a principle, in part, of uncertainty

Yesterday I took the day off, not for religious reasons -- unless you consider the advent of Spring a religious celebration -- which of course it is, even if masked by the slaughter of a Lamb. I spent part of the day trying to catch up with the many neglected tasks of the winter, namely cleaning and organizing, but I've still got a ways to go and will likely never catch up completely. Alas.

The rest of the day I devoted to art, either making, or collecting materials for the making. I was able to add another piece to my collection of Things to Do With Ron Paul Signs Left by the Side of the Road, the second this week, and can only say that there may be one more left in the series before I leave Mr. Paul where he belongs -- by the side of the road.

I spent another part of the day fetching some very nice pieces that another artist had lost in a flood, in part, because although he claimed to be a water artist, he didn't have a clue about hydrology and by my critique, this makes him a shitty water artist, although the public might disagree since his last installation drew thousands. I remember having an installation once where one person (OK maybe 2 showed up) so it's not like I'm an expert, but never let the attendance figures stop you from doing what GoD has called you do should GoD somehow discover your cell phone number.

Fetching these flood-ravaged pieces has already taken the better part of 2 afternoons, the first to schlep them a quarter-mile up from the muddy river bed, and then today to schlep them another mile across the switching yard. It's taken so much time, in part, because these pieces ended up in an area that largely inaccessible unless you work for KC Southern. For each trip I have to go a mile in, and then a mile out. To get them all will take another 2 days.

For a few days last year, I had the secret access code that would have allowed me drive into the KC Southern switching yard motor out the pieces. We had the code because we were working on a river clean-up in the area adjacent to the rail yard, but alas, either the code has been changed, or more likely I don't remember the number because I never thought I'd be going back into that forbidden urban wilderness again. What do I know about anything?

Anyway, there are 11 pieces that I'm trying to retrieve so that I can make 11 more things. I wouldn't be going to all this trouble, except that these are actually very elegant and sophisticated pieces that I would never be able to afford to have fabricated which is why I'm schlepping them for a mile. Also, I really like the idea of creating something designed to be carried by a flood salvaged from a piece that got destroyed by a flood.

The inimitable Rare West Tibetan Mountain Dog was along for the walk, in part, because what else is he going to do?, and also because one never knows who you might encounter on a jaunt across a rail yard including hobos, tramps, and goons. Having the dog along makes me appear to some as a homeless vagrant, which means stay the fuck away!, although I did have a bit of consternation about having to walk along a rail line wearing these two huge things around my neck (this was the only way to carry them) that kinda resemble very large hand grenades, if for instance your grenade happens to be the size of medicine ball.

Had I been near the green zone or anywhere in Iraq someone would surely have shouted, "stop! don't move!" or even shot me on site. Again, this is where the dog can come in handy as to my knowledge the terrorists have not yet begun to wire dogs but let's hope they don't read this blog or the shit will get even worse than it already is with people who aren't afraid to pull the pin on themselves or their grandmother. However that never happened today and I only saw a few people on my rail yard jaunt. The first brakemen ignored me, and the second said "Hi!" to which I replied "Hi" but his greeting may have been, in part, due to the fact that the Rare West Tibetan Mountain Dog is a friendly breed and his tail was wagging.

However, on my second trip back I got caught and had to wait for a very long coal train that was empty, as did the Union Pacific person who was also waiting on the other side of the tracks. This seems to happen a lot around this switching yard, I guess, in part, because the business of business is business which in this case means trains, trains, and more trains. Although they claim to have remotely operated trains in this yard, everyone I've seen moving has had an engineer on board.

After the last empty coal bin passed and the road cleared I was greeted by a Union Pacific goon who wanted to know, "now, exactly who are you?" which was understandable considering that I was wearing two twenty pound grenades around my neck and there was a Rare West Tibetan Mountain Dog at my side - of which fewer than 500 are believed to have survived the Chinese crackdown.

I threw out some standard phrases like "recovering some materials lost in a flood... blah...blah...blah..." but he wasn't the friendliest sort and needed to tell me that this was private property which of course I already knew. I did explain to him that the only reason I was on the private property was that this was the only way to get down to the section of the river in order to retrieve the valuable materials lost in the flood but he just kinda stared blankly at his laptop and asked me, "have you talked to anyone at the railroad about this?"

So after looking at the Union Pacific emblem on his door, I said, "you mean, besides yourself?" which did not draw a laugh so we tried, "who should I talk to? and where would I go to talk to them?"

He proceeded to tell me, "you know, Union Pacific is a really big organization, I'm not sure who you should talk to," at which point I realized he was just being a dick, so I took the opportunity to leave.

Later we read Maira Kalman's The Principles of Uncertainty, in part, because we were tired from all the art-making and schlepping and because it was a holiday and what better way to celebrate Spring than to read a lovely and mysterious book about life -- what it means and doesn't mean. And because, in part, I took the day off to contemplate such things, since they mostly baffle me, which is why I'm always chasing after an answer in some form or another and never seem to get there.

Image. Maira Kalman, self-portrait

Elsewhere:
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