“Space is all one space and thought is all one thought, but my mind divides its spaces into spaces into spaces and thoughts into thoughts into thoughts. Like a large condominium. Occasionally I think about the one Space and the one Thought, but usually I don’t. Usually I think about my condominium. The condominium has hot and cold running water, a few Heinz pickles thrown in, some chocolate-covered cherries, and when the Woolworth’s hot fudge sundae switch goes on, then I know I really have something. (This condominium, meditates a lot: it’s usually closed for the afternoon, evening, and morning.) Your mind makes spaces into spaces. It’s a lot of hard work. A lot of hard spaces. As you get older you get more spaces, and more compartments. And more things to put in the compartments.
To be really rich, I believe, is to have one space. One big empty space. I really believe in empty spaces, although, as an artist, I make a lot of junk. Empty space is never-waster space.
Wasted space is any space that has art in it.”
-Andy Warhol
The shape of my future apparently begins with a 1960’s footprint. What exactly that is besides a motley, apricot brick with khaki rendering leaves much to the imagination. The visual disparity falters between initial disgust and eventual awe. A slow developed appreciation that both endears to challenge a soft, almost negligent respect to timely architecture. There are many houses similar to this in Grange, that era, those visual decisions. What’s odd is the commonality of these abodes, standing erect, proud in suburbia. Many opt to render facades, a smooth coherent surface; many continuing daily routine with no thought in that direction. Large sums of television seem to align with the latter category. Low level feels.