Selective Order

Toying with a concept, while I sand dry-wall compound from the ceiling. If you've never done it, don't. I have a long-sleeved ballistic cloth climbing shirt I wear to do this. Tape my wrists and wear a throw-away hat. The clean-up is awful. I get it looking OK, not great, but there's no light ever on the ceiling and it looks fine. Mopped the bathrooms with bleach water. Got the humidity in the main gallery up to 38% today, eight gallons of water in three humidifiers. Within the plus or minus equation. The equation itself, humidity and temperature in a gallery, is under much debate right now. I've read several articles in the last couple of months and the word is we're going to be allowed greater latitude. Everybody lied anyway, even with fairly decent systems, it's hard to avoid fluctuation. Everyone lies was a minor theme today. The little things, avoiding a conversation, ducking out of a situation where you felt uncomfortable. If we grant that it's all fiction anyway, then it really doesn't matter; a few white lies to avoid confrontation is an easy trade. Sometimes absolute honesty is a pain in the ass. Just say yes instead of no and spare yourself the argument. We use Gaylord as a supplier of archival supplies and we ordered the archival tissue, buffered, PH 8.5 - 9, and the archival box, ditto. I kept the catalog out because they supply many cool products. For instance: a Skeletal Remains Box. Who would have thought? It's the real deal. "Skeletal Remains Box --- coroplast, Keep human remains safe and organized. Translucent 3mil corrugated polypropylene. Nine piece box provides separate insert trays for skull, long bones, vertebrae, etc." Their catalog is a masterpiece of French Realism. It's possible that if I bought a bunch of these boxes, I could become a serial killer, and store my victims away, in boxes. Just because the boxes are available. Packaging becomes motivation. I'd kill for a spot on your box. Cheerios. It's hard to follow the thread sometimes, when it seems to wander astray. I don't know what I'm talking about, I can't imagine you'd understand. Pro-Times-Equals whatever you were thinking next. Avoiding the truth, it's a hard nut. I'd rather be almost anywhere. The classic bystander, I do nothing, mostly. Separate time into discrete units. That gator infested, snake ingested world. A nun and a priest go into a bar. Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. My mother's mother was a Holy Roller. Penitent, (penny royal, penmanship), speaking in tongues. I love that word, glossolalia. If I were going to fault Mom for a single thing, and I don't, it would be for placing me in the position of watching those people foam at the mouth and roll in the aisles without any warning. She assumed I'd make sense of it. And I did, sort of. Such as sense is. To accept as literal what is before your eyes. These very bricks, stacked just so, would make a wall. Reality, what we see, coalesces from the fog of memory. Trust me, I've been down this crooked road before. That house, on the right, used to be white. You see what I mean. The way things change.

Tom

You and me.
Nothing, then
maybe something.

Harvey's kit, whenever I draw on the minimal, I think of Harvey's kit. The least you could live with. A paisley scarf. A sweatshirt you might not wear, a tug and four barges going upstream.