Great Exudations

It’s a curious thing to title a photograph. I think it might often be best for them to remain unadorned, so as not to suggest a theme. Let the viewer carve out their own meaning. Some artists eschewed titles for their works. Clyfford Still used an alphanumeric system along with the year of completion to label his works (e.g. “1944-N, No 2”), thereby avoiding contamination. Others, especially the surrealists, used bizarre appellations that were intentionally distanced from the representative forms, presumably to maximize the potential range of interpretations or else just to have a laugh (see Magritte’s cryptic “On the Threshold of Liberty” or Max Ernst’s dada-flourish “The Gramineous Bicycle Garnished with Bells the Dappled Fire Damps and the Echinoderms Bending the Spine to Look for Caresses”). And in that way perhaps an arcane or nonsensical label is better than none at all. It sets the gears turning and on the open road. I don’t love the header I landed on, but I WAS intending to highlight the theme of nuance among seemingly similar things — be they humans or rooms in a seaside hotel. A few alternatives are offered below:

“Balconization” (humor?)

“One of These Things is Not Like the Other” (Waldo-like search)

“Railing On and On” (just lame)

“Don’t Look Up!” (topical)

Ah, well…….

Stumbled into this incredibly delicious toffee treat (Tovfefe?) in VA Beach, of all places. Long story. But be warned, it’s highly addictive. BF Skinner levels. Should probably come with a warning label. If the Sackler’s had discovered it, we’d all be happily in a diabetic coma. As if Chapel Hill, NC hadn’t done enough for me. It gave me my college education. Many friends and fond memories. The ups and downs of early dating life. The Flats of Finley. Sutton’s Drugs lunch counter. The late night haunts: He’s Not Here, Spanky’s, Cat’s Cradle (Burning Spear!), The Happy Store, Hector’s, Time Out Biscuit Kitchen, etcetera. And, of course, Michael Jordan. But now I’ve added this gem to the list! Disclosure: I have no relationship to the company but am more than willing to go there, if it helps me get my fix… Sent it to my mom who also loved it! Try some. You can hate-thank me later.

Brick Dunn: “Now listen here, Hatti. I’m takin’ that lamp if I have to haul it out in pieces.”

Hatti: “Over my dead body!”

Brick Dunn: “That can be arranged. Besides your lawyer already wrung me dry for the jalopy, the saggin’ bungalow, and that dumb statue of a black bird we’ve been draggin’ around since Moses.”

Hatti: “Yeah, what about it?”

Brick Dunn: “Babe, be reasonable. I’m a Noir guy. You know that. I make my livin’ gettin’ plugged full of lead or sent off to the Chair. It looks easy, but it’s rough. Real rough. Give us a break here! I need this lamp to practice my deep angles. My tall entrances. My slick getaways. You know the drill, Hatti. Be a sport. For old times!”

Hatti: “Alright, alright. But be quick about it before I change my mind. “

Brick Dunn: “Done! Now there’s only one more thing I need. The theremin!”

Hatti: “We own a theremin? Since when??”

Brick Dunn: “Since whenever. Look, sci-fi is all the buzz nowadays. They’re shootin’ pictures from Jupiter to the center of the Earth. Right here in Hollywood. There’s creatures of all walks and talks: giant bugs, space lizards, pod people, blobs. You name it! And the key that makes it all work is this here theremin. Actually, I won it in a poker game off Boots Malloy. He didn’t know what he had! With this contraption, I’m goin’ places, Hattie. Places you and me never dreamt of…!! You can keep that stupid black bird!”

Hatti: “It’s a deal.”

This image reminds me of some of the more stylized opening credit sequences from films and TV of the 60’s and 70’s. Band-like figures moving in different directions which then lock together as a coherent picture. The thrill of disorientation and movement all on a static screen. An entertainment equivalent of tri-colored shag carpeting (which we had in our den and my older sister and I both had in our respective attic bedrooms). It was a great idea at the time…

“Frank Burnside is a tough former New York City COP who quit the force after uncovering evidence of heavy police CORRUPTION. He bounced around in odd jobs before renting a small office in the Bowery as a private investigator. He was enjoying life’s slower pace until a chance encounter with an old FLAME led him into a LABYRINTH of mystery, intrigue and MURDER! Whether you’re a cop, a pimp, a politician, or a loan shark, it seems that old scores are never fully SETTLED!…. Starring George Segal as Frank Burnside…. with George Peppard, Lee Remick, Jan-Michael Vincent, Anthony Franciosa, and Shelley Winters as Cookie Walters. HEAD GAMES is one game you will NEVER forget!” (Warner Bros.)

Our maternal grandmother volunteered as a docent at the National Portrait Gallery when we were young. She used to gather my middle sister and I for her gallery tours, often depositing us for a spell in the kid’s area. The space was called the Discovery Room or something similar. It was terrific. You could run around and touch the objects. There were cool reflective surfaces and tunnels. Things would light up on contact. A magical place. Sadly, it’s gone now (was thinking I’d love to go back in time to cement the imagery, but on second thought maybe it’s better left in that warm attic space of memory). Sometimes we would accompany her tour groups and stand at the back. Years later, she fondly recalled us mimicking her dignified delivery in front one of our favorites: “Grant and His Generals” (below). I remember how much she loved Andrew Wyeth, Edward Hopper, and Alexander Calder, and so I love them deeply, too. She set us on a course of art appreciation and exploration that will last a lifetime. For that, and for her unbounded kindness, we are forever grateful.

My immediate reaction to this scene was to recall the duct motif in one of my favorite films, Terry Gilliam’s dystopian satire “Brazil” (1985). His absurdist Orwellian nightmare only seems to gain in relevance as the decades pass: the insinuating tendrils of corporate and state surveillance encroach; the molder of our infrastructure deepens; the stain of consumerist materialism expands; the need for romantic escape from reality (ironically through “reality TV” and life-like video-games) grows ever more dire. And this image, taken outside the Contemporary Arts Center in New Orleans, also makes a comment on our bloated art market. Objects of wonder reduced purely to their monetary value with barely a mention of historical context, aesthetic appeal, technique, or emotional impact. They are selling Banksy, but they aren’t reading him. And so these ducts might have conveyed the detritus of soulless works by a Damien Hirst or Jeff Koons, who were no doubt commenting — opportunistically — on these very same commercial sensibilities. But in the end, we get progressive dilution. All shock, no awe. And in so doing they cynically fuel that market churn, as Warhol did more artfully before them (Duchamp, in contrast, remains elevated as the skewering iconoclast. Instead of selling out, he opted for chess), until the overly borrowed becomes the ever banal.

How much do you think I can get for that photo?…….

The exclamation “Eureka!” (per Wikipedia) is attributed to Archimedes. It is a transliteration of the Greek word heureka, meaning “I have found it!” He reportedly made this spontaneous utterance when stepping into a bath and suddenly he realized that the volume of water displaced must be equal to the volume of the body part submerged. Those were “heady” days. In modern times, it is sometimes associated with the sudden urge to vacuum….