When I was 29 and all the world was in front of me and I was unselfconscious and world-building. Internally, I built worlds of sound, color, and sensory perceptions. Externally, I lost myself in creating simple passions against stark backgrounds. This is a metaphor, of course, but it is also visually accurate. I went to the Hartford Civic Center that year and bought 3 prints:

I just thought this trio worked very well together. It prompts a conversation. I have always loved orange. "Flaming June" was such a young and optimistic choice. Full of passion and lust and celebration, but now I see it as commercial, overdone, and possibly, in many a sullen girl's college dorm room. I still stand by the Rothko and the Sadler.

Any Colour You Like

Pablo Picasso "Drunk Woman is Tired" 1902

The Politest Superheroes In the Building

                                                                                       “Room in New York,” by Edward Hopper

Wings’ “Arrow Right Through“

REDUNDANCY

 I love the movie CHLOE. I love it for its examination of the failures of compartmentalization. I love it for its vengeance; its ignorantly indulgent usery. Usery being the underlying subject. Its unrequited lovelessness about it. You cannot fuck someone and then tell them it was a business transaction, repeatedly. Use them to hold a place for the person you picture when they are going down on you. You cannot expect the laws of nature to abide to robotizing a soul. You can't fuck with someone's heart and walk away like it was an ATM.