(image purloined from the Telegraph)
I haven’t posted anything for several days because I’ve been walking.
Like, I imagine, many people, damn near every conscious hour of my time is spent in front of one glowing screen or another. Flat one, boxy one, one with commercials, one with Adblock Plus… I think this is the root of a handful of extenuated mental blocks.
Alongside this, my exercise habits have, um, diminished… since I took a job that doesn’t give me free access to a big university rec center.
My solution: walking. And thus = a new facet to my appreciation for what Richard long did once upon a time.
You see I have been preoccupied with the thought that I don’t have time. I’m busy, I’m looking for a job in what may be the most competitive market in the still-doesn’t-pay-that-much universe. I spend time dreaming of ways to engage “young adults” who only respond to spoon-feeding. I have a darkened art studio gathering dust. But, I do have time. I do. The details may as well remain arcane – but rest assured I can fit everything I need to accomplish into a week. And so my solution is to do a thing that takes time.
This is another of the things that those who have done it already “get”, and for which explanations to those who don’t get it won’t suffice nearly as well as learning by practice.
I have for some time appreciated the art of Richard Long. I saw photographs and imagined. I thought about art discourse, the meaning of drawing and of facets of existentialism – or just existing. Now, I think of time – an assertion of having spent it and a testament to a viable alternative for how to use it.
I haven’t spent much time with Richard Long’s mud works. And although I see in myself some interest in his rocks, I haven’t compared them favorably with Robert Smithson’s gallery works. Perhaps though, if I walk a little more I’ll know what might have seen in those too had I only seen it earlier.