I’ve been spending a lot of time roaming thrift stores the past two weeks, almost daily trips. Each trip uncovers some discovery and subsequent purchase, like the three unopened packages of Stargate party invitations I couldn’t leave without, but this I did not buy, although I seriously considered it. It was a supplement to an art exhibit at MoMA, which means it was free with entry to the museum, and would now cost $1, or $.20 if I could find four other books to package with it. It was a checklist to the exhibit, giving the name, date, dimensions, and material list for each piece. The opening information about the exhibit was torn out – perhaps a memento for someone’s scrapbook on their first trip to the Big Apple. Without it, the entire text seemed disembodied; just titles and lists – acrylic paint, ink, pencil. I could have looked up the artist, the paintings, perhaps even the entire exhibit online when I got home, but I didn’t want to. I was more interested in the idea of texts, things, breaking away from a larger piece they were meant to stay connected to. What information does such a text now convey? Is it useless? Is it truly disconnected (isolated)? Can it, should it, be (re)connected? What becomes of it now that the connections are not traceable? The idea of supplemental text no longer being a supplement. (Makes me want to entertain a project of finding disembodied supplements and pairing them with new master (?) texts…)
Loosely Connected Thoughts:
On the drive home I thought of finding an unidentified map, a guide to navigating an unrecognizable mass of land. If I go thirty miles west of Town X, I’ll be near Lake Z and a number of Lake Towns; better keep that in mind for summer trip planning.
Aging networks. Useless archives. I really need to read more Latour.