The infinite lawn
Set of nine cast polyeurethane street grates, with inlaid photographs and text (my own). 1996
Walking the line between lost and found, as the shaper and the shaped. More than half way from
beginning to end.
Nothing’s like the destination. Conversations shift to that imaginary present with even-handed shades of grey.
While not very flashy, this parable of the meadows with fuzzy leaves and neat corners sounds vaguely familiar. Bouncing along the bottom, there’s no real substitute for measuring devices.
The littlest acres are wrought at the fingertips.
Meanwhile, waiting in the wings (and trimmed with red ribbons), compromise stumbles, its name synonymous with educated guesses and shreds of evidence.
Negotiating punctuates the perfect fit every day of the year, in and out.
The bottom line is tin cans and a string, nothing, and everything, wrestling, gracefully. There are things we see again and again. Double vision is where the pictures are secondary and all in a day’s work.
Spreading a loose, wide mesh of fine tuning, vividly rendered with few frills or custom labels, in an appropriate thickness, leaving nothing behind but the notion of easy solutions.
Drawing a line with the familiar name paradise, somebody mentioned a spectacular view.
Amid images of perfect pitch, today he discovered something more than windmills – in miniature divisions.
In a tight, neglected corner, attention to detail is conditional with back-to-back weeds and crepe myrtle shrubs. Getting the hang of how to grow vegetables is guaranteed, even in soil that gets partial sun.
Navigating the serene ways of waterfalls as detailed as the zigzagging of fireflies, present imperfect, slow motion terrain of common machines, telling us more than we ever wanted to know, without paper.
Broth is the crux of all cooking – the foundation of soups and sauces. Necessary little vowels, good for what ails you. Simmering below the surface among each sound of speech, unequal to narration but not retroactive.
It started at the nose with symmetry and proportion in abundance with the world on a brawny string, the predictable and the haphazard.
Objects are slippery anywhere your mind wanders over surface texture and wallows there with chalk and a can of glazing compound.
Because of proof that sound and light don’t stick to squares, green fields shimmer wide open, sieve-like, from big to small, in our daily landscaping. The simplest sites punctuated by crosswords.
Mix and match borders function as closures that work not simply but just because stones, mortar, and a version of unraveling do, too. For the regularly scheduled curiosity, the settings change with little planning.
Etched glass test tubes, steel rod, 1996
The shape is all
in the curve
in different ways
the invisible world
by greed or whimsy,
If you really want
lotteries are filled
with unexpected delicacies.
are a specialty,
out of our way
the tile a grout,
face – to – face
No doubts rumble
in the world
Though in fits,
are in sync
when it counts,
Things don’t always
go as planned
from pond to lake
the usual glibness.
and the best
is saved for last.
You thought you knew
safety in numbers
depends on a
of public spectacle
where the pictures
were only spare time
but not useless.
Cast polyurethane, rope, 1996
Mixed media, 1996
Text: One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready, four to go.
Open for evidence
Custom neon, 2005
Glass shelving, seeds, iron cart, 1997
Journeys occur at random, from right to left.
Country wears on the elbows even.
A foundation is also background counterclockwise.
Attitude comes to rest with inclination when signed.
Drama is modified by the performance.
The heart is modified by the letter ‘s’, for sorry, for regret.
Consuming preceeds usefulness.
Both index fingers pointing to the forehead, describe continuously, alternating in wonder.
Gouache on leaves, 2 versions, 1997, 2001
Newsprint on board, 1996
Etched glass, soap, lab equipment, 1997
Custom neon, 2004
Saltwater aquarium, etched text, 1997
This is the spell of lingering,
Knowing when you can go with no apologies,
be it fair use or fair game
This removal, so far, is a pilgrimage
Hearing voices won’t do a thing for you.
But you can feel the soundness,
the backwater ledges,
and the pace of betrayal.
Etched glass, postcards, towels, 1997
Text: Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil
Some kind of measure
Etched glass, antique postcards, dried peas, 1997
Etched glasses & aquariums, antique postcards, 1997