinny!
F is fo r the fog th intellig at turn ent per s a fa s o n into irly There a lump are tim o e f s je that I lly. an amo actuall eba ha y think s a hig The fo her IQ g has than I me lo do. and th o king fo ey're o r g n la sses top of scramb my he ling fo ad. It's r the k in my eys tha hand. t are r It has m ight middle e standin of the g g in r o cery sto the what I was su re won pposed dering I'm no to buy. t being pessim in a po is tic, I'm sitive m thinkin anner. this fla g I'm po re is w s it ive tha in ning. I feel be t really tter bu want to t my th cooper o ughts ating. are no I know t that th o ught c for you an do r outlo so mu ok and from th ch h e lp distr e pain a c t th y As I research right brain and left brain I see First, at thare startling fact. ovefunction, ou r every atens fiber o to ta meditation does grow the gray matter sin brain. I'm not saying you have to f k o your y e o much ur bein that att g. Ther it e sit cross legged and say ohm but somewsort of quiet time focusing on nothing but 's ude ca hen ch n help ronic p and than an life, waves relaxing your body and getting your brain toissomething lower you de downain a p art of fi n it e your body and ly ndoes attitude thinking beta level would be highly beneficial. Second, eed toaffect your in chec keep y k. our I know it will go in the direction of your thoughts. this bu t I' m doing it Remember, the power of positive thinking? having . a hard ti me helps with The beta level is most associated with our normal waking state. Beta analysis, logical thinking and active attentive function. Stress can throw the beta level into overdrive. I think that I'm very familiar with the beta level in overdrive. Negative thinking brings cortisol and other lovely things that are only intended for the flight or fight syndrome. That syndrome is there to keep us alive. It's not there to be used on a continual basis or as a way to live. That impacts your body in a very unhealthy way. Negativity also obscures your thinking and stands between you and your realization. I heard this today and pondered on this for awhile. While I have talked myself into many, many things; self realization and having the ability to move beyond my fears isn't one of them. It would be interesting to find out how much I could really do if I didn't talk myself out of things due to fear or my inherently cynical way of thinking.
HAVE BEEN OUT OF THE BUSINESS FOR ABOUT HALF A YEAR NOW AND I HAVEN’T BEEN UP TO TOO MUCH. I HAVE MOVE NE PROBLEM… I’M BROKE. I DIDN’T REALLY PLAN ON GETTING OUT OF THE BUSINESS I JUST DID. AND I DIDN’T HAVE A MISS MAKING PORN, IT GAVE ME EVERYTHING I REALLY WANTED AT THE TIME… MONEY AND TONS OF SEX! LOL BUT IT PPERTUNITY TO BE REUNITED WITH MY FAMILY. I HADN’T SEEN THEM IN YEARS AND I KNEW IT WAS WHAT I HAD TO D O MAKE BUT IT WAS SOMETHING I JUST HAD TO DO. I THINK ABOUT IT SOMETIMES AND GET REALLY SAD. I LOVED M EXT SEMESTER, I’M DEBATING BETWEEN NURSING AND BEAUTY SCHOOL… MAYBE SOMEONE CAN GIVE ME SOME FEEDB REGON! I HAVE BEEN HAVING SO MUCH FUN SINCE I HAVE BEEN BACK ;)
ED BACK HOME TO OREGON, AND I HAVE BEEN FOCUSING MORE ON FAMILY AND GETTING INTO SCHOOL. THERE’S ONL A JOB OR ANYTHING LINED UP. I AM CURRENTLY CLEANING HOUSES FOR A LIVING AND LET ME TELL YOU IT’S NOT EASY T’S NOT REALLY SOMETHING I COULD WRITE HOME ABOUT. I BASICALLY QUIT BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT TO PASS UP TH DO, PLUS I KEPT GETTING SCREWED OVER BY PEOPLE IN THE BIZ. I DON’T KNOW IF IT WAS THE SMARTEST DECISIO MY JOB AND THE FANS WERE GREAT! I DON’T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT IT IS I AM GOING TO DO WHEN I GET INTO SCHOO BACK. AS FOR MY LOVE LIFE I AM CURRENTLY SINGLE AND LOVING IT! WHO KNEW THERE WERE SO MANY HOT GUYS I
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Paige is GORGEOUS! Maddie, and Paige have the cutest relationship ever. Paige doesn’t need to be as good as Chloe and Maddie. She’s great in her own way. The older Paige gets the more convinced I become that she could make it as a model. Paige is my favorite. I wish she would stand up for herself more. She would improve so much if Kelly didn’t pull all her solos. I think Paige may have issues m with anxiety. I have an anxiety disorder and since season one I’ve at e e ed to how I was when I was a kid. It’s foolish to blame Abby for causing an anxiety seen warning signs from Paige similar t disorder. That’s often in your blood. But I hope Kelly starts treating this like a medical issue (more people need to treat mental health problems like physical health problems) and tell Abby to ease off — talk to Paige differently, maybe. Paige shined in gold digger. Paige deserves more attention! I feel bad for Paige and Mackenzie. They have both had to live in the shadow of their older sibling being Abby’s favorite. Paige is very mature for her age. When she talks and stuff, you