Not Sure

Sometimes even criticism is a compliment. Just because you don't understand doesn't mean you really don't understand, it might just mean you're not paying attention. Auction aftermath, tables, chairs, junk that didn't sell; Trish got the two oil lamps for me for 6 bucks apiece. Docent briefing so I couldn't make noise early, went to the basement and sorted hardware, getting ready to hang the next show, "Sawdust and Spectacle", which, since we originate, we must compile a complete condition report for every piece. Start in earnest tomorrow. Advance copy of the Wrack movie in today and we couldn't get it to play on a DVD player through the projector (work that out tomorrow) but did watch it on D's computer. A very fine piece of work that I hope Glenn will make available to you. The river, the drainage, the debris-field, the eddies and backwaters, it's all there, and you see it come together, with the subtle touches; that glance at the fingers drumming time, the gestures, the intensity of feeling blended with a childlike approach to bumper cars. I want all of you to see this, though I am frankly embarrassed to be the romantic ugly lead in a movie of any sort. All those twitches. Jesus, it's like watching your doppleganger, or a twin you never knew you had. Reality is weird, Sara and I were having a smoke on the concrete apron, and that lawyer lady walked through, Sara greeted her by name, so that I would catch it, and I did, Valarie, noted, she's bright and available, and I think Sara was matchmaking. My problem is me, not other, I make a poor match for anyone. Step one foot aside and look, what you see is a dufus that eats beans out of a can. I spare myself no slack. I am a lonely goatherd. You and your problems, we'll deal with them later. Hey, we're still friends, aren't we? I walked this particular plank, it seemed secure, I saw the butt-end was locked under a root-mat, I ventured out. Questionable terrain. Sometimes not knowing is fine with me, sometimes I try and find out whatever it is. Wittgenstein might argue. What I do is lay the next course of brick as nearly perfectly as possible. I've got an actual string, this isn't mumbo-jumbo, I can measure the distance between here and there. But I can understand not trusting me, I lie, I make things up, I'm not to be trusted, I fabricate. Thinking about this later, I'm not an actor, but I act, watching myself is painful, but it's a movie, not me, it's drainage, the river, some sticks, and this guy, who twiddles his fingers and talks. One scene in the movie, we're hanging D's Abstract Show, and we forget Glenn is filming, we're hanging a show, we're busy, occupied, and a cartoon quality takes over. And it's exactly correct. Amazing really, because the film, an adaptive medium, sees more clearly than the characters; and there's a particular back-water, lodged behind a log, I even say, at some point, that what we're seeing is because of that particular log, and it's on film, we see the eddy; there's a blue ball, a blue something, and it makes a blue sense. There's a language to film. I'm a virgin, really, I haven't seen a movie in a decade, but I suddenly like this medium, it's a clay I hadn't considered. The pot, a vessel, fresh from being fired, is not the same as the raw material, it's not even the same material, it's a different element. Water over the dam. Napp becomes standing wave. Does water have a form? I think so, sometimes, when the current is so construed. Mostly, what I feel, is that I'd like to explore this medium, with Glenn, because he has an eye. What he does with the Barnhart music is magic, he doesn't chop it, he lets it run. There's a shot of the river, you'll miss it if you're not paying attention, and it's roiling, in spate, carrying sticks in spades, it's fucking magic. I wonder how an image can carry sense. How a sound can. Heady stuff. For the sake of the movie I wish I could be better than I am, but I'm merely the balding dufus. Linda warned me, but I barely heard what she said, I was too busy watching myself, which is the danger. Self-absorption. You are not what the camera sees. What the camera sees is a river running spate. What you are could be something desired. The tone. Certain harmonics. I stand aside. The me pictured is not me. I'm someone else, held closely.