Friday, July 08, 2005

today's the other half of my weekend...walked some errands involving a mango shake and mailing Discrete paraphernalia at the post off. sat by buckingham fountain and read for a bit while accumulating a goodly sunburn. then to MoCP where I bumped into two of my former poetry students (working there)--always awkward, me thinking "did I give them OK grades?" and it always seems a rehabilitation or do over of a relationship now that we're not in the stifling position of teacher/student- me no longer having to act tough about absences, etc. so the show up at MoCP is themed around photography affected by painting in some manner and a grouping of photos by Moni K. Huber caught my eye for their technique: takes video, selects stills, prints them on inkjet and enhances them with watercolors while ink is still wet. 3 little gems by Gerhard Richter- apparently part of the museum's permanent collection- vibrant little landscape snaps smeared with paint, colors echoing those in the photos--sweet little puns on his photorealist fact I had to read the description twice to make sure they weren't entirely paintings. following the exhibit up to the second floor to a series of recent photos by gregory scott- didn't really snap my socks- their schtick is that he stages these self-portraits (black & white) and some portion of his body is obscured by a canvas on which he's more or less realistically painted that segment of his body. what stopped me in my tracks in front of "Statuesque, 2004" was that I had taken a similar photo once before, though in color and without myself posed as a Greek statue within it--but because all of it was staged in the courtyard of a building J and I used to live in from 2001-2002 (when I wasn't in Prov). There's no mistaking the corroded statue in the center- a little boy and girl huddling under a parasol, layers of white goopy paint chipping away at their knees. And beyond it an unassuming window just to right of the doorway-that was our one porthole of light in that dank, subterranean lair de los centipedes..Ah, remembering the intimate liquid sounds of our neighbors peeing with the gusto of bodies fortified by sunlight. And the retirement complexes on either side of the building furnishing the regular scrape of walkers edging by on the sidewalk in front.


Post a Comment

<< Home