in april

Thursday, May 5, 2016


I hung up a long shelf in my studio, six feet long, and a place to hold all of my weird broken objects. There are my broken cups, the broken glass from my french press, the tiny broken pane of glass from the frame that held a photograph of Carly and I. Then there are the dried flower petals, a stack of envelopes with an ink spill on all the corners, the scrap of dryer lint that's light on one side and dark on the other, the empty ink bottle with a ring of dark blue dried in the bottom, the hard little ball of paper–something that went through the washer and came out a dried paper rock.

These are the things I'm weirdly attracted to right now.

So the studio has been a bit strange. I've been here, I've been coming. On Tuesday Melina and I came in and tore everything apart and re organized. Now my desk is by the window, right by the window, and there is a scattered map of post-it notes on the wall, me trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing. I don't really know.

For the record here are a list of those words on the wall:

time
sentiment
self
memory
narrative
diary/journal
routine
records
archive
light
trace
ghosts
orphans
fragments
purposeless things
objects
ephemera


For the record here is a list of other things I'm interested in:

Photographs not being Photographs
Unreadable text
Objects as placeholders


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