see she acts older (not in a bad way), I think that being in competitions and all the stress has made her grow up, and the only time we see her being a kid is when the stress becomes to much and she breaks down and starts crying. Have people forgotten that Paige is nearly the same age as Brooke was when the show started? And I’m proud of her. Because quite frankly, she’s doing pretty darn good for what she goes through (Abby yelling at her, being compared to her sister). Paige melts my heart. She is such a team player! She only has positive things to say and she tries so hard! At this point, I h prstanding andtotetwo adults. If I were Cathy or Anthony, I oblems) up would kill someone to look like Paige. I was so proud of Paige for ll A bb for having to answer to her when would be ashamed of myself not only for trash-talking a little girl in the first place, but y to ea she called me out. se Paige is the most PRETTIEST child I have ever seen her and Brooke should start modeling because they will go far. ore (m
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.;;;;. the end is the thinnest of the thin hard to see from most angles and not so rewarding but it is intact, made from the hardest material it is a copier more than a doer rarely touched if you can please start from the middle then get to the end, and never see the beginning
NOA GLAZER Cover: Untitled 2014, wood, cotton cushion and floor. Inside cover: Grass 2014 digital print. Untitled 2013 digital print. Summoner detail, 2014, installation, custom made straw witch hat by Ignatius Creegan in Petersburg, VA. Chalk Holder detail, 2014, Alaskan yellow cedar wood and mirror. Untitled 2014, found cropped image from an encyclopedia, N-Q. Untitled 2013, aluminum sphere filled with camel's milk from Missouri in a basement at 1712 E. Main Street, Richmond VA. Untitled 2014, digital image and text. Summoner detail, 2014, installation with glass, vaseline, graphite, air conditioner, black mud and straw. Untitled 2014, scanned zerox. Untitled 2014, router bit display at Pleasants hardware store, 2024 W. Broad Street, Richmond VA. The Abyss page 188, by Marguerite Yourcenar. Summoner detail, 2014, installation with glass, vaseline, graphite, air conditioner, black mud and straw.
OMRI ZIN R E C O N S T R U C T E D N A R R AT I V E S
When I grow up I wanna be a steam shovel The future is but the obsolete in reverse… Vladimir Nabokov
Digging Up the Past I’ve been obsessing about steam shovels - something to do with digging up the past, a metaphor that I think is double-sided. I want to reproduce this object, or parts of it, as a way of getting my hands on a thing from the past while at the same time separating it from its history. I’ve been asking myself this question about history, about whether it’s ever possible to reveal the past, and maybe this is where the other side of the metaphor kicks in. The shovel is a tool for uncovering what’s below the surface, for reaching the unseen and un-seeable, but it is also a tool for moving earth, for reshaping and sculpting the planet, for constructing the future, and in that sense, disregarding the past. The paradox of the digging machine is that at the exact same moment it reveals some buried secret, it will most likely destroy it. I was watching a documentary the other day about a team of researchers who discover a prehistoric rainforest in
the middle of a giant coalmine in present-day Colombia. The film opens with a close-up of monster machines tearing away at the earth, scooping up magnificent amounts of it. One day, a sharp-eyed geology student spots a fossil of a leaf, and at that moment, all the machines fade from the screen and a bunch of people appear, on their knees with little rock hammers and brushes, tapping away at individual pieces of rock. What are we actually looking for when we dig up the past? Memory works in a funny way. You think you remember something and then that becomes your memory of it. Memory materializes into memorabilia - nostalgic artifacts meant to vouch for the existence, and importance, of the past. In the film about the prehistoric jungle, the scientists are hunting for fossils from the biggest snake that ever lived. Eventually they find all its parts, including the skull, and are able to form a detailed reconstructed model of the creature in its entirety. Only then are the machines allowed back into the mine - long
