Curatorial Banter

Not what I would have expected– or is it? If I learned anything from art school it’s that no matter what anyone says or purports themselves to be, the art club in which they are a member is not all-access.

Sometimes it’s easier than others to accept that I need not exist in their (or any) framework, only build my own work (i.e. me) and worry about framing it later. Maybe it can’t be framed/contained at all.

At least they noticed I colored my hair, even if i may or may not have a name. Nice save.

Virtual and Physical Space

 

 

Plant analogies

I’d like to turn them into logic proofs, you know, if p then q kind of thing. Brancusi said, in referring to working under Rodin, “Nothing grows under a large tree.”

Then comes along, “bloom where you are planted.” p does not equal q.

Deflated

Need bigger goals. Then I need to achieve them. Maybe I just need a hug.

Notes to self:

http://www.mindbodygreen.com/0-3515/10-Steps-to-Becoming-Your-Own-Healthy-Heroine.html

Found a whole bunch of other memories instead of what I was looking for

So I took a few with me and left, driving by your old house and looking up at your old bedroom windows on my way home.

Just can’t get enough:

Biking to work, greeting strangers, sunshine & warmth, cold fizzy kombucha with ginger, Josh Homme projects, thoughts, dreams, restlessness.

Distraction

And something I think about in the near hour-long bike ride to work, with my iPhone zipped up and inaccessible in my backpack. I don’t wear a watch so I’m not checking the time. Instead I am watching the world the world around me and accepting the fact that I may be a few minutes late to work:

“More than objective effects on productivity and stress, though, I just find it really sad to see people miss out on life because they “had” to check their phone. It’s sad seeing strollers full of wide-eyed babies who are absolutely amazed at everything they’re seeing – that bushy squirrel tail flashing across the powerline overhead, the cat sunning itself on the sidewalk, a garbage can left out from garbage day, a bush, a cloud, a man on a recumbent bike, a leaf fluttering down from treetops – pushed by moms and dads with their eyes glued to their 3.5 inch screens, totally oblivious to the sensory explosions going on in their offspring but completely up-to-date on whether or not someone “liked” their most recent status update. “Ooh, red notification!” At least take a photo of the kid or something, sheesh.”

Read more: http://www.marksdailyapple.com/why-were-missing-out-on-real-life/#ixzz1vJWXzAnE

the song that followed me

Weeks or maybe even months ago, this song began following me around for a little while. I knew I knew it, but I couldn’t figure out who the artist was… until a serendipitous moment when Pandora brought it back to me last night. I never would have guessed it. Here it is:

Everything is a pattern

Like the motif I spent the weekend painting on the wall, like the cycle of the fruit tree from which I am currently eating an orange, like the comets that come around earth once every 160 years, like it inevitably snows in April in Buffalo, like I’ll get up and go to work again tomorrow just like i did today, like the dread of picking up someone at the airport for the fear of the emergence of a pattern of secret baggage.

Now that I’ve learned that my pickup services are not required, I am not sure whether to feel better or worse. Perhaps it’s my mood and the weather trying to reach some sort of (wet, cold, slushy, grey) equilibrium.

Ultimately, does it matter? Patterns repeat but their frequency cannot be established until multiple points on a line start to show up. Maybe it’s once every 160 years and I won’t be here the next time around. Maybe it’s something already there that I can feel but cannot see.