Thursday, May 3, 2007
L.A. Store Windows
tend to be confused infinities. The most appealing ones are vernacular and somewhat forgotten (see also the photo posted with "Obvious Discontent," April '07), but even corporate ones are susceptible to complicating reflections that wind up layering their fantasies with counter-evidence. An "other" culture is rarely too far away to show in the mirror. It's hard for the windows to gain the aesthetically unified effect of photos of 19th-century Parisian windows of any class. But they aren't shallow, either; they go on forever, and are very sensitive to their place and time. Mostly, they have no concept of consistency, and who needs it. To go by recurrence, what they need is prurience, a little violence, openness to anything ominous or innocent, languages, charms, something toylike, something threatening, something sweet, something to gamble with, something to pray to, images that aren't worth thinking about, things that aren't worth throwing away, and objects that barely try to be what they claim to be but are completely accepted anyway. You can't know what's in the windows really, even by studying them. Things crop up that you didn't see, cut up by reflections, and your impressions don't hold; more objects keep appearing that you don't know the name for and you doubt they can have names, and there's no end to them. But they've known each other for a long time, and it's pretty lively in the crypt.