A slow Saturday. I am putting together a performance that is taking up some brain space.
The papercuts are growing, but I'm not sure of their final destination. There are too many openings right now to meaning. Horizontally, they resemble storm clouds or a fire-breathing dragon (?!). And vertically, they look like ghostly figures, wisps of smoke, paint, shadows.
There is too much and I don't know what to do at this point. I've hung up some more today and I'll revisit it tomorrow. I might try to hang them. The problem with the hanging is the gallery space has limits. It only looks good with contrast. It's hard to photograph it if there's a busy background, which might mean something drastic... like hanging huge pieces of paper to act as the background (two stories high). I do have enough to do that.
I'll sleep on it.
I'm trying to wrap my head around Ann Hamilton's work right now. I'm interested in the interaction between reading and writing. Barthes states that "text is a tissue of quotations", which reminds me of her work in the empty textile factory. Two rooms made of ghostlike organza walls - one for the reader and one for the writer. A projection of a pencil eating a line circulates the room, appearing on the fabric and concrete walls.