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Wednesday, April 10, 2013

I've been setting up for orals the past two days, in the Hoffman gallery.

(Duh.)

Earlier today I was laying on the floor, with my jackets balled up under my head for a pillow, looking up at the piece I was building on the wall. The ceiling is 16 feet tall, but the wall only extends up to 11 feet, and the rest is windows. So I was looking at my piece, and looking at the sky, with this song playing in my ears. And then a tiny plane comes into the frame of the window, and flies past, and the whole world opens up.

I like playing in a gallery. Setting up once everyone has left for the day, and sitting on the floor, and pondering, drinking coffee, and putting dance music on and sliding around on the hardwood floors. Making the space mine, even if it's only for a night. I will miss it, a little, I tried to soak up every moment, but still there were times when I would close my eyes, feel my brain pressing on my eye lids, and wish that I could just go home. Then I have to pull myself up in my chest and give myself pep talks. Also Julia Barnes helps loads. And Steele Walstoncraft, that guy is the best.

This is almost over, and my stomach and heart keep telling me that with jolts of nervousness and jolts of fear and jolts of light. All the jolts make my eyes water a tiny bit.

(Side note, I'm so tired that I just wrote "jolts of light" without thinking about it, and re-read and had no idea what I meant. I like it though, so I'll leave it. Also it just took me three tries to spell tired.)

This image was not taken today, but it feels appropriate. If there was any image from today that I would want it would be that plane passing by in the window above my piece. Unphotographed moments.


Anyways, tomorrow is the show opening, so if you're around Portland come and introduce yourself as my anonymous blog reader. 

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