Storage Locker

Posted on: December 30, 2005

Blue eyes, yellow skies… I dream of storage lockers. And then I think in Second Life, how I will occasionally "backup" my possessions into neatly-labelled plywood cubes, and then tuck them away for safekeeping. I entrust certain things with friends.

In airports, I used to look at the grid of lockers. If I had X-ray vision, I'd use it to look through, because curiousity compels me to discover what's behind each opaque hulk of metal. How long can some things be kept there? And what if they are forgotten—but not forever?

In some of our houses, we have attics, things get dusty and old, and maybe fall out of good graces (as childhood toys often do), but in time… time creates a space to come back and not only revisit, but take that branch from earlier, and run it alongside where you are now.

I've been looking at works I created on pastel years ago. It wasn't long ago that I considered myself much more of an aural than a visual artist, but, in an unlimited realm of multimedia, I can't impose horrible self-constraints. A label, for me, is a starting point that facilitates accessibility, but is not a prison. My labels have tentacles, perhaps like squid—or even not unlike one of Lovecraft's Elder Gods—and as it continues to unravel, I quickly realize what has long been unsaid and needs to be expressed.

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