mad in pursuit journal


Art Wheels Grind

Art history books share a lot with religion books. You become awestruck with the power and the glory. There is a grand flow, the mighty rivers of inspiration and revelation and you are standing on shore, tossing in your timid line, tangling it every time.

I am not pulled along by the mighty river of revelation. I am more like a shanty-town carpenter. Find a board. Clean it up. Make a cut. Pound a few nails. Go find another board. Stop to consider the dirt under my fingernails. Drop the hammer on my toe.

I've been working on a complex production combining snippets of songs from old home-recorded 78s. It's like organizing confetti. Chaos. Cacophony.

Maybe it was sitting all morning at the mammogram center on Wednesday -- all that anxious energy of a waiting room packed with women over fifty in their hospital gowns, braless -- I started getting some new ideas for my little video "Great Dames Take Naps." So I tucked away my 1940s sound project for the moment and pulled out my Great Dames folder.

I had put the project away a few weeks ago because I was frustrated. Couldn't solve a couple of issues. Yesterday, when I pulled out the material, the solutions seemed obvious. Whew. Picasso must have had weeks like this, right?


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