i don't know where to start with these photos. lately it's been my unconscious wish to counter my more analytical views on art via my (albeit i try to infuse it with quirky poetics) writing for hi-fructose with more personal plumage on why i'm attached to certain pieces of art / writing / etc here. these polaroids by
olof grind touch me on many levels. firstly, i believe i lived and loved in paris in a past life. nearly anyone who has encountered the city of lights with an open heart must feel this way too. it seems so fleeting to even try to properly express the depths of my feelings about this city with words, but i will always try. also, i'm finding more and more that the art i'm really attracted to either carries the odd duality of being repulsive & beautiful or is able to dig into the deep nerves of forgotten memories; the art i can see myself or my current emotional landscape in. these photos are it. foggy and forlorn and on the cusp of a season change. lastly, i've been completely enamored by the piano lately. i have long alien fingers that my mother always hoped i'd use towards being a pianist when i was a kid but somehow music making will always be that mysterious unknown. lately i've been listening to mixes on 8 tracks such as
this one while writing.
