Explorations in flattened trash cont. (Taken with Instagram)

self portrait: 2007-8

Lingerie (Taken with instagram)

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The last mad men ad was super minimalist and almost elitist. Really it was pretty brilliant. This one, however, is more…ummm, solicitous? (Taken with instagram)

Making Milton Glaser proud (Taken with Instagram at The Compleat Sculptor)

OLD/FOUND MUSINGS on an OLD/FOUND HOUSE: the CASSIDY “trash house” -2008

I am engulfed in the gigantic drooping sweater, cardigan from the trash house.  Not a Cassidy original but one of the many other brands she collected. 

We pulled from a pile.   

Sleeves folded up thick into cuffs. 

(I seem to move along the train tracks: first from home in East Hill, then southwest to ‘the flop house’ in North Hill, east to the ‘treahouse’ or was it the ‘house on the lake’ .. and now I’m at ‘Gran’s house’)
Kasey, there is a place you should see if you haven’t yet, I don’t know.   But it’s the Cassidy house, the trash house, grandma’s house.  A place you can live in for a while and inherit things from—as if you were family.   Things from piles taller than people.

I felt like an insect in a pile of shit. We were crawling about despite cat pee to make use of the waste: magnificent discoveries of clothing, photographs, dressers and drawers full of everything.  But at some moment they suddenly up and left.  A mini urban Pompeii without the bodies.  A gigantic hellishly beautiful doll’s house.  Dr. Cassidy has paper with his (her?) name printed onto it in one room and nineteen seventies porn in another.  And Mrs. Cassidy has a bathroom closet with a wrack along the door full of shoes that don’t fit so even though you want them they remain hers.  While the rabbit figurines and obnoxious and classic clothes, brittle books and coffee mugs go into the hands of us.  A musty and stiff jacket of “Israeli leather” really ungraceful but powerful in design as it swoops down the body into long sections that make an A-line.  Dust-covered Lolita.   Cat pea soaked the leather. 
Sometimes we imagine the way the lives of the Cassidys were—caked between these layers.  It makes me think of the ball you made of all your clothes.  But the Cassidy house is way more sensual.   There is a visceral power that can be lost in extreme abstraction.   It is, I suppose, to gain a different kind of power.   .      .      .I’m not sure that I can say either kind is better. 

5th ave. i found the forest.

I would rather make art about my fear of my own laziness than actually do anything about it?  what?  But wait—it makes sense:  This public forum gives me a sense of momentary legitimization.  Part private diary, part collective scrap book.  I can tell you I’m afraid and you say you are too.

I am missing home …and feeling bits of self doubt which I suppose is normal.