That piece! Reminds me of a friend’s work (with whom I worked, at Saks, on rare occasions). He did amazing constructions with found objects, specifically antique toys. Nothing would please me more to find he’s doing well.
Oh, Ricky Cameron! You know, I am living in a “furnished apartment.” (Yes, it’s come to that.) But I have taken various of the supplied objets and mangled them up with my own trash, and that is what you see. And would see, were my apartment in your sightline.
I’ve mentioned this before, but it was a long time ago, so here we go again, lord: A friend once observed drily that my dwelling was not exactly child-friendly, what with all the rusty metal and jagged glass here, there and everywhere.
Sheila, Rob’s apartment would not stand the test of kids in the vicinity. I could hardly keep my hands off myself. There were things like antique, tin bicyclists on a wire. On the coffee table. Such like that.
How I saw them, he allowed me to “pass through” overnight one night, to sleep on his sofa, my trip from Minneapolis to Detroit.
The next morning, I was leaning into a window looking out on Lakeshore drive. I said, “The traffic sounds like a chord.”
He said, “Oh, honey, that’s the stereo. Harold Budd’s “The White Arcades.”
That piece! Reminds me of a friend’s work (with whom I worked, at Saks, on rare occasions). He did amazing constructions with found objects, specifically antique toys. Nothing would please me more to find he’s doing well.
Oh, Ricky Cameron! You know, I am living in a “furnished apartment.” (Yes, it’s come to that.) But I have taken various of the supplied objets and mangled them up with my own trash, and that is what you see. And would see, were my apartment in your sightline.
I’ve mentioned this before, but it was a long time ago, so here we go again, lord: A friend once observed drily that my dwelling was not exactly child-friendly, what with all the rusty metal and jagged glass here, there and everywhere.
Sheila, Rob’s apartment would not stand the test of kids in the vicinity. I could hardly keep my hands off myself. There were things like antique, tin bicyclists on a wire. On the coffee table. Such like that.
How I saw them, he allowed me to “pass through” overnight one night, to sleep on his sofa, my trip from Minneapolis to Detroit.
The next morning, I was leaning into a window looking out on Lakeshore drive. I said, “The traffic sounds like a chord.”
He said, “Oh, honey, that’s the stereo. Harold Budd’s “The White Arcades.”
I bought the CD immediately.
Harold Budd. Rick. That is the best.
I wonder if Rob is still in Chicago. If he is, I may seek him out.
Honestly, I love Harold Budd so damn much.
I could hardly keep my hands off myself.
To reframe my unfortunate punctuation or grammar, whatever:
I could hardly keep my hands off [his toys] myself.
Ooo, wait, that’s not really better. What am I trying to say?
Whatever it is, it’s getting better.
Last I heard of Rob, he was the Visual Manager at Saks on Michigan Avenue. Probably 15 years ago. It’s worth a try I suppose.