The work is ready. I’ve been framing and mounting for the past two days and finally I know what my half of the show will look like.
I’m excited… Elena will tell you that’s not like me… highly unusual.
I’m really pleased with how the work looks… proud of myself… feel that I have been true to myself and that the work reflects my ideas over this past year… the work is me…
I want the show to open tomorrow… can’t stop making and that makes selection more and more difficult… need to stop, but admittedly have become slightly addicted to the process late into the night… churning out virus’ prior to refining and adapting… my pixels… dark… sinister… nasty… yet so beautiful… papilloma… influenza… rabies… yellow fever… chicken pox… herpes… HIV…
Infected by my creative inner me…
I’m fascinated that something so simple, a single microorganism can be so beautiful, yet causes such utter destruction… individuals’… stand-alones… that can change something in the flitter of a moment… metamorphosis… contaminate… overpower… change… destroy…
My stitch isn’t the sum of the whole… my stitch stands alone and affects… engenders clones of that that it caress’.
And yet…
I am altering them metaphorically… visually. I am the virus… like Hadron collider… seeking that “God” particle… infecting the infector… yet retaining that disguise… that deceit hidden within my makeup… appearance cloaked… decoy… enticing and sucking you away from Elena’s notion that more might be needed…
A stitch… alone… single… is also a thing of beauty…
And now I’m enforced to wait… patience…
Feels strange… unusual… alien… not like me again…
I don’t do patience.
I don’t do expectation.
I try not to do ego.
I don’t seek praise.
At heart I’m a grumpy, old, intolerant, self-centered, self-deprecating, miserable, anti-social git who really craves solitude and isolation…
Shows just aren’t my thing…
But…
I can’t wait… want you to see… want to hear your opinion… want to see you smile… want to infect… defile… contaminate…
I very much hope to see you there.
