 |
| sam jaffe corner. |
standing on a pile of shadows!
12/9/12
12/6/12
12/5/12
wednesday.
 |
| side of the road. |
has anyone else ever imagined having a big party in one of these wildflower filled side of the road places with cars flying by & it being too windy to hear any and all conversation & so you just spread out on your back in the grass & listen to the road while surrounded by the people you love?
12/4/12
12/3/12
12/2/12
sunday.
 |
| listen. |
here are three words that describe how i'm feeling right now: nervous, nervous, nervous.
11/29/12
11/28/12
11/27/12
tuesday.
 |
| pic of a pic. |
just flat real who you are. listened tonight to cynthia carr speak about the life and work of david wojnarowicz. she sat at a table with her laptop and read from her new book, fire in the belly. at the very end of her talk she cried and said that she should probably stop there. i wished she would have kept going.
11/26/12
11/24/12
11/20/12
11/19/12
11/18/12
11/17/12
11/16/12
11/15/12
11/14/12
wednesday.
 |
| belt. |
today on a break i walked west toward and through all of the stuff that makes michigan avenue near monroe street a semi electric intersection. it doesn't always feel this way but today it was buzzing with the sun shining down.
11/13/12
11/12/12
11/11/12
sunday.
 |
| burner. |
sitting on the edge of a fire hydrant. listening to the plans you've made for dinner on wednesday night. my phone's about to die. it's the last warm day of the year.
11/10/12
11/9/12
friday.
 |
| ribs, potatoes, meat. |
guy behind me in line heaved a giant bag of potatoes up onto the conveyer belt and waited as the young woman behind the register plugged in the codes for my vegetables.
11/8/12
11/7/12
11/6/12
tuesday.
 |
| signs. |
leave
the door open for the unknown, the door into the dark. that’s where the
most important things come from, where you yourself came from, and
where you will go.
-rebecca solnit.
(obama! whew!)
11/5/12
11/4/12
sunday.
 |
| fire station. |
we went to the wicker park library, before heading outta town, to vote early. a man in a blue flannel shirt said, "i need you to fill out section 1 for me." we waited for about an hour in a long line of people. i eavesdropped on their cell phone conversations and pointed out the coats i liked. one guy made an unexpected roofing deal.
11/2/12
11/1/12
10/31/12
wednesday.
 |
| birds. |
a tall and skinny old lady shoves her way onto the train and talks trash to the young people she thinks should still be in school. it's 4pm. they laugh at her. she pulls on the hood of her long winter coat and keeps talking. she's wearing a bears hat. our eyes meet and i look down. i'm holding a sculpture made of paper. it looks like a turkey. it's small. i feel a little tap on my shoulder, i'm sitting, and look up.
10/30/12
10/29/12
monday.
 |
| candy. |
nervously preparing to teach day 2 of the lesson. thinking about stopping by the lakeshore afterward to take in the waves.
10/28/12
10/27/12
saturday.
 |
| underneath. |
on the second to last leg of our walk, we stumbled into a flock of fluorescent green parrots. we watched them add branches to their nests beneath the skyway. we listened to their squawks.
10/25/12
thursday.
 |
| shadow. |
...art, then, is my interlocutor rather than the object of my study, it is the entity that chases me around and forces me to think things differently, at another register or through the permissions provided by another angle.
-irit rogoff.
10/24/12
wednesday.
 |
| wirey. |
we sat at the california stop for longer than usual. an old and maybe drunk guy, nodding off, dropped his cellphone. the woman sitting next to me stopped reading her vanity fair, pointed to the phone and waited. the man sitting next to the old drunk guy picked it up and woke him up with a delicate tap to give it back. the o.d.g. said thank you and hid the phone inside of his tucked in shirt.
10/23/12
10/22/12
monday.
 |
| beach. |
under certain circumstances failing, losing, forgetting, unmaking, undoing, unbecoming, not knowing may in fact offer more creative, more cooperative, more surprising ways of being in the world.
-judith halberstam
10/21/12
10/20/12
saturday.
 |
| golden ring. |
i stumbled into a free dance class across the street from the old library, which is where i was living. the class was from 5-5:30. i swung my arms in the air. an older woman with a black pony tail grabbed my hand. i couldn't let go and apologized while we flew through the air locked as one. i spun around in circles fast and with my eyes closed. i ended up on the ground. i walked back to the library with a heavy golden ring (like the kind a tiger would hop through for a treat). i squeezed through the chairs of two old men. i used their shoulders to prop myself up onto the next level. one of them said, "there ya go."
10/19/12
friday.
 |
| near lasalle & congress. |
breaking things into small parts today. knocking things off of my list. i'm also making soup.
10/18/12
thursday.
 |
| sign filled environment (jesse howard). |
i can't think of anything to write today. i like this picture.
10/17/12
wednesday.
 |
| waste basket. |
it seems even more forgotten now in the fall. the tennis courts are empty and locked. the shirtless lunch break sunbather isn't there. the nursing school students aren't smoking cigarettes. i can sit where i want without anyone looking. the benches are empty.
10/16/12
tuesday.
 |
| floor. |
train car: 2 people making out near the door, an old guy with a suitcase in a suit trying to keep a conversation going with the man he's traveling with, someone reading an electronic story in between texts, a guy with a bike who decides to sit on the bike like he's going to ride it down the aisle, the girl in front of me has long dyed black hair, i say excuse me at my stop and the lady next to me stands up.
10/15/12
monday.
 |
| logan square stop. |
...the investigation of the adaptations made by the personality in its adjustment to the forces that lie outside of it.
-georg simmel.
10/14/12
10/13/12
10/12/12
10/11/12
thursday.
 |
| candy store. |
in the role of a teacher, when you’re trying to help an artist think
through his or her work, you can’t do it from the clarity you possess. to be helpful, you have to share the artist’s blindness to a certain
degree. if you don’t, then there will be two people who don’t understand
each other, a critic and an artist, for instance.
-guillermo kuitca.
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