after the initial discovery, but not a moment before the model is complete - as if having a visual indicator somehow increases the value of knowledge about the past. Quite frankly, I think it’s a little odd that even memories of the most horrific events in human history still have some echo of nostalgia about them. In Israel, you almost never hear anyone speak about the Holocaust without inflecting it with heroic overtones about the triumph of the human spirit. We revise the past to make our present and future more spectacular, which certainly has very little to do with memory. Apart from being a metaphor about timelessness and subjectivity, or a fantasy about inverting the redundant, unreachable past, I think my obsession with steam shovels comes from pure delusion. A theatrical fascination with an amicable alien object from another time and place. A friendly monster made of solid steel. Next to it I feel a comfort, like being cloaked with shock absorbers that cushion the friction between my body and the incomprehensible, impenetrable earth. A Brief Moment of Speculative History As the crown jewel and capital instrument of the Industrial Revolution, the steam shovel was a technological marvel
that embodied the 19th century ideal of progress. The relatively new and powerful steam engine – the muscle that never wearies – combined what is perhaps the most primordial relation between man and earth - the act of digging - with twenty-five times the labor capacity of its mining predecessors, literally expanding the horizons of what was humanly possible. The steam shovel’s massive earth-moving ability made it the key piece of equipment on mammoth-sized projects that included digging the foundations of early skyscrapers, building wonders such as the Holland Tunnel, and pulling off one of the greatest engineering feats of all time - the Panama Canal. The steam shovel was the first mechanical colossus to become an abundant, inseparable dweller in the Industrial landscape. It was a machine spectacle that was seen everywhere on a regular basis. I can imagine parents pointing it out to their children in awe and admiration, as passersby gazed for hours at its unremitting appetite for chunky servings of earth. It was the beginning of the theater of construction infused with an unapologetic parade of destruction, thus securing its place in the cabinet of historical wonders.
A Practical Wonder It is my belief that the steam shovel established a crucial psychophysical pivot point in human perception and our experience of machines, not only because of its popular appeal and prevalent distribution in urban and rural areas alike, but also because of the very nature of its physical form. A mere twenty-one years before the steam shovel was invented by William Otis (a cousin of the elevator entrepreneur Elisha Otis), a young British novelist named Mary Shelley anonymously published what would become the voiceover for man-made in man’s image machine technology that will echo through the ages. Although these machines required a human operator, the first steam shovel designs did not take the operator into consideration. Some of the later designs often carried wooden shed-like houses on platforms to cover and protect the mechanical components used to power the machines, making the operator barely visible, crammed among clusters of giant steel clockworks. Thus, the machine became a ghostly theater, resembling automata of the 18th century designed to arouse astonishment from enthusiastic spectators. The earliest automated machines date back to the 1st century in Alexandria, Egypt, mostly in the form of elaborate, water-powered, mechanical fountains. Frances Terpak writes: "Though necessity and practical innovation are the obvious drivers of technological advance, imagination was the prerequisite in creating the preprogrammed complex machinery known as automata." The steam shovel was no exception. This technological leap, though driven by practical necessity, lacked nothing in imaginative design and engineering and, much like the automata, drew influence from the natural world. William Smith Otis devised an apparatus carrying out the same actions
as a person with a shovel, yet sparked with the same spirit of imaginative invention that motivated the automaton engineers before him. Perhaps, precisely because of its indifference to theater and entertainment, the steam shovel was the first mechanical object that appeared to come to life, not unlike Dr. Frankenstein’s hybrid humanoid monster. The steam shovel was a practical tool, but its anthropomorphic theatricality imbued it with an eerie presence, in-between living and non-living. To some, it was a machine with a mechanical body part - an arm - but not just any arm, a behemoth of an arm; a hallucinatory, monstrous solid steel upgrade to the organic tissue, debased human counterpart. To others, it was an eating machine that took enormous chunky bites out of the earth, making the solid surface under their feet seem softer and more penetrable than before. Initially used in railroad projects, the steam shovel was quickly recruited by the coalmining industry. In this setting, the spectacle of its earth-devouring abilities acquired an edge of consciousness, as it chewed away at the substance of its own energy source – an uncanny machine constantly feeding and refueling itself.
