Special procrastination bonus extra.

How I love a photo print. Something about the crispness of it, the feeling that a photo must never lie (though we know they fib), the postcardness of it, the sense of holding a true copy of something. (Yes, goslings, when I am civilian and go by the name Diana Prince, I am a notary public, among other things.) Then there is the collage element, which is always substandard. Different photos are just slapped up there together, without any artistic trimming, without any Max Ernst surrealism, without any sense of musicality. And the fabric is always cut without any regard for the placement of the images on the garment. The most interesting are usually upsidedown.

Yet I accept all the failings of the photo print. Because it tries so hard, and can never achieve all it hopes for. I mean, don't we all?

Charming photo print of Spain on nylon polyester with a Saks Fifth Avenue label. Not to be sneezed at, no indeed. Flamenco dancers in red, a helicopter view of what might be Madrid. Maybe there are guitarists in there, who could tell from these nebulous photos?






And now let us praise Pilar Albarracín. I saw her work in the Global Feminisms exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum last spring. Playing on kitsch images on nationalism (one of my pet projects too), Spanish performance artist Ms. Albarracín inhabits different characters of fantasy in order to implode them. I was totally taken by the video of her in a yellow coat dress, pursued by a brass band blaring jingoistic Spanish anthems. (I believe "Arriba Espana" to be a tune from Franco's reign, no?) You can watch her videos on her website.

My court date is tomorrow, goslings, and I am so not into it. I'm dreaming of Spain and Morocco, and all those improperly treated leather bags they sell that have a strange smell and are ruined by rain and sweat. And sunshine, and torillas, and dancing in the caves of Sacromonte. Sigh. I gotta get in touch with the part of me that loves a court room drama. Wish me luck!