Thanksgiving Is Ruined
December 03, 2007
not about "Vaché and boredom"
Contrary to yesterday's promise, here is not a post about Jacques Vaché and boredom.
The topic became too boring to post about, before we could even manage to do so.
Maybe tomorrow. If we can muster up the enthusiasm.
Instead, here are some links to what will seem like random info about a couple of artists who have made work that has involved mirrors.
First, Yayoi Kusama:
A link to an article with an image of her standing in her 1965 "Infinity Mirror Room" is here.
Second, Orson Welles:
A brief filmclip taken from his 1947 thriller, "The Lady from Shanghai," is, for the time being anyway, here.
For those who can't view it, the monologue delivered in the scene by the great Everett Sloane goes something like this:
So you'd be foolish to fire that gun.
An instant later, the clip features:
a piercing scream
I had to replay the clip almost a dozen times before I could get myself to believe that the entire sequence, from the first gunshot to the last gunshot to the final dead silence, elapses in less than 20 seconds. It seems like it goes on for minutes. And minutes.
The first time I watched the scene, it seemed to last for hours. Maybe that was because of the way that it seemed to hang around and reverberate in the memory. So, in a way, it did last for hours.
Some of Kusama's larger sculptures involve mirrored rooms that the spectator can enter and walk around in, a bit. Examples include her "Infinity Dots Mirrored Room," "Repetitive Vision" and "Fireflies on the Water."
One could imagine a version of one of Kusama's mirror rooms that contained multiple film projections of the house of mirrors sequence from "The Lady from Shanghai," in a loop, bouncing around inside.
What would be the proper musical soundtrack to play in such a space? I am thinking of the Stooges' "Fun House":
every little baby knows just what I mean
Also in a loop. Though their "L.A. Blues," from the same album, would work too.
Or both, in overlap. Either or both should, in any event, be played at near eardrum-splitting volume.
What would it be like to enter such a room, for a little while?
How many of the people that one passes every day on the street, or on the highway, or wherever, might feel like they're in that room, every day, for at least a second or two?
The lesson here is obvious.
Everett Sloane pretty much rocked.