The Steam Shovel THE STEAM-SHOVEL
There was an unsightly arm And a cupped hand with three crusted fingers. The hand sank into earth and bulged with it: Then swung aloft in sudden exaltation…. And the seamy, blotched man beside me said: “I’ve stood here for two hours watching that steam-shovel— Can’t seem to get enough of it.” I stood for hours, but I did not see the shovel. I saw the man in smirched blue Jerking a rope at the precise moment When the laden hand dipped over a freight-car— His strained wet face, and his eyes pressed to specks. I saw the knotted-up man at the engine, His face dead and dented like old tin. (Life to him is the opening and closing of levers, And heavy sleep.) When I walked away the two men were fixed paintings In the little art-gallery of my mind, Where portraits are weighed well before admitted. . . . The steam-shovel?—I had forgotten it. Maxwell Bodenheim
Notes on LaKanye Negotiating and Distinguishing Against the Real, Imaginary, and Symbolic... The Ego’s capacity for the human to develop into it’s maturity is an instinctual drive that should be progressive. The construction of our identity is formed through the acknowledgement of desire in the other, and the lack in ourselves. We fill that desire with a ‘Thing’ (Objet petit a) as a place holder to avert our way around the pain of not having that trait. By monotonously redisplaying and collaging together these Things that construct our identity, it is an attempt to look awry and investigate the birth of these images as a signifier in the ego. ... LaKanye is the re-presentation(reblogging) of Things as a process of self reflection and criticality. To ponder the birth of these images is a way to bring I beyond the ENTRAPMENT of the object of desire. To pin down the origin of an unattainable idea within an attainable object reveals that it is constructed through images hustled by multiple forms of medias, products and advertisements. Destroying the entrapment of the underlying idea within the desired object transforms the Thing into something you need, something you are. Kill self. You have to attain the desired to kill the desire. This is the only way of stopping this perpetuation. ... LaKanye is about the archiving and displaying of the multiplicity of culminated Things These can be personified through multiple object forms: clothing, furniture, language(verbal and visual), likes, shares, and reblogs (Instagram, facebook, tumblr...). They come in a form of associated clusters, chained together through a collage of products, sounds, words, images, and objects. This menagerie of Things creates a web of disparate signifiers that scratch at the surface of I’s psychological constructs. There is http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=bfvxtL9wO4w in the monotonous hoarding of these Things, and it is very important to reflect upon and isolate the desire within these tropes ... LaKanye does not attempt to categorize, separate or limit Things within the an anthroprocentrized view of understanding, interacting and perceiving. It can take on many forms of objectness: the physical,virtual and psychological. It also rejects categorization of identity construction within regional, economic, racial, sexual, and religious biases. ... Categories within LaKanye The Mask The absence, or place holder for the absence of fixed relations between signifier and signified. A realm of surface appearances which are deceptive, The signifier is symbolic, the signified is the imaginary. Imaginary identification is a locus of alienation, narcissistic Imaginary is rooted in the subjects relationship to the body This can be be based on perception -http://www.moma.org/ modernteachers/ref_pages/set_scene_pics/images/mai8_2.jpg . The idea is already materialized because it has been commodified through perception. Metaphor It is poetic, and manifest of the symptom. The moment of pause when there is a gathering of signifiers in such a way that is how I sees it. I cant grasp it, touch it, or have It; but I sees the object of desire -the thing that has been displaced by the act of signification. Expressed in a displaced manner, it carries the awareness of the lack of the object of desire. ... Examples Associated clusters Big Tymers- Stay fly http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iCd6UHR-3I Gucci Mane’s chains http://splashysplash.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/gucci-mane-iced- out-ice-cream-cone-chain1017-piece.jpeg
the walking Shawn Taylor
Wandering through new environments, clicking and surfing through architectures of commerce, art, and collaboration, the experience of physical and digital become psychologically phenomenological. Time is devoid of objects when one displaces all destinations. Spaces constantly in flux pronounce the loss of time where the visual complexities of the past, present and future coexist in an infinite arrangement of proposals for new understanding. It is easy to succumb to the immeasurable pace of information and not take the time to realize the vastness of the scale and textures of objects created within the flatness of the screen and the interfaces used to experience their qualities. The way these objects feel, reflect, and absorb light admit evidence of a new set of materials, whose properties are already being used as tools for production and consumption.
