About Time

Dancing on a Flat Circle

Well, it happened. Luckily I had two years to prepare for it.

Five days ago I came down with a case of covid.

One week ago I was driving to Lake Tahoe.

One month ago I was packing up to visit my little brother in Oregon.

Six months ago I was scooping up a collection of my paintings from an exhibit that showed in a vampire den downtown over the weekend.

One year ago I was collaborating on a clown creation in the valley. The Yarnballs, my clown duo, made our first pre-recorded video performance for a show being streamed out of a theater in New York. The hosts would present the show live from on stage in the big apple, introducing pre-recorded acts all created from the same prompt. Under the reign of pandemic times, mixed-format shows like this were having their moment. Albeit, this was our first! The theme? About Time.

I have so much I want to say about this piece, and yet it feels like I should say the least. The sentiments I have overwhelm themselves when I try to fashion them into words. They cave in on each other’s meaning, leading ideas into circles chasing tails. I suppose that’s why they found their way out through this video instead.

It is a very important piece to me. It encapsulates so much of how I felt then and how I feel now. About the world, about the pandemic, about hope (or lack thereof) and the rhythms of time.

I don’t think it’ll ever feel quite like we are all back on the same track together again. The word ‘feel’ is important to note. I recognize that it was always just a feeling. The timeline of experience we were sharing pre-covid was never close to a solid level floor we all stood together on. Rather, it’s always been weaving like a basket– undulating, knotted, hiding and holding wherever it sees fit. It did feel like we all were in that basket together, though. Now, well. Gosh. It seems like someone is sneezing up that clock at every random interval they can manage!

The endless upsets over the past two years (and predictably going into the future of infinity) have rearranged each bit of our collective design. Like a flip book of exquisite corpses shuffled to high heaven.

Each part of the picture a lonesome little cog. Marching away in this big machine of the show must go on.

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