Читать книгу I Love Artists - Mei-mei Berssenbrugge - Страница 15

Texas

I used the table as a reference and just did things from there

in register, to play a form of feeling out to the end, which is

an air of truth living objects and persons you use take on,

when you set them together in a certain order, conferring privilege

on the individual, who will tend to dissolve if his visual presence

is maintained, into a sensation of meaning, going off by itself.

First the table is the table. In blue light or in electric light, it has no pathos. Then light separates from the human content, a violet-colored net or immaterial haze, echoing the violet ice plant on the windowsill, where he is the trace of a desire.

Such emotions are interruptions in landscape and in logic

brought on by a longing for direct experience, as if her memory of experience

were the trace of herself. Especially now, when things have been flying apart in all directions,

she will consider the hotel lobby the inert state of a form. It is the location

of her appointment. And gray enamel elevator doors are the relational state,

space behind them being a ground of water or the figure of water. Now,

she turns her camera on them to change her thinking about them into a thought

in Mexico, as the horizon when you are moving can oppose the horizon inside

the elevator via a blue Cadillac into a long tracking shot. You linger

over your hand at the table. The light becomes a gold wing on the table. She sees

it opening, with an environment inside that is plastic and infinite,

but is a style that has got the future wrong.