Finish Installing

Takes me most of the day, with various interruptions. IMD, International Museum Day, is tomorrow, events and activities all day, until seven at night. Logistical nightmare that K is mostly handling. Four musical events, artists in residence, docented tours, children's activities, food, beverages. I float free, at events, to put out small fires. Supposed to rain all day, so the museum will get trashed. The sculpture show looks great, impressive body of work, 21 pieces, 7 of them small, the other 14 all about two feet high, or long, depending on what the nude is doing. I made and installed labels, touched-up the peds, touched-up the walls, cleaned, took extraneous gear to the basement. Fortunately, Pegi got a couple of Cirque kids to help K with the set-up for tomorrow. I have a short punch-list for in the morning, then I'll spend the rest of the day attempting to ease transitions from one thing to another. K has done an extraordinary job, pulling this together. Ultimately, it's good to get new people into the museum, what we need to do, doesn't matter if it'smoa pain in the ass. We really need to increase the demographic. How, is the question. I have a small metal splinter, first finger, left hand, and I dig at it all afternoon, with my knife and with my teeth. Burrs, from dry-wall screws, which a lot of us use for everything anymore, have become the wood splinter of yore. They don't fester, because making them is a hot clean process, so you just have to find them. I employ a variety of techniques: magnification, focused light, prismatic experiments, the tip of my tongue. Gass says it takes four things to make a list. Reading and writing are linked modalities for me, given that, I can honestly say that I'll I've done, for years, is write. I install six or eight shows a year, but that's just reading. Really, most of the time, I have an active file and a few cryptic notes, the quanta, that wants to make itself known. Get that whole wave---discreet---particle thing out of the way. A flock of butterflies were killing themselves on anti-freeze, where a tree had fallen on the road; clearly someone had stopped, with a chainsaw, and opened a path. His radiator was leaking. You can figure this shit out, if you look at the sign. I bent down and tasted the fluid, I figured I needed to know, and it was sweet, in a salty way. Not unlike anchovies. Which I dearly love. Suddenly, the behavior of butterflies made sense. Life is a scree slope, you take a few steps forward, then slide back. Progress is a relative thing. Relationships are difficult.