Mary Boone | March 8 – April 26, 2014
Circular modules stenciled on and off the grid
Which at times absorb light as though
They are orchestrations of quiet sound moving
Slowly at different speeds for the sake of
Cicero amazingly speaking before the sea waves
With gravel in his mouth.
The window is indeed open for fresh air and
The landscape outside has never revealed its lyrical grandeur
As much as on this particular mid Sunday afternoon.
In “Mausoleum” is forgotten his past
Except for the cells that keep the ‘self’ in tact.
All is free of the past and the future.
Andiamo! Non c’è nessuno.
Is “Doctor” (Dr. Donald Kaplan) home to receive
A bouquet of flowers that his lover has sent?
In “Brain Rust” I felt the erosion of the industrial
Doormat that laid in front of my father’s garage.
It’s the palimpsest that has haunted my childhood memory.
Beholding the decline and fall of all the abuses of beauty,
Why should we labor our days and nights to create this system?
When it naturally becomes “A Brain in a Room.”
So many eyes of “(In)Security” stare at full figures
In crowded and empty rooms
Where people are coming and going; these eyes
Impatiently wait for the void filled with silence.
Perhaps the margins of discourse
Mean no more allegory.
With arms holding cosmic chandeliers
In the broad and mysterious passageway, it was
A priceless fabric of remarkable images.
We can all agree how handsome
Jean Marais was in La belle et la bete.
The exquisite tonality of black and grey
Seems meant to circulate air without stirring the atmosphere.
In “Treasury of Light” he told me no one here
Is intoxicated enough to move unpredictably
Toward the destination except for his “Strange Sister.”
She insists on studying “Architecture [that] Reflects the Age.”
“Parallel or Anti-Parallel” was her first essay.
Presently, we can all agree, “oh, what a pleasure!
It’s good to see him on campus.”
Who is afraid of the dream of knowledge?