CONDUITS Reference This @ Havana Gallery by Melanie Janisse I am walking as fast as a speedwalker hyped on their pace. Instead of the seawall, I walk between steaming hot kitchen and swarming customers. My hands are constantly full of plates of food, full, then empty, as I revolve in an orbit with no centre. My head is constantly full of orders , details. More ketchup, more coffee, turn down the music, turn up the music. Is there a table for three avaliable? I am a budding artist. I am part of the constant pace of Havana. A restau- rant rythym that is also within me, reflections of the whirling dirvish that is around me. I am a budding artist and I serve you breakfast out of necessity. Out of a passion which under- stands the necessity of patience, I restock the sugars while I dream. I love the people. The constant flux of faces and personalities and energies which move around me, alive. Eating. Talking. Crossections and samplings of everyone you can imagine, all circulating around this place. Fringe-goers, art seekers, hungry people. They all pass by me and through my consciousness. I have to pee so bad. I stand in front of the com- puter punching in orders and shifting from one foot to anoth- er. I slip from the press of the restaurant into the spacious- ness of the gallery. Here I always pause, if just for a second, to remember my purpose. Permeation of color and image into my daily grind. A glimpse of the blur of polaroid lips, a palate of skin tones framed like peepshows by the starkness of white mattboard. Fragmentations of cross processed color hits my vision as I quickly scan the room. A sidestep of curi- ousity as I tap my foot on the gas pedal attached to the piece Leslie Grant Night-blind Valiant - a transparancy of a Valiant parked in a barn-like structure fastened into a wooden crate. Illuminations. Dozens of times traversing between restaurant and gallery. The frenzied washroom breaks of a waitor. Moving between identities. Transmutations of self across visual and visceral divisions. The gallery and its images are signals of hope into my patience. Plate serving. Dreaming. Feet sore. There is an entry way into the gallery and it is through a restaurant. Reference this. T have. Seeking out new definitions for conceptual photog- raphy. The subject matter prisms in the direction of ten artists. Jerry Anzai. Jesse Birch. Dylan Doubt. Michelle Doucette. Lee Eliot. Leslie Grant. Jane Lee. Rebecca Pasch. Jenny Reed. Trudi Smith. Emerging voices chal- lenging the medium of photography to resonate with fresh perspective. Personal experience and memory become ven- ture points, interact. The gallery itself becomes a reference library of emerging photo artists. A housing for the wildly different takes on conceptual photography, figurative photog- Circuity of critical perspective. raphy, and so on. We are asked to look, to absorb and to make our own conclusions. We are left with no academia, no evidence which might synthesize the intentions of such a vast number of artists. Just Reference This. Take what you want. Leave what you want. Interpret through your own senses and perspectives. What is going on in the phone booth? What you don’t see, the gestures that the telephone hides. The reality that there is still a person reacting at the other end of the phone call in a phone booth somewhere. Strangers walking by can see her gesturing wildly, a look of concern on her face as she tries to tell you. The microscopic world of the family album as seen in art historic details. The fragments of per- sonal memory. Loaded. Charged like the sound of flash bulbs coming from the past. Origami boats floating in their own worlds. Worlds created out of cardboard. Constructions. Personalities. It’s all photography. Reference it. Lee Elliot Cardboardville 15 | | ' influx: Magazine October 1999 CER, 1900120 arxppo. A “x, " CONDULIS Reference This @ Havana Gallery by Melanie Janisse Lam walking as fast asa speedwalker hyped on their pace. Instead of the seawall, I walk between steaming hot kitchen and swarming customers. My hands are constantly full of plates of food, fll, then empty, as T revolve in an orbit with no centre, My head is constantly fll of orders, detail “More ketchup, more coffe, turn down the music, turn up the ‘music. Is there a table for three avaliable? Tam a budding. ‘artist, Tam part ofthe constant pace of Havana. A restau- rant rythym that is also within me, reflections of the whirling dirvish that is around me. Tam a budding artist and I serve ‘you breakfast out of necessity. Out ofa passion which under- stands the necessity of patience, I restock the sugars while I dream. love the people. The constant flux of faces and personalities and energies which move around me, alive. Eating. Talking. Crossectons and samplings of everyone you can imagine, all circulating around this place. Fringe-goers, art seckers, hungry people. They all pass by me and through have to pee so bad. I stand in front of the com- puter punching in orders and shifting from one foot to anoth- ex. Islip from the press ofthe restaurant into the spacious- ness of the gallery. Here I always pause if just fora second, smember my purpose. Permeation of color and image my daily grind. A glimpse ofthe blur of polaroid lips, a palate of skin tones framed lke peepshows by the starkness of ‘white mattboard. Fragmentations of cross processed color hits my vision as I quickly scan the room. A sidestep of euri- ‘ousty a I tap my foot on the gas pedal attached to the pec Circuity of eritcal perspective. Leslie Grant Night-blind Valiant - a transparancy of a Valiant parked in a barn-lke structure fastened into a wooden crate, Illuminations. Dozens of times traversing between restaurant and gallery, The frenzied washroom breaks of a waitor. Moving between identities. Transmutations of self across visual and visceral divisions. ‘The gallery and its images are signals of hhope into my patience. Plate serving. Dreaming. Feet sore ‘There is an entry way into the gallery and itis through a restaurant, Reference this. Thave Seeking out new definitions for conceptual photog- The subject matter prisms in the direction of ten artists. Jerry Anzai, Jesse Birch. Dylan Doubt. Michelle Doucette. Lee Eliot. Leslie Grant. Jane Lee. Rebecca Pasch. Jenny Reed. Trudi Smith. Emerging voices chal- lenging the medium of photography to resonate with fresh perspective. Personal experience and memory become ven- ture points, interact. The gallery itself becomes a reference library of emerging photo artists. A housing for the wildly different takes on conceptual photography, figurative photog raphy raphy, and so on, We are asked to look, to absorb and to ‘make our own conclusions. We are left with no academia, no evidence which might synthesize the intentions of such avast, ‘number of artists. Just Reference This. Take what you want. Leave what you want. Interpret through your own senses and perspectives. What is going on in the phone booth? What you don’t see, the gestures that the telephone hides. The realty that there is stil a person reacting at the other end of the phone call in a phone booth somewhere. Strangers walking bby can see her gesturing wildly, a look of concern on her face a8 she tries to tell you, ‘The microscopic world ofthe family album as seen in art historic details. The fragments of per- sonal memory. Loaded. Charged like the sound of flash ‘bulbs coming from the past. Origami boats floating in their own worlds. Worlds created out of cardboard. Constructions. Personalities. I's all photography. Reference Lee Elliot Cardboardville influx Magazine October 1999