(part of a recent email from evan)
I want to tell you something about what happened the 15th night I arrived here. I met a world famous painter on a bench by the river. we got to talking a little, and she asked if I wanted to see a few works in progress. I accepted. we walked back to her studio. they were relatively familiar. a very similar style to her recent body of work. she's also doing a massive installation at the airport, and said she can usually always use help if somebody has any extra time on his or her hands. it's not a paid position, she assured me. it's a collaboration of sorts. does it come as any surprise that I agreed to check out the site? I met her there a few days later. she was right about needing help! there's this gigantic space she has to work with. and a huge pile of scavenged material to hang, combine, and arrange. she also has a rickety old farmhouse in the suburbs where she lets people like me stay if it's necessary. she decided after a couple of days it was necessary. as you can probably guess, I didn't have anything better to do, say, or imagine. that might sound a little ungrateful but that's how unconcerned I've become about formal literary, performance, music, and visual art undertakings. this famous artist "likes my style" apparently. I like hers as well. it's really easy to work with her. simple. no pressure. natural. yes, even though we're working in an airport I use the word "natural."
anyways, one night there was this terrible blizzard and every single flight was either cancelled, rescheduled, or delayed. the place was crawling with travelers who had no idea what to do next. we wandered around from encampment to encampment, trying to get a rough estimate on how many languages were being spoken simultaneously...
...she e-voked, re-formed, and pre-sented me... but that's how it's always been with these world famous artists...