Through a post-structuralist understanding of the atomistic properties of symbols and materials, there is a constant rearrangement of morphemes that create new meanings within their relationships and interactions. The intricacies of diphthongs recall the synchronic comparison of two languages, categorizing phenomena typologically, whereas a diachronic comparison may look for common origins or causes of these phenomena’s genetic relationships that questions their Lamarkian evolution.
The composition of units and their properties become more real than the whole. The object is never ‘there’ but exists only as a component to the underlying constructs of the system. The system(s) may not be apparent to us or present in physical or visual terms, rather they become both partially present and partially absent. It is about everything, especially that which is not ‘there’. Within cybernetic systems, the entropy of information overload leads us to a saturation point that finds us lost within a reverberating web of interconnected signifiers. The epistemological overlapping of systems resists the universality of interpretation and creates a numinon that relies on the space, time, and causality of its existence, as a lens for understanding this phenomenon. Inspiration from the natural world fuels the eternal drive to experiment and push things in the farthest direction they can go. Once paired and layered, levels of ‘actual’ materials fuse to create new ones, and the discovery of the properties of smaller materials within a chunk of raw earth leads to the creation of new matter, new spaces, and sub-atomic levels. Things operating so far from our grasp extend the agency of the incomprehensible. The problem and solution have never been higher at stake. On one hand, we hold to the constraints of cartesian thinking (‘I think, therefore I am’); on the other, we are already on the path to — though I do not know if it exists or thinks, it definitely is. Organic mimicry mutates from nature and is reprocessed through digital technologies to produce metamaterials that overshoot future speculations of the now. Entropic memes that spread horizontally in the now depict just how fleeting a moment ideas will last. When these objects become intercepted from their constant state of import and export, an algorithm is recorded and needs to be solved. This evolved species of material has as much to do with an external super-world as is does with our own, and the physicality of its representation allows us to look at the atomic and geologic properties that created it, and to process dyadic components into tools for building new materials and languages.
The anxieties of the simulacra have become realities, but now when they are placed, side by side, everything becomes simulacra: layers of neon signs on top of layers of TV images, on top of layers of film images, and more and more virtual stuff. The virtual as defined by Deleuze “is not opposed to ‘real’ but opposed to ‘actual,’ whereas ‘real’ is opposed to ‘possible’.” Yet, there is still a preference to separate them into what is real and not real. It seems there is a stigma that rejects these new materials as not-real, only simulation, but by rejecting the Principle of Sufficient Reason, there can be no justification for the necessity of physical laws. While the universe may be ordered in such-and-such way, there is no reason it could not be otherwise. If you were to think of the environment of a screen as another dimension with its own set of laws, just as ‘actually real’ as the one our physical bodies inhabit, a more fulfilled understanding of how our consciousness operates within the universe can be revealed, or at least more comfortably come to terms with how it does not. We need an antidote to that. We need to acknowledge that we’ve built these layers of virtuality and that they are real. They are real virtual. They might not be actual, but they are real—and all of them run on material platforms that inform our sources of power and social structure.
Artworks of the 21st Century have adopted a New Romantic sensibility in the way that they absorb these environments as mirrors and project them towards a future of new possibilities. This general idea of the Romantic as oscillating between attempt and failure—or as Schlegel put it, between enthusiasm and irony—is sufficient. It is from this hesitation that the Romantic inclination towards the tragic, sublime, and uncanny stem, as aesthetic categories lingering between projection and perception, coherence and chaos. Objects reflecting an environment, exported as non-sites, presciently stand-in for the transit of objects from the physical to the virtual—and their many stops in-between and back again—as they morph and fuse with other objects throughout their teleportation. Romanticism provides them with the vocabulary and iconography to express a dissatisfaction about a present that is increasingly uninhabitable and a desire for a future whose blueprint has yet to be drawn.
These reconsiderations of how to view landscape allow a new understanding of what constitutes the experience of the natural and can be directly linked with the virtual inexactitudes that exist within digital interfaces and network technologies. Through the dissection and transplantation of space, the creation of a new horizon is at the helm, and another chamber within the 4th dimension is able to be navigated. Artworks are visualizing this dispersion and, therefore, act as topological maps. They consist of actual and virtual materials with myriad actual and virtual manifestations scattered through actual and virtual channels.
