Gap, Gaping I, a solo exhibition by RB
16 January - 14 February 2016
reception: 16 January 2016, 6 - 8 pm

Press Release

Installation Views

Review in Boston Globe

charette for GG I



photograph, after 12/26 for GG I

You shouted my name from the doorway of the fellowship hall and laughed. We never met. “There’s always something beside the thing you’re looking at,” you told me, “which tells you how to look at it.” I looked all around us.

We went walking down the long straight one-lane road, sucking the same mist, which rises off the ocean. Late, it was late. There’s a drive ahead. I wondered if this is what it might have been like to be a teenager. There’s a long drive ahead. Northern climes. Neither of us was born here. Sometimes it pays to get away. Nowadays everyone has the same enemies—high-res, accessible planets, sloth.

Something beside what you’re looking at—this is the something that will not erode. That is the something that will.

In the book of neon mischief, all the pictures have been cut out, exactly. The grace of x- acto. “Someone didn’t want you to see this.”

“Tantalizing captions are my favorite,” I admit, though, blushing, running my fingers along the edges. My fingertips break the plane of the page. The page cuts my fingertip. Thank you.

You won’t say anything. Jay runs off up ahead.

“I spend more time looking at things like this than intentionally looking.”

Tiny faces of all your friends, rendered by hand, over the course of many afternoons, months ago.
Grace is a scale figure for two town libraries.
Retta is a scale figure for a possible back yard.
James is a scale figure for all of Jane’s earnings.
Tina is a scale figure for one park in all the cities we’ve lived in. We were still on the same road, but we made a list of all the cities.

On Saturday, in the afternoon, your friend Leo came over. Have I told you? He likes to come over and sit in the backyard with me and Jay. We started talking about work, and the state of things, and then he was saying I should build an apparatus for showing what I mean, he had some ideas for how it could go, and he started making some drawings on a napkin. He thought I could build the whole thing for about forty dollars, spackle and twine and a piece of old silk.

I like your friend Leo. I like his laugh.

There’s a long wall in our backyard. Leo and I sat on the wall and watched Jay dig. You can picture the wall like this:


You can picture what I look like, but choose from the faces in your family photographs. Your face should be in the picture as well. I know too much to be an outsider. You’ve seen trees like that, I’m sure. My face was blurred, your nose was running, I was passing behind an oak tree, a crab apple, a ginkgo. Your nose was cold and running, my face was obscure.

While I was gone, you took Jay walking. This time of year it’s all dry yellow graces. You can picture the graces like this:

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He won’t get ticks. He runs off up ahead. The main thing is beside. Jay beside the grass, the wall beside you, besides all the distractions—a context.

I took time growing all these letters to provide a context. Also, a wall, a barrier, something to lean against, something to brush your shoulder. I’ve prepared a set of movements against this wall. Hours and hours of no one there, just the movements. Then hours and hours of no movement.

Will your friend come? Where is Retta? Sometimes he limps, but he’s okay, he’s just protecting his foot.

A daily task, at fixed times: changing the flowers, changing their water. Every one of these has been a love letter.
The trash in city parks. Part of the landscape.

-Alexander Borinsky



View of Gap, Gaping I, 2016

View of Gap, Gaping I, 2016

View of Gap, Gaping I, 2016

View of Gap, Gaping I, 2016

View of Gap, Gaping I, 2016

View of Gap, Gaping I, 2016