Electric Gallery Opening: "two books;"
Sometimes I write in these books; usually late at night when I’m done for the night but not ready to sleep in. It’s a kind of meditative time when I like to think odd thoughts and draw them or write them. I try to think about whether or not what I’m doing is art and what art is. Am I just journaling my thoughts in an intentionally more abstract manner? If I stick a price tag on this or instantiated some grandiose pretense is it then art? I came to a nice conclusion. And then I forgot what it was. But it was really a good answer to pretty much everything. Just kidding.
As I thumbed through the 110 pages of Book 2 (35 pages are omitted from the public page), I realized that I was thinking about that false pretense of, “art being Art because I say it’s Art” (capital A) and found that it pushed my pen, so to speak. But the thoughts from which each page was borne existed in my common, droll, everyday experience. And at the collision of those two points was where these pages fit. It was a convoluted path to a prosaic understanding that at its best it destroys (metaphorically, with the intent of re-construction) or it makes money from people that do not live in the suburbs- that geography is important; at it’s worst it’s a dirty window into a better place- if by nothing more than contrast.