In order to do this I would like to consider further those moments in which we feel joy in living. To some these moments are very clear and to others of a vagueness that can only be described as below the level of consciousness. Whether conscious or unconscious they do their work and they are the incentive to life. A stockpile of these moments gives us an awareness of perfection in our minds and this awareness of perfection in our minds makes all the difference in what we do. 

Agnes Martin
Lecture, 1973

This lecture was originally given at the ICA on February 14, 1973 on the occasion of the exhibition, “Agnes Martin”

So, I decided to do some exploring of Green Bay today. I thought it might be a good idea to go for a walk by the lake… so I picked one of the parks along the waterfront and headed out. Maybe I should have turned around when I hit the gravel road, but I kept going… listening to the shrill voice of my GPS. I found the park and headed out… noting there were a lot of cars parked in the parking lot but no one around.

Tall grass.

I started walking and heard a very peculiar sound.

Kind of like wheezing.

Then… through the grass I saw it.

Two, elderly men going at it.

Yup. On my first day out and about in Green Bay I found the desperate men hookup park. I turned around and got my ass out of there, realizing that, with my giant camera on my shoulder, I looked even creepier than those engaged in dirty dirty park sex.

Kudos me.

Over the course of the last 5 or 6 weeks, I have slowly moved to Green Bay, Wisconsin. Now, I know what you may be thinking (because it is the same thing I’ve been thinking a great deal): why the hell would I move to a place like Green Bay. The simple explanation:  my BF found an amazing job here and due to lower costs of living, I am able to open my own letterpress/photo studio called “Pig & Weasel”. Despite how fascinating Green Bay may be as a topic, I’d like to just briefly touch on how it feels to completely change my modes of dwelling.

For the last 10+ years I have been an apartment dweller. In fact, I haven’t lived in a “normal” house since I was wee high school student living with my Mom. When I began my studies, I simultaneously began my movement from dorm room to sprawling two-bedroom 1930′s charmer apartment in Minneapolis. Never in my wildest pipe-fantasies did I see myself living in a house.

A couple quick observations of an apartment dweller now a house dweller:

- It is ridiculously quiet. I’ve lived underneath everyone from a Vietnamese family of 12 (in Lincoln, NE) to a bitchy hipster couple who wore combat boots and had a squawking parrot. I keep waiting to hear… something.
- Houses come with kitchens. Well, apartment’s do too… but the room with the oven, sink, and refrigerator is actually large enough that I can MAKE FOOD. It is a strange, remarkable, beautiful thing to be able to prepare food and not accidentally jam your hand into a blender (my old kitchen was that small-think coffin sized).
- The washer and dryer do not take quarters. No more loading up my pockets with $2.50 in quarters to blow on washing/drying only to go back down and find my clothes aren’t dry. Or, even better… I don’t have the violated feeling that comes with having one’s clothing moved from the washer/dryer because some other jerk can’t wait to use it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to continue to revel in the glories of a 1950s housewife.