I visited the Whitney Biennial for free, because I'm talking with people there about working on a commission.
A piece of outsider art in the bathroom stalls at the Whitney. I like the self-effacing quality of this graffiti--as though the Biennial has forced their hand, and now they have to "mark" and "own" the negative space of the bathroom stall. (That would be my crit theory essay.)
A film projection of someone re-enacting Charlie Chaplin's speech from "The Great Dictator" in sign language, looped. Now it looks like a portal to heaven, or perhaps just a white glob.
Robin des Bois on Smith Street, shortly before I hurt myself on an errant olive pit in the middle of an intense emotional conversation with my wife.
Poster for JB on Broadway, from the Performing Arts Library at Lincoln Center where I'm doing research on Barnum and Brecht. I was in JB in 1992. I played the voice of God, and every time I performed it, I was naked "for dramatic effect and resonance." I was young.
This is the worst logo I have ever actually seen designed. JM spotted it in our neighborhood—it's theoretically to protest police brutality to medical marijuana users, but I think it's my eyes that have been punished.
My friend Lawrence, seen again after too-long absence. His lovely wife Larissa is in the window. He is recounting how there is a colony in France that writers and artists can go to, but that it will be broiling hot and that the dogs attack the artists in the streets. I do not think we will be going to this colony.
5:30 PM