RIDER

December 19, 2010. Columbus Circle. A woman rides through the square, maybe after having just been in Central Park. She and her horse are dressed for New York. The bronze is open, giving us a view inside, but not too much, just enough to know that there is an inside. Where are they going? Home? Where is it? Or is it just the ride?

ICE BUCKETS

December 18, 2010. Giant cubes of frozen water, outsized in an outsized City. The day was frigid, but the cubes were nestled safely in their bed of leaves, dropped from the elms surrounding the Library. I was on my way to Bryant Park. The colors of the leaves and pine branches are muted by the ice, the lines blurred and flowing into each other. It looks so quiet under there. It looks soft.

BABY, YOU KNOW

December 12, 2010. Any surface is a canvas. Some surfaces, and some expressions just invite participation. Who was the author trying to reach? And did the lover appreciate the public nature of the speech, not to mention the public nature of the response. But does baby know how you feel, or do we just hope so? Are we relying on intuition, gut, body language as somehow more meaningful than words, which our kind spent eons developing, in an effort to add clarity to our interactions? "But baby." I can hear it now.

LOCKED OUT

December 11, 2010. Is it a comment on the lock, someones heart, or a relationship? In New York, it can become confusing because every surface is a potential for communication. This message may be intended for a locksmith, who was called while the owner was out of town and who had to return to the shop for parts. It could have been intended for the lover, who has been shut out, and the message meant to alert him not to come up. It could have been a reply to betrayal, a response to the breaking of trust, leaving the loved one in a state of despair, unable any longer to even make the attempt to reconcile. I wonder if the message was understood.

CONTAINER

December 5, 2010. Our affinity to the sea is primal, lasting, pulling, wild and deep. If life crawled first from there, or from some other primordial sludge what does it matter? We cannot live without it in any event. Whether salty, brackish, cool and clear, cold or warm, it calls to us and we each answer it in our way.

MATING RITUAL

December 4, 2010. What was this? It looked like dozens of snails in their nautilus shells clustered around a rock in a mating ritual. The colors are all soft greens to creamy beige. It looks so otherworldly, that I am not sure you should eat it. Maybe it should just sit on a table and be displayed.

BRICKS AND MORTAR

December 3, 2010. These bricks made me think of mud and hands. There was so much texture and irregularity to their size that I could imagine some group of people making them by hand, continuing to pass on a tradition that started with dung and dirt and water. The colors changed, smokey, dusky colors, as if seen through the haze of kilns and dust and ash. Hands have passed on this tradition - words couldn't do it - you had to feel the texture. What a wonderfully manual task.