What a sad fate for a painter who loves blondes, but who refrains from putting them in his picture because they don’t go with the basket of fruit! What misery for a painter who hates apples to be obliged to use them all the time because they go with the cloth! I put everything I love in my paintings. So much the worse for the things, they have only to arrange themselves with one another.
The sun has risen, as every morning does. But today is different. Today we start September.
Last night it was raining, did you hear it? A Summer storm, indeed; maybe the last one of the season (who knows?), and it lasted till the early morning, as if the clouds knew that September was going to come.
They greeted him showing their respect; clearing the way and stop watering the dry streets and the roofs.
Los Angeles is like a film set. No matter where you are looking at; you could say you are watching an eternal movie.
David was nervous inside that movie. And excited. It was a lazy Sunday of the lazy Summer of ’67; and he was putting up his Polaroid camera over the tripod's neck, in front of the swimming pool, trying to find the perfect angle to make a reference picture for his next work.
Procedural artist: A procedural artist is a mutation. A freak of nature. They live among us. They eat in the same restaurants as we do, and they go the the same movie theaters and also like to swim in the same beaches.
But they see the world differently. They can be staring at something and searching mathematical patterns for hours. You could say the are suffering some catatonia, but they don’t. They are simply absorbing data f...