Friday, June 02, 2023

Free verse, or meter. Breaking the frame or the fourth wall. "Never did the 'rules' embarrass any genius", Eliot against Hamlet, etc. The English garden or the French. Straub or Huillet talked about a boom visible in a shot on the stairs in Psycho as a perfect cinematic moment, and that intellectual filmmakers design accidents that come off as false. A brilliant observation, but the rocking camera as an actor walks by on an unstable floor—in their take on Kafka—is as overdetermined as the framing. I was looking for scraps to cover the grey border and the piece I picked up had a tab of pink stapled to it; I'd used it as a support on the back but cut it away and now it was on the front, and it worked: it plays off the stripe on the hood of the car. How do you construct the anarchic, in art or elsewhere? How do you mix the abstract and the figurative and not make it gratuitous—and trite at this point—or just stupid? I don't know.  How do you make something that works for people with whom you have little in common? How do you make something that will outlast you? I don't know.  There's an argument that working for others makes you work harder. It's the argument for the cinematic golden ages of Hollywood and post-revolutionary Iran. It's the argument for HBO, and the Venice Film Festival over the Biennale. I've said this all before.  You never want to get high on your own supply, and you never want to work for fans, but this is my ghetto and this is what I do.

I follow my logic where it takes me, and I ended up with an image of someone trapped. I'm consistent. His expression is perfect but I didn't even notice it, or I wasn't aware that I had. 

Photographs, reject prints from my stockbroker, who used to race at Limerock.  Frank Veteran:

I took it apart and it felt like panel from an altarpiece that had been broken up. I think this is it.

Maybe the tab on the bottom is overdone. It's still only part of a frame, continuing the logic of the central construction. You don't want to tail wagging the dog. But it hags below the frame like the front end of the car, and it matches the dark horizontal stripe. It's the same color-the light'a hitting from a different angle. Maybe it's the added grey not the tab that goes too far. I'm thinking about all this after the fact, but obviously I saw the relations before I was able to articulate them. The reason of sleep. But the three narrow white stripes, on the pink, the bottom left and right, annoy me. I think of them as Viennese: desperate maybe but not serious. But that's how it started. Again, I'm consistent. And the pink is now Franz West. 

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