Library: painting by Frank Moore, 1989, oil on canvas framed with found book assemblage
……………Where have we been? The cracked-spine novels served us well for weathering the winter or basking summers on the beach. ……………But now they are a flood, an epic tide of cobalt, azure, indigo washing up scenes and stories beside lost videotapes and disks— the archive of some new sublime vanishing at the horizon.
……………Where are we now? An empty rowboat’s reached a mooring place, bobbing on the sodden tide under a sky whose colors we once knew as cornflower, midnight, or blue yonder…
……………Where are we going? The elements here emit an eerie energy. Should we take comfort in the current? Let Swift and Austen tumble forward, talismans for our guided journey. ……………The fire that surges in the distance seems historical— smoke rising from a vanquished town that may or may not be our own.