Godbits Over the Soufide: Collaborative show with Bob Reuter at the Third Floor Gallery St. Louis, Missouri (2004)
Vacancy
Moat/Mote
Home is the Backside of a Mirror
P.S. Archpocalypse (Creation Myth in the Making)
All works: 4′X4′ Collage, acrylic, and oil on panel
From the catalogue: I like the conversation that art starts. I like the art that conversation starts too. This back and forth between Bob and I started blind like online dating but instead of a computer there was a south side gutter and instead of a chat room there was a tire-tracked black bound sketchbook with no name on it. Months later during a Palookaville intermission, I traced the lost book I’d found back to him when he showed me through some subsequent volumes — I immediately recognized the familiar and uniquely right-on offness of his specifically St. Louis cast of characters. From that grew conversations about Scripts and Stories and how cities get built, and from that grew our mythic tribute to the plight of rebel angels everywhere, faithfully trailing tired wings like scolded puppy tails or punctured kites — God bits over the south side. God bits, like glitter, snow, tickertape parades — Fuzz in beloved belly buttons or confetti in envelopes; hair in soap and coins in pockets, Tokens Afloat — still a-traveling down down like ash from a Very Far Away Volcano, or our Lard the cosmic chain-smoker sending scurrilously sacred reminders that we’re each just a piece. I usually start a painting by digging around in an old story and watching how its plot still squirms around today, in sound bites and media cips and juicy detritus we step in and over. I wish it were more practical, but for me paint is convenient goo to semi-permanently fix a question so you can think about it for longer than a second. The intimacy of the visual world teaches me all the time to pay and play attention. What happens if we go back to when we could see the shape of things? Can a picture become a common text? We share an experience by looking at the same thing and a place for dialogue grows in the space between our individual interpretations and experiences. -Lyndsey Scott, November 2004