Walking through this new nature reveals new species and inspires the representation of a site that revolves within a cycle of infinite speculation. The crossing of boundaries between physical, digital, and speculative space flays the cosmic layers of our psyche. An imageepistemological shift, far from being contained within current modes of visual representation, bears a deep affinity to the theorization of temporality and subjectivity in post-internet aesthetics. The ontology of artifacts recovered from the archeology of this environment operates as a monument to a historical language yet to be dated and deciphered. As we locate ourselves within the center of the jetty, we must not only detach but vacate ourselves from the real—jumping-off and collectively positioning ourselves within an ancient lineage of architects and explorers of worlds we have yet to discover.
staylo
o.info/archeology
CUM FOSSA LARYNGOSPASM T R Y I N G
T O
D R O W N
W E E K E N D , I N G
H I M
R E C I P R O C I T Y ,
I N H A L E
M Y
T W E E N
T W O
O U T S I D E
O N E
S U C C E S S F U L L Y B O Y
T O
S U B M E R G E
P A R T S
D I R E C T
S E V E N
V I E W
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T H E
H I M ,
A L L
A N D
S U C C E S S
Y E A R
F O L L O W I N G
D E M O N S T R A T -
H I M S E L F
I N S T E A D ,
C H L O R I N A T E D
T H E
W E E K E N D ,
C O N V I N C E D
A L L
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R I S I N G
B E -
O L D S ,
A D U L T S
C O M P O S D E D
F R I E N D L Y
A N D
F A M I L A R
CHRIS TAKES INTO ACCOUNT HIS LIFE CYCLES AND PHOTOACTIVITY THE ADULTS TIRE. THE BOYS SHARE THE GLASS MASK TO FIND QUARTERS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE POOL. THE GLASS IS A SHELL. T H E
M A I N
W I T H
T E E N
O L D
C H R I S
T O
C H A R A C H T E R S S E N S A T I O N
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R E H E A R S E ,
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T H E
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W I T H O F
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C A M E R A ,
J U S T I N / C H R I S
T H E
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Y E A R
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T H E Y K I S S -
T H E I R
E N -
W H O O P S
A SUBMATURE MICROCOSMIC MORAL ECONOMY THEY SAY AGE IS JUST A NUMBER BUT I BET I MAKE YOU UNDER BABY THE SUN, CHLORINE CHEMICOTHEOLOGY IN CONFLICT, BURNS THE EYES PUTS A GLARE ON THE SURFACE OF THE POOL, SUBMERGED INVISABLE TO ALL BUT THE SUBMERGED SUBJECT NOT NAUPLII TOO YOUNG TO FEED THIS WAY 24 ON 16 8.5”x11” 23 ON 28 17”x22” 7 ON 7 H A T C H
A N D
F E E D
T R A N S P A R E N T T O A C T I V E
H A T C H E R Y ’ S
S H E L L
N A U P L I I
W A T E R
D E N S I T I E S
M O U T H
O F
T H E
H A T C H E S F R O M
U P
A N D
D O M E S T I C
WATER LEVEL MUST BE LEVEL
V A R I A B L Y A N D
S A L I N E , O U T
O F
M O U T H S
L E A D S
T I N T E D
T H R O U G H T H E O F
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P R E M A T U R E S Y S T E M ,
O T H E R S
P H O -
G R A D A T I N G T O
T H E
P R E M A T U R E
IM WRITING TO YOU TO TELL YOU ABOUT A LITTLE GUY WHOS VERY DEAR TO ME AND WHO I THINK YOU MIGHT CARE TO KNOW ABOUT C OMPOSUR E TOO K NOWN UNDER DOME AND ITS OUT OF THIS THAT IM MOST HUMBLY WONDERING IF YOU WOULD CONSIDER SENDING US FOR HIM A SIGNED HEADSHOT OF YOURS SUBMATUR E BOY BUOYANT IMA G INE S DEPTH AND DR OWNS DI SCONTI NUOUS
H2(g) + Cl2 > 2 HCl(g) W O R R I E D I M A G E
T H A T
I N
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S O M E H O W
E N D A N G E R D
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VERY PLEASED WITH THIS PRODUCT ONE BOY PERCHED POOLSIDE, PITS SPLAYED, CHEST FLOODED, WATCHING THE ADULTS. ONE BOY, BREATH HELD, MASK CLAD, SUBMERGED TO THE CROTCH OF THE OTHER, CONSUMES UNTIL BREATHLESS, ERECTS TO OCCUPY THE OTHER, AND TRADING OFF THE GLASS MASK, PERPETUATES THE CYCLE FORGIVE ANY INCONVENIENCE OR CONFUSION N O
P A N I C ,
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I N T E R T I D A L , Q U I C K H E A R T
A N D
B R A I N B O O
L A T -
S I L E N T B O O
I L L G A S M
FLIP ME LIKE A QUARTER I’LL CROSS ANY BORDER WALK OVER THE WATER TO MAKE YOUR DAY
S E A
M O N K E Y
D O
Yet all that day I was heavy with grief within and in the trouble of my mind
I begged of You in my own fashion to heal my pain; but You would not - I imagine because you meant to impress upon my memory by this proof how
strongly the bond of habit holds the mind even when it no longer feeds upon deception. The idea came to me to go and bathe, for I had heard that the bath
