I had my existence. I was there. Me in place and the place in me.

Light Leaks, Skepta, Cape Fear, London, Ruscha & Jackson Browne

Been on a plane non stop since Christmas Day. Not complaining.

On a flight back to NY— Cape Fear lingered on the seat-back tv screen. The calendar flipped. I was slightly nervous.

Hesitant of extensive solo travel. Failure or success of two shows I’d spent six months working on. What will the second half of the year be like? Country feeling politically, economically not the best etc etc…

1st stop— Florida to see family. Followed by two separate trips to LA. Install Hard Copy Los Angeles. Postponed twice. Flew back to open it.

On to Mexico City for a week. To install and open Polaroids, Small Prints & Ephemera. At Anent Gallery. Back to LA to close and deinstall Hard Copy. Dotted by a few days in New York in between.

I can’t measure time passing. Like— at all. Have mentioned this. First three months flew.

There’ve been high points. A mix of tough headlines. Experienced one in person— fires in LA.

Lot of people may not believe in climate change. But I feel like insurance companies do.

Sunrise from my hotel room. January 8th. Light leak at the top of the frame.

Strange to try and celebrate the two exhibitions in the midst of all the chaos. But I spent 6+ months planning them. Coordinating both in cities I live not close to.

Lately, I’ve noticed certain things remind me of time passing.

Toothpaste tube getting smaller. Shampoo bottle nearing empty. Changing the sheets on Sundays. Oil change notification. They’ve always occurred. I'm aware of them differently now.

Reminds me of Hate It Here by Wilco.

I try to keep the house nice and neat
I make my bed, I change the sheets
I even learned how to use a washing machine
Keeping things clean doesn't change anything

Reordering my dog’s food and prescriptions— how I know another month has passed.

Thought about this Ed Ruscha. Howl, 1986. Glad it exists. Would be nice to see in person.

My own dog naturally came to mind. That upward stretch they all do.

The Drawing Center sent an email with the below John Zorn. Work on paper. Reminded me of the Ruscha. And that this newsletter was still in my drafts. Is it a drawing of a gut punch?

Thought about this Issy Wood I saw in LA at the beginning of Frieze. At Michael Werner. Third trip there this year.

Deinstalled the Xerox show at Webber Gallery LA. Rolled up all the prints. Fit them into this box. Checked it on the plane ride home to New York. How I’ll be getting it to London for my show in October.

The Zorn drawing reminded me I saw 2001 Space Odyssey at the Paris Theater. Uptown. Last Fall. Kubrick wrote, directed and produced it. 1968.

When this pivotal scene came on the screen— the grid made me think of Bridges.

And we should bring gatekeeping back. I can’t read another fucking list. Which reminded me of a Skepta lyric.

“Your taste level is my wait level.” Yea— I know who he is riffing.

But Bridges is a known thing. Not telling you nothing new. Eaten there three times. Looking forward to a fourth.

The internet is a funny place. Where garbage opinions become gospel.

Like being mad Patrick Schwarzenager is on White Lotus. He got it cuz he’s great for the part. Yea, we know who his dad is. Sure— mighta got him a foot in the door. Years ago. But that. is. life.

People have followed in the profession of their parents since the birth of civilization. Go cry about it.

Birth of civilization reminds me of a few pictures I took in Greece. August 2022.

I’m not sure who made up these rules. Rules that only exist on the internet. Like Carhart is solely for construction workers.

No one is construction worker cosplaying, people. I’m offended that anyone is offended by this. Carhart WIP has been a thing since ‘94. Opened in Soho in 2011. But the snarky starter pack meme is from… last year? Hmm emoji.

Why are we taking style nods from anonymous memers? Cuz the loudest boos come from the cheapest seats. I heard my favorite Conor Oberst lyric float by me like a passing car’s loud stereo.

You taught me victory’s sweet

Even deep in the cheap seats

All the hot takes and yelling on the internet exhaust me. I thought about a Catherine Murphy painting I saw at Peter Freeman. Young Caleb told me to see the show. I like a diptych.

Kinda made me think of these pictures I took in LA in January.

Lately— my tolerance for stupidity has shallowed. You can tell.

But it’s not about being right. About anything. If I’m wrong— I want to know. This idea and the above painting made me think of the one below by Léon Spilliaert. Watercolor, 1909. It’s at Zwirner til April 12th.

When I saw it I thought— It’s kinda like how the world looks from 30 thousand feet. How I wish I could be— in moments of distress.

But I need time to process. Days. Often longer.

We digest more tragedy, disturbing events via text, news alerts, social media etc... in 24 hours than we did in the 25 years before the iPhone existed. When I heard that on a podcast I turned it off. Pressed play on Jackson Browne’s For A Dancer.

Beacuse I’ve never met a strong person with an easy past.

I try and remember— most people are going through something difficult. Or have.

Thought about this Leonard Baby painting that was not at his current show at Half Gallery.

It reminded me of a screenshot I have saved on my desktop.

Bruce Springsteen’s explanation of his 30 year bout with depression. Past experiences shape you. But who you are right now. In the present moment. Is in control.

Maybe that’s why I’m happiest— out to dinner. With someone I can talk deeply with. A couple hour reprieve. In a place that feels like an extension of home. Seeing other people in the room enjoying it too. I’m the most present in those moments.

I thought about fitting in. And how I never felt comfortable anywhere but Manhattan. A line from a Seamus Heaney poem bounced back to me.

I had my existence. I was there.
Me in place and the place in me.

Which reminded me of one Alex Dimitrov posted recently. (He has a new book out April 1st)

London’s waiting for me. I’ll be there to open a new show I put together at Webber Gallery in Soho. May 15th. Haven’t been since late February 2020. Made a handful of pictures on the trip. Couple weeks before the world changed.

No one wants to talk about covid. I get it. But it was five years ago this month. That lost year folded time on top of itself. Changed how we process it.

The Days Runaway Like Wild Horses Over The Hill