Stare.
     
 

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  Seventeen Numbers, Eight of Them Prime, Spelled With One Nine Hundred and Forty-Three Circles In Ninety Squares
(Ten)

 
 
 

 
 
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23 April 1997
Seventeen Numbers, Eight of Them Prime, Spelled With One Nine Hundred and Forty-Three Circles In Ninety Squares
(Ten)
Another week, another boring conceptual piece--Seventeen Numbers, Eight of Them Prime, Spelled With One Nine Hundred and Forty-Three Circles In Ninety Squares--that looks better on paper and/or in the PDF version.

24 April 1997
Nobody Reads Forms
I had to put my birth date on a form, so I wrote "18-18." When I had to fill in the age box, I wrote "18*2 going on 18*3." My silly answers provided a brief break from the bureaucratic monotony. It might give some clerk a laugh, except that no one ever reads forms.

25 April 1997
Sealed
I saw a man on the street who was trying to screw the top back on his bottle of vodka. I could tell he wouldn't be able to do it; he was so spectacularly drunk that he didn't notice he'd lost the cap. The bottle wasn't sealed so his fate was.

26 April 1997
Superseded?
I looked at some work I did a few years ago, I was surprised at how good it was. I liked it, but I don't think I'd know how to do the same thing again today. I wonder if I forgot something?

Did I forget something? Or did learn something that replaced -- superseded? -- something I used to know?

27 April 1997
Not Entertaining Rich People
David Hockney said "l don't know an artist today who would dare do a show of flowers and faces, which is exactly why I'm doing it." (Hockney is fortunate not to know any of the myriad painters who crank out pretty paintings of flowers.)

It's hard for me to believe this is the same person who just over a decade ago said "If we are to change our world view, images have to change. The artist now has a very important job to do. He's not a little peripheral figure entertaining rich people, he's really needed."

I read that Hockney's working title for the show was "Fuck you, it's all flowers." It's too bad he abandoned it; that was about the only thing that would have differentiated him from a little peripheral figure entertaining rich people. Oh well, maybe he's just going through a bad period.

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28 April 1997
Robin Hood Plastered
Robin Hood is drunk as a twelfth century skunk; he might even be on drugs. He's accosting Maid Marian, who seems to be patiently tolerating his obscene advances.

Who curated this golf course?

29 April 1997
I Blame the Architecture
I got terribly lost walking in Frankfurt. Walking west everything looked like a residential street, but walking east all I could see were business façades. I'm not complaining, though, one of the main reasons I travel is to get lost.

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©1997 David Glenn Rinehart