Like pretty much everyone else on the planet, I live in a world of my own. Sometimes I forget that the things I find commonplace are anything but to everyone else. For instance, I realized this morning that I’ve never mentioned the work of Jacob Arden McClure. I just assume that most people have heard of him. I do that with a lot of artists apparently. Well, I’m gonna rectify these exclusions, starting with McClure. Dude lives just across the Bay in this world, but it looks like his mind occupies a world thousands of miles from my own. His work is rife with ephemera and icons torn apart and reassembled to reflect the casual darkness they’ve wrought. Think of what it would be like to dip a finger into a rotting tub of fatty American Dream. That’s pretty close. It’s hard to describe what imminent disaster looks like. It feels like a barn on fire at night.
{ 2008 05 13 }
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