Dreamed I went to Alaska– or maybe it was Nova Scotia. (Having never been to either place, how was I to recognize it?) Staying in some small town with hills and boulders where shop cats may as likely be fed fish as dry kibble; locals behind on technology made up for it with ingenuity and recombination. I remember hurtling along with others in the back of a van which served as the town’s only form of public transport; the route dictated by the location of stops, not by who was in the biggest rush so you may as well relax and enjoy the ride. There were people who were born there, and people who had moved there or were just staying until the next leg of their journey or a change of the seasons. Passing by a local deli in one of the walkable areas, late– it was closed and there were big, red fishes living in some water at the base of a glowing, refrigerated display case with glass shelves.
The dreams have been frequent and fertile. The machine had some more panics yesterday, but I’m now using all the technology I have to hand (for example, as I type this, the laptop is chugging away rendering a couple of animations). I found an oatmeal cookie in my coat pocket– souvinir of EastOver Sunday in NJ, uneaten. This naturally sent me into peals of laughter. Ben’s comment: “What is it with you and Andy, putting food in your pockets?” (More laughter.)
The apartment, for my part, is showing unmistakable signs of mid-deadline; that is to say– it’s a total mess. The canvases I began working on over the weekend are strewn about the living room with attendant supplies and accoutrements; every surface of my office is covered with piles of things to be dealt with or filed.
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 