Sorry Boni for my aggression
I was frustrated with waiting. I understand you have maybe over-committed, and this project was close to the last thing in your mind.
I have been late and protracted in my life too. It is a double standard of mine that blackens all the pots and kettles in my head.
But as it is my double standard, six days of silence is hard not to take personally. I was angrily annoyed by the disregard, the carelessness that I have seen so often in myself. Be assured that my bark is by far worse then my toothless gummy bite.
I am getting over it, and in affect, have. There is no point to getting upset over a project that has no point.
I do have to say though the most recent exchanges have been exciting, dynamic even.
The emotional exchange was surprising for that very reason – emotion. You are very academic which is clever and difficult at times to grasp. I do not mean this to be passive aggressive but emotions are loosening. Immediate. Dumb. Be dumb for a bit. See a letter by Sol Lewitt to Eva Hesse.
Did you hear Agatha Gothe-Snape’s Emotional Wall fell on Susan Gibb’s head, slicing thirteen stitches across Susan’s brow? Susan bled all the way to the hospital and Agatha cried in her public explanation. Their relationship was strained, and so the poetics of the falling wall are beyond ludicrous to the point of stupidity; a “dumbness” that dare I say was exquisite. One that cannot be orchestrated by equation or exercise, rather propelled by an unconscious ease as to allow emotion and reason to magnify the metaphysical fractal of an objects innate artistic aura, whether it be an actual object or object of performance or its conceptual framing. I digress.
The Friday just gone, after walking idly around the streets for the entire day, I found myself at a particularly gay bookshop on Oxford Street.
I bought the film Keep the lights on by Ira Sachs, a true story about a 10-year relationship of two guys coping with the devastation of drug addiction and the grace illuminated from its recovery. The film made quite an impression on me. The two handsome actors, New York City, life on film and a soundtrack made of pure, and purely of, Arthur Russell songs.
I’ve since bought his entire back catalogue. All in the same day, in the one go.
I’ve been listening to it while writing in the same way I’ve known painters to paint and sculptors to sculpt to music; Arthur’s in my ear now.
I hope this finds you well Boni. I genuinely thank you for agreeing to participate in this project. I look forward to your last entry. Please keep in touch.