Today was beautiful. I was reminded of an Arthur Dove painting of a glowing circular sun when, in the afternoon the sun ringed by a halo of ice in the surrounding clouds appeared between the trunks of the pines. Strangely I miss Newark. I know where things are there. I have ventured south to Albany for ribbonfish the length of my arm and quails eggs and oysters. (Cook the quails eggs for three minutes to hard boil then serve with caviar – the archaeologist) I met a man named Joe who might “pop” a few crows for me, or a rabbit or a grouse or two. Pop. He also called a few friends of his: one to ask him to bring along a spare mallard if he still has them intact in his freezer, one to ask him to pop an extra rabbit and bring it along to their hunting party this weekend. They are looking for bigger game: bear, coyote, bobcat. He asked if I wanted to learn how too hunt. Called his taxidermist too. Working for him at the specialty food store is an archaeologist who gave me another list of useful contacts, his more dead than alive, or at least dead longer. She said the new Dutch of Albany loved their aphrodisiacs: oysters, plums, cherries… According to him all of Albany rests on/in a bed of discarded oyster shells. There is a trash can in my studio with a pair of live eels. I feel like I am at last getting somewhere.
Tonight is Friday. An open studio. A party promised. The world thaws.