- which the Greeks call balaneion - is so called because it drives anxiety from
the mind And this also I acknowledge to Your mercy, O Father of orphans, that I bathed and was the same man after as before. The bitterness of grief had not sweated out of my heart. Then I fell asleep, and woke again to find
my grief not a little relieved. And as I was in bed and no one about, I said over those true verses that Your servant Ambrose wrote of You: God, Creator of all things,
Ruler of heaven, who robes the day
With shimmering light, and makes the night. For sleep’s release:
That quiet rest should give again
To burdened bodies zest for work,
And lift the weights from tired minds, Unravelling all anxious knots of grief.
St. Augustine
There is no one who wants to be asleep always - for every sound judgement
holds that it is best to be awake - yet a man often postpones the effort of
shaking himself awake when he feels a sluggish heaviness in the limbs, and settles pleasurably into another doze though he knows he should not, because it is time to get up.
St. Augustine
It is 7:30 a.m. right now, I just woke up. I was having a strange dream that
I had shot and killed an old man who was a gangster in Brooklyn, and as I walked up the street the police caught me and were instructing me to put
down the gun and stand against the wall. As I stood there I was thinking "oh my god, I will be in prison for the rest of my life". I could feel and hear
the subway traveling by in the ground beneath me and I thought of all the people on that train and how free they were and how I would never be free again. Then, somehow, I willed myself to wake up and I was very thankful
to be in my own bed, a free man! Not a good dream at all, but now I am back in reality and all is ok!
Daniel
Jesse:
You are not how I remember you from class. I mean, like, not at all. Walter:
Yeah, well, I gotta go. Jesse:
Wait. Wait. Hold up. Tell me why you’re doing this. Seriously. Walter:
Why do you do it? Jesse:
Money, mainly. Walter:
There you go. Jesse:
Nah, common, man. Some straight like you, giant stick up his ass, all a sudden at age, what, 60, he’s just gonna break bad? Walter: I’m 50. Jesse:
It’s weird, is all. Ok, it doesn’t compute. Listen, if you’ve gone crazy or
something, if you’ve gone crazy, or depressed. I’m... I’m just saying. That’s something I need to know about. Okay, I mean, that affects me. Walter:
I am awake. Jesse:
What? Walter:
Buy the RV. We start tomorrow.
Breaking Bad
Another Helicopter Moment In 2010 I made an installation that included a helicopter seat cushion. It was part of the remains of an accident from earlier that year, when a privately owned helicopter experienced mechanical failure and crashed, killing its four adult passengers. The media barely noted the incident, as civilian tragedy couldn’t compete with the high flow of political events in Israel. Initially, it was the form, color and scale of a certain part of the remains I saw in a photo, which caught my attention and reminded me of my sculptures. It felt as if a real world event had produced an object that I might make. The crash also interested me on a more conceptual level as an object falling from the sky to the ground. This connected to other work I was making at the time, which dealt with the floor and ceiling of the exhibition space as a reference to the sky and ground outside of it. Between the helicopter piece and my most current project, I made work without a specific story in mind, or any direct link to the world outside the artwork itself. During that time, I was expanding my sculptural vocabulary, asking more formal questions about the objects I made, and investigating the way my imagination operates, while working through decisions about color, form, and scale. My main question was about geometry, which always seemed to be present in the work, though I struggled to articulate what it meant for me. Recently, something about the stillness of objects began to bother me, and the urge to make things that are more “alive” grew stronger. In two particular sculptures, I tried to address the issue directly. One is a big, black felt eyebrow that can portray different moods or emotional states, depending on the angle it’s hung on the wall. The other is a glass sphere whose interior I coated in soot. Still, it seemed to me that the essence of these works resided in the process of making them, not as completed objects in a room. The mutability of the angle of the eyebrow was more important than any one specific angle, and the black smoke spreading inside the glass was more important than the finished opaque ball.
