January 31 - March 2019
190 Saint Helens Avenue
Toronto, Ontario M6H4A2
An interpretive text by Jeba Bowers Murphy and Rea McNamara
Years back, everybody had an 8-millimeter or 16-millimeter camera, shooting one night and showing it the next up on a bed sheet.
(bless his soul with anything but holy water)
That was back when we had contorted limbs and an easiness with straight-on modes. Look at me! No, really, look at me. Here’s my profile shot. This is who I am. Take in the way I walk, the way I move, the way I talk. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to win.
Our old friend (bless his soul with anything but holy water) sunk down, down and down in the stuff he tried to avoid for so long
Soon enough, however, shifty eyes land on open-mouthed dips into a wishing well of crocodile cheers. Limbs are folded and stretched, clouding mirrors riddled with blighting pox. The promise, of course, is in hydrabalance; namely serving hydro boost hyaluronic acid hydrating face.
Please. Mercy! No more!
So let’s bring it down to backbone basics. Click with the eyedropper, and work with white walls and concrete floor. Thirty-three bones stack along the edge of a frame, allowing you to stand, bend, and twist without causing harm.
So, this man had an idea. An awful idea. An idea that he thought would change it all
Be awake. Be mad! Throw down a chair, or try to thread a needle in the eye. Establish a sense of distance from this immediate imprint.
To a place where earth gets warm