by Tim Girvin | Mar 30, 2011 | Diary
I was listening to someone, telling me “no.” I watched, as they held their finger up, wagging it — like a little, defining ruler, ready to smack me on the head. And I realized that the first inclination, in considering that word, was —...
by Tim Girvin | Mar 29, 2011 | Diary
WALKING THE DESERT I came to a place of bullets, by the thousands — some, to casings — others, to spent bullet shells of the brass made. These lie in the sun like golden teeth — knocked out, scumbled in the sand, fragmented and dusted with other...
by Tim Girvin | Mar 28, 2011 | Diary
Being out on the opening plain, in the bold light(en)ing of the sun cast, black earthen shadows — the desert, the wind rips across the line, tumbleweeds roar across the dustscape. And I find this windmill, that’s taking me back to the same old place, back...
by Tim Girvin | Mar 22, 2011 | Diary
I was studying the different scratching on the surface of a wall — in a room that was covered with the graffito — Latin for “little scratching” — of hundreds of people. Except that they didn’t only write on the wall, but incise...
by Tim Girvin | Mar 21, 2011 | Diary
Being at the DIA | Beacon, NY, up the Hudson, there are a series of installations by some of the greatest artists on the planet — classical emplacements involving the highest theories of each, a kind of portfolio of perfected legends. Those that are still...