Rosebud.

Untitled, 2011

Untitled, 2010

I've been sifting through old images- ones from ages ago, as well as ones I started taking when I moved into this house. I knew there would be a photography project in all of this, but I was in the middle of a couple of solo exhibitions for the paintings and the general mayhem of the task at hand. I kept shooting, alternating between different cameras, but most of the time was I was in a hurry to get on with the clearing out of things. I know better now, and did then as well, but in truth, I'm only able to work on so many things at one time and it was necessary to perform triage among life, studio and work. Even though for me they are the same, there are some finer points to hash out that can make one or the other softer, more gentle.

There are themes. Things appear and disappear. The background changes, but the story remains the same. People shift in and out of roles, and then, they too are gone. There's no real chronological order anymore. There was at one point, but I thrived on making order out of chaos in my art for so long that it infiltrated other areas of my life. There is no real past. The furniture and the objects are simply instruments of time travel. 

Some of the older photographs are labeled Winter Garden and contain a picture of my mother. In my case, Winter Garden is a small town in Florida. But still, fascinating coincidence. 

And so it goes. I walked around today. Free parking. Streets were deserted. I kept wondering what I was looking for.