The Name Game

[abknight@zzzzzz]

Mea Culpa

I thought to ask if I had attributed that finger piece
correctly, for I had some doubt, but I could not wait to
ask Bill M., for I had to sing its qualities immediatly,
being under a working assumption that the artist was of
the highest quality.

Who would want an ten ton cartoon in their flower bed
squeezed against their facade?   Me apparently.

 I wonder how the people who work in this building feel.
Is this perhaps a truly awful piece?  Do the employees
feel the building is giving them the finger?  And
laughing while it does so?
Does it make ill?  Is the worst of public sculptures?

I have no discernment whatsoever.  Obviously I like
according to how I'm supposed to like and have no
indvidual powers of response.  I am a minion of the
recieved view.  Thinking the work to by by an artist of
distinction I recieved it as royalty.   If I had had any
self regard as an independant thinker, that notion would
now be rather damaged.   What a fine joke on me.  Maybe I
should save my poetry of praise and flattery for
politicians or some such worthy subject.  Maybe Madison
avenue is the place for me.  I could pitch thigh firmers
or deodorant. Or perhaps, more darlky, I could flog for
the war.

My apologies to the list.

I hope there is something educational in my embaressment.
Could anyone find something of use here?  I suppose I have
a knack for supplying narrative for cautionary tales.
Certainly it should be an education for me not to play the
name game.   But I don't know that I am teachable.   Ah,
what shall I go off to admire tomorrow?

An ongoing source of crisis for me in life and art is the
lack of a stable independant view, or lack of any clear
view whatsoever.  Perhaps it might be called artistic
vision.  I stare at the world and know not what I see.  I
have always the dread of proceeding unheeding into I know
not what.  When carving I know not what I am working on
but only that I am hammering and it is certainly a mad,
perhaps unsustainable way to proceed.   Shall the modest
sculptural work of my life be to present the world the
fingers?  It could be my fate and I would scarcely know
it, for I make things before I know what they are.   I
hope not.  But if I could love the fingers what might I
not be capable of?

Bill,  do you have photos of your own of the Nicolette
Square Project, since you seem to share a town of
residence with it?  I wish to admire it.  Oh the terrible
faults of the admiring viewer

Bill