Art Faliure

(he)Art Failure.

White gallery walls, bare wood floor.

[You] and your projector in the empty space.

Cord plugged into the metal outlet on the floor.

The images flicker, are slow, superimposed with type. Drab colors. Basic font.

Overhead the voice speaks in a measures tone, continues. The reel keeps going.

I left.




Were you trying to convince me to listen to what you had to say?

Sound Symphony In the UW Fountain

I am afraid I haven't written in awhile. I went to Minneapolis for Thanksgiving and have been utterly consumed with work since I have been back. Not the fun kind of work either, the work to pay the bills type work.
I met a friend for lunch today in the U dist and I ended up walking through the UW campus. I don't spend much time there anymore and I forget how beautiful it really is. (on a sunny day of course).

The fountain was frozen over and an industrious student had broken large sheets of ice and collected them along the side. I watched him toss the fragments across the frozen pond where they shattered in bell like tones across the fountain. I really wished I had a recording device to capture the symphony of chimes and tinkles created by the breaking pieces of ice. A loud deep creak as the sheets were separated and then a cascade of lighter sounds. I wonder if he was paying attention to the sound or just exhilarating in the smashing.

This spectacular sequence was punctuated for me by a couple of students at the bus stop discussing the fact that the library computers had been tested and found to contain a strain of fecal bacteria. Being me I didn't want to butt in, but I felt a strong urge to tell them that I am pretty sure there are traces of fecal matter everywhere. It always comes back to feces in the end I guess.