Can't Drop the Feeling
I was having a nightmare about the Bald Knobbers, which oddly turned into a yummy sex dream by the end (not involving Bald Knobbers), but then the alarm went off. I went to the shower and was suddenly haunted by the dream, mixed with an idea falfax and I had exactly three years ago this month, to do a gallery installation partially inspired by William Faulkner's short story The Dead. The installation would include clothing and accoutrements from several Victorian women hanging around, with portraits displayed here and there. The goal would be to contrast the physical permanence of the items with the ephemera of human life long past, kind of a haunting touch to the items, relics of the mute.
While thinking on this, I remembered the time nine years ago we investigated an abandoned home outside Stillwater, and how it still had all the furniture and decor intact from 1968 (so said the calendar on the wall). I'd gone into the girl's room and took a large envelope of love letters she'd written her lover in Vietnam. Ever since then I was kind of creeped out that that could happen to a household, and have always wanted to do something with that idea of frozen time and stillness in association with the organic beings that used them long gone.
I think it was the mixture of fear and sex at once in the dream that spurred thoughts again on these interrelated subjects and plans from the past, to form a newer, stronger cohesion: Its now diluted itself into a film script that I've started writing, but which would sound cheap if I were to describe it.
While thinking on this, I remembered the time nine years ago we investigated an abandoned home outside Stillwater, and how it still had all the furniture and decor intact from 1968 (so said the calendar on the wall). I'd gone into the girl's room and took a large envelope of love letters she'd written her lover in Vietnam. Ever since then I was kind of creeped out that that could happen to a household, and have always wanted to do something with that idea of frozen time and stillness in association with the organic beings that used them long gone.
I think it was the mixture of fear and sex at once in the dream that spurred thoughts again on these interrelated subjects and plans from the past, to form a newer, stronger cohesion: Its now diluted itself into a film script that I've started writing, but which would sound cheap if I were to describe it.