sitting in a seven sided room at the san francisco museum of modern art.
you can’t photograph these, your picture looks like a solid canvas with nothing special about it.
it’s easy to walk by quickly & not really look. I see several people do that, from older couples to teens with dyed hair. they’re missing it & they don’t even know it because they don’t take the time to look. there’s a cultural comment in that, it’s a sign of the times maybe.
so many people don’t get it. the order found in chaos. it’s comforting if you let it be. it’s soothing. & when you get close to it you start to see the chaos creeping out… trickling out… a faucet that’s started to drip.
the grids are bursting at the seams but if you’re not close enough you’d never even know.
it kind of makes me sad the number of people who won’t even come into the gallery to look. I think they’re afraid of the silence… or maybe I’m being pretentious. but these are paintings you have to look at, right now, & you can’t take their picture & bring them with you. they aren’t bite sized.
there's texture to the paint too… the whisper of agnes’ voice.
the edges aren’t sharp—but dreamlike—it all starts to roll together.