The Drive.

Strong, strong progression in this year's edition of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass Zoe Strauss' I-95 show. The photos from Alaska added an unexpected texture to the show. Softened things somehow. Made them harder. ALL the new work was amazing, and every year I see a more intricate pattern of conversation between the pieces and across the years. The rain was just some kind of occasional ritual, but as a practical matter it didn't keep the people away. Things were hoppin'.

Some favorite moments . . .

This one I'll mention first because until (almost) the very end it was my #1 choice to take home. Stirring-in-the-chest, this one. Brings the grief and the love all at the same time. Surprisingly, it's the yellow that blasts it's way in, and then the words land unfettered. Good luck after that, man. Irony might find the door later. With the empty bottle around the corner it make me think of that period of time after 09.11.01 when we were all drinking too much and having terror sex with the wrong people.


Every year there are always a couple places where the photos bleed into their pillar (Remember this classic?). I loved the ruins here.


The cars. The ramp. The wet. I am dreaming of Joie Chitwood's Hell Drivers.


I took this pic because of the way the swath of color behind it on the pillar expands the space of the photo, and draws the attention to the solitary figure in a way that I hadn't seen before.


Like I said. The rain.


And one more thing. DON'T fuck with Zoe's mom. There was some douchebag who tried to take one of the prints off it's pillar at 3:30 pm, a half hour before the end of the show. Ilene told him to stop. He argued his asshole position. Bad idea. Next time you're in a dictionary, look under "walking away with tail between legs". There's a picture of him there.

And don't miss . . .

Karen Heller's nice piece in Saturday's Inquirer

Art Most Fierce's post (Who truly was most fierce staking out the Kellie Harper photo for 2 hours. Respect!).

Mark Barry's flickr set

And, of course, Zoe's post. Pirate fighters! Flag faced kissers! Aforementioned douchebag ass-kickings!

Ooh. And I almost forgot. Apologies to Robert Fripp.