||Seattle erases itself almost
daily. Nothing lasts--forests and dot coms and yesterday's
snow all get plowed under, go down the drain, return to the Sound from
whence they came. The Sound? You mean like the spark of Creation? Maybe...
but who was there to hear it? I looked at the snow as it was pocked by rain
and thought: artists don't create, only reveal.
Jesse came over--surprise!--in the evening,
told me I'd got
ink in the Stranger, and gave me a sideways warning about ego inflation.
It was only hours later that I got a copy from him and waited for him to
board the last 5 downtown in the rain, then went up to shit, delaying, looking
at the unread paper on the bathroom floor and thinking--wood pulp and pigment,
that's all it is. Still... it is nice to be recognized for
the art I make.
Thanks are due Jesse, who recommended me for the
House show in the first place. I also thank him for his example: he pushes
the edge of what's possible. As Nicole Grant says, If you can see the
line, might as well cross it. Jesse stood on a stool and took
photographs of the
ceiling. I don't think he intends
specific results, only gets lost in the action, and that's what makes