Art Is Never a Surprise
I drank some wine with a blind woman who was describing to me the work of certain feminist minimalist painters from new york in the sixties.
because I was drinking wine, I pointed out to her that she was blind and couldn't see anything.
you would love them, she said. would I? I wondered. her husband just wanted to talk about wine.
uh-oh / pinot gri-gi-oh / he said.
I watched her blanch her broccoli. are you familiar with the installations of maureen connor or the monoliths of ulrich rückriem? she asked.
at home, quite late at night, I would eat cherry cobbler and sing EVERYTIME YOU SAY GOODBYE with my mouth opened.
DON'T! she screamed. her husband didn't like feminist minimalists painters from the sixties. and he shot her again with the water gun. she was in the kitchen, and so was he. I live far away from their house in a town that is filled with flowers, gazelles, angels, and unicorns that are colored purple like easter eggs.
HA HA she laughed, and shot him right back.
The 2River View, 3_4 (Summer 1999)