I picture us sitting in your living room, a pot of water screeching to a boil. There’s a lofty breeze blowing its way between us as if to take a stake in the lack of conversation, placing bets on your poignant stare darting into mine from across a wooden floor. On the close inspection of your face, I’d find a familiarity that you would not return, as many hours of my sight have been dedicated to staring at you in books and museums, in photographs and collages. I don’t think I would waste any time trying to hide how much I knew, how much I cared, because regardless of my attempts, you would know. And after spending your entire life dissecting what makes us all so utterly connected to one another, I believe it would be an insult to deny that what we have is real. I found you around this time last year; I'll remind you. I was visiting my sister in Chicago for the weekend. Her and I had been out late the night before which tends to result in a 1pm wakeup. I, however, have never been able to sleep in past 7 AM and therefore found myself with about 6 hours to spare. It was an icy and bitter morning, one that begs of a person to stay inside, and yet I was cracking with an energy that did not care much for this plea. I put on the biggest coat I had packed and set forth for The Art Institute of Chicago, three blocks down the street. I was greeted by two stone statues of Lions at the front gate and a friendly security guard who peeled through my little backpack, unsuspecting of a young lady’s sinister intentions.
To Ray Johnson
To Ray Johnson
To Ray Johnson
I picture us sitting in your living room, a pot of water screeching to a boil. There’s a lofty breeze blowing its way between us as if to take a stake in the lack of conversation, placing bets on your poignant stare darting into mine from across a wooden floor. On the close inspection of your face, I’d find a familiarity that you would not return, as many hours of my sight have been dedicated to staring at you in books and museums, in photographs and collages. I don’t think I would waste any time trying to hide how much I knew, how much I cared, because regardless of my attempts, you would know. And after spending your entire life dissecting what makes us all so utterly connected to one another, I believe it would be an insult to deny that what we have is real. I found you around this time last year; I'll remind you. I was visiting my sister in Chicago for the weekend. Her and I had been out late the night before which tends to result in a 1pm wakeup. I, however, have never been able to sleep in past 7 AM and therefore found myself with about 6 hours to spare. It was an icy and bitter morning, one that begs of a person to stay inside, and yet I was cracking with an energy that did not care much for this plea. I put on the biggest coat I had packed and set forth for The Art Institute of Chicago, three blocks down the street. I was greeted by two stone statues of Lions at the front gate and a friendly security guard who peeled through my little backpack, unsuspecting of a young lady’s sinister intentions.