When I awoke this morning, it was to the sound of scampering feet on my roof. A rat perhaps. It had the same spritely gait at my dog Lucky, whatever it was. I lingered in bed for as long as I could, not wanting to let go of my weird dream I'd had. It actually left a narrative to a short story on the tip of my brain which I'm hoping to expound upon while its fresh.
I thought that whatever the scurrying animal was moved to the iron stairwell that lead to my roof, but when I looked out the door that exits from my bedroom to the roof, there were only pigeons flying from mine to the next. Racecar, my other dog, wanted to have a look (though not because he heard the animal too, I'm sure), so I let him. I tried to call him back, but he refused and went all the way up.
He came back in a moment without any event and I walked him downstairs to the front door to allow him to relieve himself. While I stood at the door in my bright green H&M underwear and long john undershirt, hoping no one would chance by to see me dressed thusly, I saw through the branches of a still winter-bare tree a black plastic bag clinging to the fence of the playlot of the Pritzker School across the street. It was undulating as though alive and this had a disconcerting effect on me for a moment. But then of course I remembered that scene in American Beauty that at the time I enjoyed until someone pointed out it was silly - where the kid who films everything says "want to see the most beautiful thing I've ever filmed?" and its a bag blowing around in a mini-cyclone of air in a concrete backdrop.
I came back to my computer and started writing, beginning with the dream, then my final post on All Quiet on the Western Front for the hipster book forum.
Tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be a year from thirty. It will also be easter.
bhofmeister13 is risen
too bad I couldn't schedule a site make-over to coincide with this uncommon synergy of birthday and mythological observance, eh?
______
Last week I went to see the undergraduate show for the School of the Art Institute. Overall, I was quite impressed. Someone had told me earlier that day that if one could harness the attitude of that school, one might be able to power a small country, something not unlike what I'd heard before, but I really didn't experience that at the show. Contrarily, many artists were quite friendly. Granted this was opening night.
I had arrived twenty stinkin' minutes before closing, which kind of sucked. I had to breeze through. But I did see some really great work. Four or five things/artists really stuck out.
Talia Chetrit was on the main floor and to the side and I missed her coming in. I'm glad I took a moment on the way out. The piece that really impressed me was a photograph. It was quite simple. Just a really tight depth-of-field image that looked something like a cottony piece of material bound in burlap that looked vaguely organic and natural and at the same time very man-made. In the background, completely indistinct, was water. It had an abstract, yet nautical feel. I loved the color scheme. Very...um, nautical. Reminded me of a copse of birch trees I'd seen in another book, once.
Linda Lee created a beautiful bound book. It was comprised of black paper and archival ink. The illustrations were organic looking. I only looked for a moment, but I really was moved by it. It had silver text to, in regular Times New Roman font, but it seemed really appropriate for the tone. Reminded me of a sort of ancient love poem or maybe the story of Shaharazad.
Andrea Mavros (I guess I have an affinity for female artists) had this painting of a woman passionately kissing a clay bust that looked vaguely classical. It was wonderful. "I love art...passionately."
There was a room that I could have spent the entire twenty minutes. I don't know the artist's name, but the title of the work was something like "24-hour noise experiment" and it was a room full of musical instruments (keyboards, bass and six-string guitars etc) and other appliances (vacuum, etc) as well as recording equipment and electronic composing equipment. I went inside in the beginning of my visit and once again toward the end and there was a definite difference in the noise, but it was all very much musical. There was always an underlying beat probably emanating from a drum machine. I didn't notice a card for this guy.
Finally, Tyrell Cannon's project was a wooden rack populated by black and white comic books.
I wrote about that under a separate post in my reading blog.
I thought that whatever the scurrying animal was moved to the iron stairwell that lead to my roof, but when I looked out the door that exits from my bedroom to the roof, there were only pigeons flying from mine to the next. Racecar, my other dog, wanted to have a look (though not because he heard the animal too, I'm sure), so I let him. I tried to call him back, but he refused and went all the way up.
He came back in a moment without any event and I walked him downstairs to the front door to allow him to relieve himself. While I stood at the door in my bright green H&M underwear and long john undershirt, hoping no one would chance by to see me dressed thusly, I saw through the branches of a still winter-bare tree a black plastic bag clinging to the fence of the playlot of the Pritzker School across the street. It was undulating as though alive and this had a disconcerting effect on me for a moment. But then of course I remembered that scene in American Beauty that at the time I enjoyed until someone pointed out it was silly - where the kid who films everything says "want to see the most beautiful thing I've ever filmed?" and its a bag blowing around in a mini-cyclone of air in a concrete backdrop.
I came back to my computer and started writing, beginning with the dream, then my final post on All Quiet on the Western Front for the hipster book forum.
Tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be a year from thirty. It will also be easter.
bhofmeister13 is risen
too bad I couldn't schedule a site make-over to coincide with this uncommon synergy of birthday and mythological observance, eh?
______
Last week I went to see the undergraduate show for the School of the Art Institute. Overall, I was quite impressed. Someone had told me earlier that day that if one could harness the attitude of that school, one might be able to power a small country, something not unlike what I'd heard before, but I really didn't experience that at the show. Contrarily, many artists were quite friendly. Granted this was opening night.
I had arrived twenty stinkin' minutes before closing, which kind of sucked. I had to breeze through. But I did see some really great work. Four or five things/artists really stuck out.
Talia Chetrit was on the main floor and to the side and I missed her coming in. I'm glad I took a moment on the way out. The piece that really impressed me was a photograph. It was quite simple. Just a really tight depth-of-field image that looked something like a cottony piece of material bound in burlap that looked vaguely organic and natural and at the same time very man-made. In the background, completely indistinct, was water. It had an abstract, yet nautical feel. I loved the color scheme. Very...um, nautical. Reminded me of a copse of birch trees I'd seen in another book, once.
Linda Lee created a beautiful bound book. It was comprised of black paper and archival ink. The illustrations were organic looking. I only looked for a moment, but I really was moved by it. It had silver text to, in regular Times New Roman font, but it seemed really appropriate for the tone. Reminded me of a sort of ancient love poem or maybe the story of Shaharazad.
Andrea Mavros (I guess I have an affinity for female artists) had this painting of a woman passionately kissing a clay bust that looked vaguely classical. It was wonderful. "I love art...passionately."
There was a room that I could have spent the entire twenty minutes. I don't know the artist's name, but the title of the work was something like "24-hour noise experiment" and it was a room full of musical instruments (keyboards, bass and six-string guitars etc) and other appliances (vacuum, etc) as well as recording equipment and electronic composing equipment. I went inside in the beginning of my visit and once again toward the end and there was a definite difference in the noise, but it was all very much musical. There was always an underlying beat probably emanating from a drum machine. I didn't notice a card for this guy.
Finally, Tyrell Cannon's project was a wooden rack populated by black and white comic books.
I wrote about that under a separate post in my reading blog.
posted by Brian at
1:11 PM
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