Space, Time

Licking my wrack injuries, but it is done, and beautifully. Glenn filming right through to the opening party, a day of rest, and he was off this morning, so early I didn't see him, just heard the door closing. Quick trip to town to lay in supplies against coming snow and cold, then firewood. Hot fire all day, so mid-afternoon I start a pot of Colorado Chili, which is meat cooked with chilies in enchilada sauce, everything else on the side, and think about the last couple of weeks. The show is spectacular, much as I had imagined in outline, but with a great many extras. The Wall Of Things that Kim assembled in the interest of The Illusion Of Opacity is a dance of forms; breaking the ceiling plane was a master stroke; the pergola is a shrine; the sculptural pieces are brilliant and oddly realistic, D's furniture is perfect. There is the suggestion of habitation. Looking across the main gallery (vaulted ceiling) from the other end gallery, the Wertz, which houses 10,000 Native American artifacts is a very strange experience, like looking into an archaic village. I had said many times, when we were installing the Wertz Collection, that all we had were the hard things, rocks and pots, that we were missing the whole organic spectrum from what was essentially an organic culture, sticks and lashings indeed. Suddenly, there it is. Didn't keep track, but probably between 500 and 750 feet of lashing, hundreds of sticks, 50 balls, seven log pedestals, root balls large and small, a beautiful IBM Selectric (horribly rusted, missing keys, bent out of shape, electronics hanging) and hundreds of interesting views. Almost hard to see the show for the trees. Glenn found it hard to shoot, there is so much to see, one thing leads to another. Once you see the Goat Head, and it is perfectly plain to see, you start thinking about what other things might look like, and then we've got you. Watching people at the opening was interesting, they get sucked along, through doorways, peering through windows. The concept works: interesting sticks and objects, arranged in an interesting way, are interesting. What an exhausting trip. I finally lost it on Saturday, when the electric band did a five hour reunion rehearsal down in the main gallery and Glenn was trying to shoot some final shots of the installation, after clean-up. Fucking nightmare. Bunch of doctors, arrogant talent, doing bad covers of songs 30 years old. Left the party early. I imagine the mess the janitor will confront on the morrow. Imagine it got a bit rowdy toward the end. Wonder if the installation stands. Hope so, because I'm not done looking at it. At the end of almost every workday I rolled in a chair and just looked, a technique that works for me, void the mind and simply stare; sometimes I would change something, or make a note to look at something later, but generally I was just tired and needed to stare into the middle distance, regroup my forces and find my way home. I drank more than usual, but always after I got back to the ridge, slept on the sofa a few times. Skipped meals, which is really unusual for me, especially with guests, but I'd get home and my brain was empty and I couldn't cook. Doing an installation is like a divorce, you have a vested interest and it drains you, even if you know the outcome and what is required. However you prepare yourself, you will be tired. Thinking hard is tiring. I know wherefrom I speak, I abuse my body, I know physical pain, but thinking hard is even harder, drains deep into reserves. Writing you is more difficult than splitting wood. It's harder to think clearly than it is to accomplish a mundane task. Hercules in the stables. Listening to people talk about the show, I introduced myself to someone who seemed to be interested, he knew who I was and read me every day. I was shocked. I forget I'm read, that that's the point. He liked the show. Saw the Goat Head right away. Perfect. We talked. Seems life is the same everywhere, what we take home. I make a note, lose it. It's my way. Mostly I lose things.