seagulls playing soccer in the rain

Milwaukee, 4/26/09
I drove passed the seagulls on a soccer field in a park along North Ave.
It rained most of the day. The photo of the daughter and father with the duck umbrella made things a little better.
I saw an amazingly beautiful piece by A. Morgan and some not so interesting work at the Haggerty Museum of Art (exhibition: Current Tendencies Ten Artists from Wisconsin). I told Ashley that I think grad school has ruined my brain; in both negative a positive ways. Because 4 or 5 years ago I would have really dug bugs pinned to the wall, but now I really am left asking why, in so many ways. On the topic of Jennifer Angus's piece, Detail from A Worm’s Eye View, why should I be interested in this 'forest'? What am I being told about bugs and wall paper? And mainly, formally Angus's piece, as well as most of the other work in the show, failed to keep my attention or aesthetically please me. The one exception was Sonja Thomsen's installation of photos, some of which were bound in the notepad form, where the viewer could take one.
On the way home I stopped off route I-94 to take a photo of a billboard and subsequently found a property with abandoned houses and buildings in various states of char and decay.


On Ashley's piece:

ceiling
falling

on the cement

it's made of ash, dust and toothpaste and
pressed together by language:
time though lines
words have place
and history

dancing stars above our domesticity

Geosmin Olfaction

Petrichor; noun

1. the scent of rain on dry earth

The cynosure of all eyes

Cynosure; noun

1. something that strongly attracts attention by its brilliance, interest, etc.: the cynosure of all eyes.
2. something serving for guidance or direction.

Mei Mei Berssenbrugge and Richard Tuttle Lecture 4/16/09

SAIC Auditorium
Quotes

Mei Mei, "phenomenology of writing"
Richard, "poetry is food...it's a jolt and gets me going all day."
Ricahrd, "I don't care if you kill your grandmother..."
Richard, "Artists is nature...so that everyone else can be themselves."
Richard, "Art saves us from being destroyed by beauty."

January in Chicago

Apricity (plural apricities); noun

1. (obsolete) The warmth of the Sun in winter.

The Party's Over

Photo taken Monday, March 30, 2009, 9:02am in Pilsen (18th near Blue Island). A plastic banner, ripped christmas lights and plaid fabric. There were no other trees with things in them. Is this on tree curated or some odd accident?

Photographs, Richard and Amy Farcus (grandparents)

Birds in light air. My grandparents have lived in the same house since my dad was in high school. In the most elegant way the collections and sentimental objects are organized in their own 'places.' These places shift with the seasons and holidays. I don't know where the objects are hidden on off seasons. The house is on a farm next to a 'pit' (a lake that used to be a coal strip mining pit) and a private outdoor club. There is plenty of wild animals around. My grandparents like to show me photos of the animals that come though their yard, most are photos of finches, turkeys, cardinals, wood-peckers, geese and ducks. They also have a subscription to Birds & Blooms, which they give to me for collages.

Soul Reaches Far 2009