My Brother’s Sweeper
September 22, 2009
I extended my layover in Paris, my Brother, Roy’s home. Shooting from the airport by metro (Roy’s instructions) he photographed my Pompidou Center installation. Execute in 3.5 hours it became my quickest to date.
Security set about me within minutes of beginning.
One of 5 besuited security agents urgently directed,
“No, no, it is not permitted! You cannot do this here!”
“It’s sand, it’s not perminant.”
They insisted, “No.”
Fortunately a young, bespecticled curator came to rescue me. He looked it over shaking his head, “you cannot draw on the stones.”
“Sand,” I gesticulated in an heavy French accent, “Im-perminent, tran-scient, tem-po-rary!”
A little light went on in his eye, “Ah, we, we...continue.” He
dispensed with the guards.
At one point my brother exclaimed, “This is just like when we used to film model cars blowing up. PURE FUN!”