But something else was happening at the same time. Last summer, I read Paul Auster’s recent autobiography Winter Journal, and, ever since, it had taken up residence in my mind, gradually making its way into my studio. In the book, I was struck by the absence of the author’s son, Daniel Auster. I couldn’t yet articulate what was so glaring about it, but I knew it had to do with some deeply rooted identification, a feeling of being forgotten or left out. My immediate response was to try and contact Daniel on Facebook. At this point, the powerful desire to reach out to him felt very separate from my work. My attempt failed to get a response and I put it aside. In October, I wrote a letter to Paul Auster instead. Around the time of writing this letter (which was never sent to Paul, and was never meant to be sent) it occurred to me that this was another “helicopter moment”. It was something separate from my studio that came from reality rather than my imagination; something that drew my attention with the same sense of urgency as those helicopter remains. In an attempt to get to the bottom of my interest and, perhaps, projection onto the Auster family, I turned my letter into a script. Without changing the original text, I divided the lines into different voices, representing different members of my family. I found which parts were things my mother would say, what was more my father’s voice speaking through me, and which moments sounded like my brother. There were also sections that I wanted to be read by a chorus. I printed the script on pink copy paper and asked a group of students to do a reading with me, as a performance called A Letter to Paul Auster. We rehearsed a couple of times in my studio, and the feeling of having other people there, working with me, was new and exciting. It was almost like a chemical reaction—an antidote to the stillness of my objects. There was movement and voices and all of us holding our script—which itself is an object that I’m happy with, but can’t present without the hands holding it and flipping through its pages. It was around that time that I finally heard back from Daniel.
CURIOUS NO. 5 IS THE FIFTH ISSUE OF A BIENNIAL PUBLICATION PRODUCED BY STUDENTS PARTICIPATING IN THE SPRING 2014 GRADUATE SEMINAR IN THE DEPARTMENT OF SCULPTURE + EXTENDED MEDIA AT VIRGINIA COMMONWEALTH UNIVERSITY IN RICHMOND, VIRGINIA. THIS YEAR, EACH ARTIST CREATED A BOOK DRAWING ON THEIR INDIVIDUAL STUDIO PRACTICE THROUGH IMAGE AND TEXT, EMPLOYING VARIOUS MEANS OF INVESTIGATION. THE RANGE OF CONTRIBUTIONS REFLECTS THE DIVERSITY OF RESEARCH MODES AND ART-MAKING PROCESSES IN THE VCU GRADUATE SCULPTURE PROGRAM. ARTISTS WHOSE STUDIO ACTIVITIES INCLUDE AMONG OTHER THINGS OBJECT MAKING, VIDEO PRODUCTION, INSTALLATION, WEB-BASED EXPLORATIONS, AND PERFORMANCE, HERE WORKED WITHIN THE CONFINED FORMAT OF THE PRINTED PAGE. THE RESULT IS A COLLECTION OF ELEVEN BOOKS, EACH EMBODYING THE UNCOMMON EXPLORATIONS OF THE ARTISTS WHO COLLECTIVELY FORM THE VCU GRADUATE SCULPTURE COMMUNITY. A TWELFTH BOOK DESIGNED BY PROJECT DIRECTORS KENDALL BUSTER AND SIEMON ALLEN, OPERATES AS AN INDEX TO THE ANTHOLOGY OF STUDENT BOOKS AND INCLUDES IMAGES FROM CANDIDACY AND THESIS EXHIBITIONS, AS WELL AS SELECTIONS FROM A CYCLE OF INTERVIEWS WHERE EACH ARTIST DIRECTED A SINGLE QUESTION TO EACH OF THEIR PEERS. THIS INFORMAL EXCHANGE OFFERS INSIGHT INTO BOTH THE RICHNESS OF THE CRITICAL DIALOGUE AND THE CAMARADERIE WITHIN THE GROUP. CURIOUS IS MADE POSSIBLE BY THE GENEROUS SUPPORT FROM THE DEAN’S OFFICE OF THE VCU SCHOOL OF THE ARTS AND THE DEPARTMENT OF SCULPTURE + EXTENDED MEDIA.
ISBN 978-0-9845865-2-3