Logistics

Life tends toward complexity. Call from my girls and they want to visit over xmas, and they want to see my folks, Jacksonville, Florida, for what will probably be the last time. I can't turn this down, though the expense and difficulty will both be extreme. Have to get some work done on the truck, two hard days driving, airplane tickets, a couple of motel rooms. Gads. Talk about it Sunday. Tomorrow I'm going to semi-gloss polyurethane two of the sculptural pieces, and if it's not raining too hard, pick some sticks for the mock assembly. Life as theater. Need to drill some holes in two posts, so I can drive a peg, to hold the rails while lashing. Grammar is the track, syntax is the train, I remember B telling me that, years ago, I think of it often, when writing you. Language as vehicle. Boshed criticism with Glenn, but I do find systems of criticism interesting, as thought game, to see if I can follow the argument, whether I believe it or not. Usually I believe parts of things, but don't agree with anything. Took me ten years to read Levi-Strauss and then he was posted by post, I lost interest for a while, when I took it back up post was history. Keep a boy busy. Looked at the space the mock wall will occupy, decide it needs to stand off from the wall, need an extendo device, two, actually, then we could put something behind the wall, maybe the Bird On A Bolt. Thinking about attachment, the installation requires attachment to the walls of the room, all shows require installation, we use hardware, mollys, cable, whatever is necessary, therefore, the argument is, that we can use not river hardware where the wrack hits the wall. A museum wall, you know what I mean. Glenn asked about the YOU and we talked about it at some length. What I meant by it, who I thought you were, how he, as part of the YOU, felt about being included. I go fuzzy here, because I never have any idea that I'm going to address you when I do. What happens, is that I'm writing along, and I'll mention something with a particular person in mind: a mold I might think of Stephanie, a Shakespeare quote would be Mac. And I always smile and address you directly. Back to attachment, no small issue, can we use glue? Did anyone ever not cheat? Thought about the lighting today, the shadows. If we use the fire hose as a woven roof on the porch, we could spell out a word in shadow, because the lights are above. A word spelled in shadow on the floor, think about it. It would have to be a short word, 3 or 4 letters. We could spell WALL, easy forms, no curves, with just one cut piece, or ALL; I wonder if there's a job in casting shadows. On the floor, where you can hardly read them. But even with pixelated edges it's Representational and not Abstract. Where, exactly, is the point at which they diverge? I love abstract art, I never want anyone telling me what I think I see, fuck them and their preconceptions, I have a mind and I can use it, I'll decide what I see, thank you very much. I look forward to tomorrow. We're on the brink here, something is happening. Power out so I saved but didn't send. Tomorrow now. Spend most of the day applying polyurethane to The Calder and the Bull Head, then switch to oil for the abstract stump. Takes hours to apply oil to the large stump, hundreds of crevices, raised, sandblasted grain. I think it needs another coat but I'm fumigated. Before a walk I put the two smaller pieces on the table and when I get back they look lovely. We've a bunch of two-foot stumps but they need to be higher, need to cut some slightly smaller one-foot sections to go on top of them, a stepped reveal. A stepped pedestal. I always placed my muse on one, the easier to climb, but when I got to the top she was always gone, slipped out the back while I was looking down. Fear of heights. The reason I'm cold right now, I can no longer climb on my own damned roof, too many falls. Gun shy. You get thrown enough times, you finally stop riding horses. If you're a cowboy, you become a sheep-herder. If you're a roofer, you're probably dead. In a reverie, drifting through the installed Wrack Show, I think I could have chosen an easier path, but it probably wouldn't have gotten me to where I am, paths are like that, they lead somewhere. By simply cutting through the underbrush you get to a different place. Must warn you though, that a lacerated retina is my most common injury, from snapping branches, but it's an acute event, the retina heals quickly; and though the pain is intense and you can't read, it only lasts a day or two. Interesting line of thought, ongoing today, putting a finish on some pieces and wanting other elements to be quite rough, the interplay of the two. Can't decide about the Goat Head, afraid it might disappear if I do anything to it. The Gar Head is strange, so small and delicate, but so vicious looking, I don't know what to do with it. I could place it on a low pedestal with a kneeling mat and a magnifying glass, or just float it with monofilament in a section of wall, down low, where it would scare the kids. I think the Primary Stick needs to be in the pergola, with the balls flowing around, maybe we could burn just the one face of Jesus at the top of the stick, claim it was lightning, charge admission. It certainly changed my life when I saw the face of Jesus on a tortilla, you know, that I could know what he looked like. Black velvet is good that way, as a background. The last ten minutes at the museum, when things are cool, is a blast, energetic conversation. Something to think about. What and why. I know some things, I've thought about this. You have too. I only appeal to like-minded readers, You again. There seems to be a connection. This show does its own merry dance. I need to get some sleep.