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Show 89 two-story abandoned bam on its humble coast that looks like the set of a horror movie. There is a noose-like rope hanging from the ceiling in the bam, adding to the effect. A path around the side of the bam winds past an empty silo to the shallow water in the back. Blake brought a backpack full of paint and starts practicing on a few open places in the cement. I can't tell what the building used to be. Rebar is sticking up everywhere, and there are a few caverns with water in them. He points to some skulls he has painted, and to some of his favorite murals by other artists. He tries to get me to paint but I try to write my name and it looks even worse than my regular handwriting so I just walk around and see what others have done. It gets dark fast. My flashlight is weak and yellow, a dull push into the thick night. I am used to seeing stars, never living in a city where they haven't been visible somewhere close by, but those stars are dusty shards of glass in an old fire pit. Here the whole sky is bright. The stars spill right into the open train cars and don't stop spilling, as if they were falling from a river that would keep replenishing until it froze over in the winter. I wouldn't have been surprised to walk over there and find tiny stars next to the broken bottles on the ground. Looking in the sky it is harder to find pockets of sheer darkness than bright star light. I start to look for them. 4 Dear Michael, |