Lisa Ross shoots the art I'd make if I made the time. Not the photographs, but the shrines themselves. Markers for everything that was supposed to be, but isn't. That should be, but cannot or will not. Shrines and burial sites in the form of dried sticks, ladders, fences, and scarves. Burial cribs with doors. These, from China.
Not for babies - mine, anyway - but for ideas. Dreams. Expectations. Hope. Faith. Trust. And then some.
I bought two paintings at an estate sale. For the house I want but don't have, I guess. There's something about Magic City Farm that makes me think I could just do it. Live in vintage, live with cracks. Maybe I have it all wrong in Winchester. Maybe the goal shouldn't be to fix it to modern standard, but to fix it to a vintage standard.
I see these rusted-out, flattened bottle caps all over the city and find twists of rusted wire in the sand. It makes me want to poke holes in them and string them like those driftwood mobiles I always imagined I might make. Or perhaps I could do this.
I'm staying here right now. Magic City Farm. I had to vacate The Venezuelans' apartment for two weeks while they are visiting Miami from Caracas. I found Magic City Farm online and when I saw the Purvis Young paintings, I knew it was going to be a very special place.
It is a balm, for all of us. You can't feel the breeze, but it's always there. It's a secret location. Secret even to long-time Miamians. Hid behind a blue concrete wall in one of our oldest, saddest, neighborhoods. If you had told me I'd wind up happy here - sleeping in a cottage without a lock on the door - I'd have told you that was crazy-talk.
Beautiful vintage fabrics. Mixed, not matched.
There is a pot belly pig named Don Wrinkles, after Don Rickles. But he mostly goes by "Wrinkles."
Femme, 2005 Fabric, glass, stainless steel and wood
24.7 x 35.5 x 14.6 cm / 9 3/4 x 14 x 5 3/4 in
Photo: Christopher Burke
Bourgeois maintained the presence of childhood trauma in her work, even toward the end of her life. It's amazing, when you think of it, just how important childhood can be (should be?) in determining the enduring course of our adult lives.