I wait for angels and magic, for social activity that I’m not seeking, not schmoozing, not broadcasting, without benefit of Instagram, without being the least bit hep, I’m even punked out of my camera by the keeper of my own personal business,  Apple, who ratchets down the quality of my last-year’s phone camera so that I’ll become increasing unable to pepper my thoughts with snazzy images.  Soon I won’t be able to live without the new phone camera.  I hope to limp along with this one until i can get the .oops-sorry-about-that version.

There is this social flutter that goes on, and I have been remote, inside the studio, by self in Russia, in sticks of Kentucky, out west, in the blue ridge mountains, navigating the kinder softer world of Fine Craft, with its less straight-faced crowd, a level of silliness down from the fine art world. My own history is a repeating investigation of how we make it up as we go along, how we get to decide what we want to create. Your own experience, my own experience. I’m willing to get out to the shows and be friendly, and I’m also certainly willing to read fortunes, and definitely willing to make sculpture with its myriad difficulties. I’m reading fortunes in the center of the installation. I’m just doing that, and i’m making the buzz necessary to generate a modern level of attention with alliteration,

First Fridays

Fortune Salon

beginning February 2015.  I make the experience. the I makes the experience. Isn’t that what’s visible in the Gertrude Stein canvas tote bag?

I wonder if subtle demotions in photographic quality are supposed to be subconscious, and whether Apple would cop to them, or even brag about it, perfecting the ways the device will deteriorate so you have to buy a new one, like colored toothbrush bristles, and cardboard ford motor parts.  but you can’t sell digital communication,  you have to seek its vehicles.  sometimes Dick makes me do puzzled face. I meant to type *sell, you have to sell its vehicles, its devices, and channels, and permissions.  and so these things must be made to expire.  and before you plink your finger in the air decrying that in just a few years you will print your own damn phone, ‘digital printing of the digital phone!’ i say, meh, permissions is where it’s at.  if the photographic quality can be turned down little by little by way of the shape of the communication, by way of the information it carries, ergo hackers rule the world.  you don’t beat The Man by sneaking away, you beat him by becoming him.

“This is the only way I can do it” like peering for a cure, for a prayer, through the tiny lens in the heart of a plastic Guadalupe, that reveals in minuscule view master viewer 3-D, herself again inside.