5 October 2007. Warm morning sun, single white Caspar-the-Ghost cloud hovering over 7-eleven roof. White Salvation Army truck rumbles across the lot just below, red insignia emblazoned. Two red tail lights alongside, on polished black trunk hood, late-model, non-descript. Lots of action...
Philip Guston last night: nailing it down. The early paintings, thirties imagery, all thematic--his tiny figure on a ladder, working on giant mural. The nooses and hoods--inside or out? Ku-Klux-Klan, LA garage, merging. We jump to Semana Santa in Seville--the ur-hoods, even taller, even whiter. Question to Berta, from Bilbao: "How do you feel when you see them?" "Scared." Hovering within, unknown...
A lumpy figure in a tilt-up bed, twined geometries, and two parallel shoes, one after the other on an adamant horizontal. Face--if there is one--hidden away at the top of the slab. A monument to the impossibility of doubt... Dear sweet sleep, o save us...
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