METAFOIL is both a depiction of a new kind of landscape as well as an attempt to reimagine the heavy metal sculpture as a stage curtain. It is also a contemporary take on the centuries-old tradition of weaving, updated with digital technology.
METAFOIL takes advantages of the captive gaze of the audience, introducing a foil, a false reflection, an illusion of depth, a novel topography that disrupts expectation and challenges perception. Sculptural, seemingly spatial, the stage curtain rejects its inherent flatness.
METAFOIL plays with shifts in scale. Up close, it is a rich texture of overlapping colors; a few feet away, individual threads give way to form, a pattern emerges. From the vantage point of the audience it becomes a view into an otherworldy place, a metallic composition of colors and shapes.
7 December 2005, Pae White
Still, Untitled, 2009
Briquettes and Support: Fox and Owl, 2003
he came running back almost an hour later and said, “i met some DANES! come on! they said to come with them! we don’t need any money! come on!” and so we followed him down the beach because even when i am baffled i am Up For It, and we trudged through the sand until we reached casper and henriette. h was young and kind of tubby, clearly a huge myspacer with a side of up and coming alch-y, and casper (by this point they’d gotten dressed again) was decked out in bike shorts, an intensely multicolored windbreaker, aviators, and a baseball cap from which he’d draped one long strand of seaweed, like some kind of earlock from the deep. they were both really sweet, though the first thing casper said after introducing himself was (to travis), “yeah. i saw her tits. and she saw my dick, and it was like — you know.” we followed them to a gas station where travis bought another ten-pack of beer and, in a spanish accent, asked a stranger (with joint-pinching hand motion and requisite inhale) “do you know marijuana? do you know where we could find some?” as a thankfully off-duty police officer was stepping into his station wagon. onward.
we followed them to bakken, where casper had to go because, as he said, “this– girl, one of my girlfriends — or, she is not my girlfriend, but.. she is one of …” (henrietta here interrupted, “she is one he fucks, he wants to fuck a lloottttt of girls, he is a play-uh!” and giggled uncontrollably as casper nodded in agreement) “yes, she works at the pub there.” the pub was located in the very center of the park, under the roller coaster, and it was a beautiful walk– it was an hour or two after dark and there were millions of lights strung up through the trees, with booths of cotton candy and weinerbrod and local beer parked all over the sidewalks, and even the mimes were more beautiful than creepy with the pastel glow of the carnival bulbs cast across their face paint. the pub was small and dimly lit; everything was draped in rubber-coated chicken wire formed to look like the walls of a cave. henriette taught me the intonation needed to properly growl the slang term for beer (like a bear: HULLLLLLLLLLLL!) and showed us how to toaste (skoal!), and also explained to us every danish holiday ever to exist in great detail. TIME LAPSE. casper went behind the bar and back into the kitchen with a stoned-looking blonde girl, presumably to capitalize on the very-willing wet kisses he’d been getting while perched on the edge of our table, and the rest of us said goodbye to some middle aged men who’d been raving about america the beautiful and went to go ride the wooden roller coaster. it was fun.
post-coaster, we said goodbye to henriette and went through three sad hugs apiece before we were able to flee the park and (illegally) board a train for charlottenlund, where justin reheated the spinach and i repeatedly though to myself, “did that really just happen?” before packing up my russian novels and heading back home to amagerbro, with a pit-stop at the 7-11 for (don’t fight it, you know you dig my product placement) A LITER OF MILK. and then i went to bed. and then i slept through four alarms and all of my classes. but as you can see, it was totally, totally worth it.
today i went to an icelandic cafe with washing machines and dryers called “the laundromat cafe,” originally to do homework, though i ended up talking to loren (psu) and jacob (brandeis) for a couple of hours and drinking, separately, some ginger ale and a double espresso. then i wandered around the not-so-sexy-anymore red light district in search of a cafe where my orientation group was meeting for free food and drink. because i mocked this navigational exercise, it was incredibly difficult to find, and i meandered around in the rain for a billion years until i got there — but it was entirely worthwhile, as they had veggie burger patties made of carrots and cheese (OMFG) and really, really good roast potatoes. and coke light. i love coke light, and i love it so many more times when it is free.
my philosophy teacher (the one whose brain i want to eat) just sent me this email:
anyways, i am hells of tired and i have to attempt to wake up tomorrow morning so i can go to the danish cinematheque for my history of european film class. we are going to watch a hells of unpromising documentary on ingmar bergman. i am pretty sure i spelled that wrong. it’s okay because the current president of free culture at swarthmore is in that class, and he is buddy buddy with nelson pavlovsky, the super weird guy who so i am going to slip some kind of reference to this into my obnoxious-group-of-americans-chit-chatting-down-the-sidewalk-banter, even though i’m a giant creeper, only being aware of this information because i did a little bit of snooping around the course server forum before i went on the first day.
i should probably appropriate that sherlock holmes pipe.
this country is not getting any less weird. i miss everyone. see you in the winter.