Totemism
Inside everyone there are secret rooms. They’re cluttered and the lights are out. There's a bed in which someone is lying down with his face to the wall. In his head there are more rooms. In one, the venetian blinds shake in the approaching summer storm. Every once in a while an object on the table becomes visible: A broken compass, pebble the color of midnight, an enlargement of a school photograph with a face in the back circled, a watch spring, each one of these items is a totem of the self.
Every art is about the longing of One for the Other. Orphans that we are, we make our sibling kin out of anything we can find. The labor of art is the slow and painful metamorphosis of the One into the Other.
