Conner Calhoun

4/11

I feel change. I feel it everywhere. Good change. Bad change. Loose change. I cut my mullet off to prove it to myself. I don’t know if it’s tied to some seasonal shift, I think it’s something outside of the stratus sphere. Nebulous. A swirling ether. Romantic and scary. All of the flowers this year stink, and all of my house plants are beyond dead by this point. Beyond dead. 

My studio is feeling very mortal. I can’t seem to manage making stretcher bars in my house. Six times out of ten they all warp, or end up crooked, or I can’t seem to get the stretch taught enough, it’s driving me mad, and I don’t have the tedium to take up painting in this manner anymore. I enjoy the process of construction, but going toward a structure that is precarious in its final outcome seems to be holding me back, I’m being kept to an expectation that might be outside of myself. I’ve decided to move on from this mode of working for the time being. I have picked up wood carving, and maybe will push drawing a bit more in terms of image making, or the thing that creates space instead of existing in space. This makes a little more sense to me, it makes my head spin less.

There is no exhibit here any more, yeah I don’t think there is a show here, oh no you took your show down. Stretched Canvases displayed backwards. 2024

Peplophorus. Studio clothes, pvc pipe, pencil, pencil sharpener, motor.