On Monday evening, just after sunset, I re-installed (there goes the neighborhood…). It felt right. The trees surrounding my home have been cut back, so the projection was very easy to see from every direction and elevation outside. To me, the waving family was frantic in their happiness. Beginning Friday morning, I will run it every day through February 28th at 5:30AM rather than in the evening. An assertion? Like a harbinger? Who knows.
I’ve been thinking about what it means to be marked and unmarked, seen and unseen, recognized and unrecognized. My life as an artist, as a person, really, is a series of exercises and experiments with the aim of achieving the perfect expression of… something. Whenever I get it right, I know it, and nobody can tell me otherwise. Indeed, I needn’t even ask for confirmation. I know that (there goes the neighborhood…) is pretty damned-near perfect. I also know that it doesn’t fit neatly into any existing art world narrative. Oh, well. I’m ok with that because it is right.
This is all very odd; yesterday I said, “What’s the point of making a movie if no one is going to see it?” When I turn that question on myself, it makes me realize that my art practice is founded entirely on the sub-conscious belief that few – if any – people will see my work much less weave its threads and tangents into a larger narrative of Contemporary art. My life is founded entirely on the sub-conscious belief that few – if any – people will see me and weave my threads and tangents into a larger narrative of life in this place at this time. And yet, that weaving is precisely the work I do – in relative isolation.
It is Sisyphean. It is hermetic. It might need to change. I might need to change.