Poster for samkogon's 05/09/14 show at Cake Shop NYC
Honeywell Circular Charts, for recording “linear signals from devices like temperature, humidity, pressure or flow transmitters.” (from honeywell.com)
The box they come in is almost as good.
Poster for samkogon's 04/17/14 show at the Rockwood Music Hall
I am idly looking for a broom and i wound up at Times Square hahahaha ha ha ha. brooms?
Wed Aug 14 23:01:46 2013
can i text “do they have brooms at MUJI” to 311
Wed Aug 14 23:09:41 2013
311 where is a broom
Wed Aug 14 23:11:01 2013
Excuse me, brooms?
Wed Aug 14 23:14:57 2013
Do they have brooms at the stores where they sell GIFTS NYC GIFTS GIFTS GIFTS GIFTS
Wed Aug 14 23:17:23 2013
The hour is becoming too late to buy a broom
Wed Aug 14 23:48:28 2013
looking for a broom online
Sat Aug 17 02:25:56 2013
New York City’s 38 Best Home Goods and Furniture Stores that Don’t Have a Broom
Sat Aug 17 02:36:10 2013
There is nothing you need that can’t be found at Home Goods, and it’s all at favorable prices. They do not have brooms.
Sat Aug 17 02:36:45 2013
West Elm: In this haven of home decor, you’ll find a wide array of bedding, furniture, bathroom goods, and much more. Not a broom, though.
Sat Aug 17 02:37:14 2013
Everything in this upscale Tribeca store has been chosen with care and thought by owner Francine Gardner, who doesn’t care about brooms.
Sat Aug 17 02:38:09 2013
A no-brainer, and an awesome way to kill an entire afternoon in Red Hook, IKEA has no brooms. They do have something called ＬÖＤＤＥＲ or idk
Sat Aug 17 02:39:55 2013
@alyssaspiering did you even read the tweet or the name of this item
Sat Aug 17 02:42:50 2013
@alyssaspiering does that look like a broom to you
Sat Aug 17 02:42:58 2013
@alyssaspiering WOULD A WITCH RIDE ON IT.
Sat Aug 17 02:45:03 2013
@BarackObama where’s the brooms, man
Sat Aug 17 02:47:36 2013
Walking through Chinatown offending everyone by saying their brooms are not good enough for us to buy
Thu Sep 19 22:01:21 2013
I have a broom now, everyone.
Fri Sep 20 17:37:55 2013
Everyone, look at my broom
Fri Sep 20 17:45:39 2013
Everyone look, at my broom
Fri Sep 20 17:45:45 2013
Currently I have 17 rocks. Twelve of them are pebbles, weighing no more than an ounce each. Four of them are small, palm-fitting rocks, and one of them is considerably large, weighing almost exactly twelve pounds. I have many things which resemble rocks—fragments of thoroughly rusted iron, worn bits of shell, calcified charcoal, etc.—but I do not consider them to be rocks and they have no place among my rocks. I also exclude forgotten rocks left in faraway homes.
Turquoise, semi-polished. This rock came from my home. I don’t remember where it was before I took it and put it in my childhood room. It may have been my mom’s, or it may have been placed nowhere in particular. I took it a long time ago and have brought it with me to new places ever since. It’s a good rock. It has little dusty clear impurities and a very strong color. Sometimes I wonder if anyone else in my family remembers this rock, or wonders where it went, or cares, or would remember or care if they saw it with me.
Pyrite. This rock is the sister of the turquoise, because they are exactly the same size and both came from inside my house. I think of them in the same way. My mom may have bought them for my brothers and I in Chicago, from the gift shop of the Field Museum, where we used to often go as a family. Once, when I was a small child waiting beside my mom at the cash register in the Field Museum gift shop, I pocketed two or three gemstone rings from a display on the counter. One gem was red, and one was green. In the back seat of the car on the way home, I used my fingernail to pry open the metal clasps holding one of the cut gemstones in place. They were only about three millimeters in diameter. When we got home, I hung the rings on branches of an evergreen bush outside my house. I pretended that I’d found them there. I don’t remember if I told my parents that myself or if I waited until they saw the rings, which I never put on my fingers. Either way the action of putting them on a bush and then “finding” them there was completely pointless and still feels like I was ceremonially lying to myself. My parents sat me down and gently interrogated me about whether or not I stole them from the Field Museum gift shop for what felt like a long time while I sobbed and denied everything. I never admitted to it. I don’t know what happened to the rings.
Eyehole rock from Lake Michigan, painted gold. I found this rock when I was maybe 12 on a beach by the sand dunes along Lake Michigan. I love it for obvious reasons and have only seen others like it in pictures. The reason I colored it with a gold paint pen is that I was a child. My regret increased for the next eight or so years, and now the regret is fading with the paint. Rocks to me are symbols of one of my least relatable ideals, that things are better left unfinished, simple, unworked, in their pure and natural state. This is less about the purity of natural things and more about the honesty of people’s relationship with objects; the inclination to believe that things should be liked for what they are, not what you want them to be.
Three white triangles from Lake Michigan. I found these rocks and the next rock at the same beach as the eyehole rock, many years later. My brother and I were searching for good rocks washed up on the tideline, and I kept finding little triangular, white pebbles. I do not know what caused this. One is a little rough, two are smooth, and one has been polished to the point of flatness on both surfaces with distinctly rounded edges. I have two brothers.
Gray oval from Lake Michigan. I have nothing to say about this rock except that it’s very clean and nicely shaped.
Coal, worn smooth. I found this rock sitting on the base of a statue at my school, Purchase, while I was also sitting on the base of the statue in 2010. The statue was a sort of business demon made of rusted metal scraps. I don’t know what a piece of coal was doing there. Before or after finding the coal, which was still jagged at the time, I also turned around to discover seven live bees on the base of the statue. None of them were flying or really doing anything at all. They would occasionally reposition themselves in the sun. I’ve never seen bees do that. I don’t know much about bees, but it’s possible that they were sick. I remember seeing a lot of dead bees around Purchase. Once, walking between the VA and the Neuberger Museum, a bee’s abdomen fell from above and bounced off my shoulder to the ground. Maybe a bird did this.
Rock painted red with eyes. In the summer of 2011 I went with my family on a little overnight camping trip and found this rock at our site. It is a smooth beige rock someone has painted red on one side and given human eyes, stickers maybe meant for a doll. This is humorous but also emblematic of a theme I have already written about here and will return to later.
Black circle from Lake Superior. In the summer of 2012 I went on a short sea kayak trip with my dad and two brothers around some islands in Lake Superior, the Apostle Islands. The beaches were beautiful and the water was cold enough to kill you in like 20 minutes. Well, I found some rocks and mailed one or two to Donnie, who also likes rocks. I think the only other thing I brought back from that trip was an iridescent golden beetle found on the same beach as this rock. I saw it right after we landed and pulled the kayaks ashore. It was crawling feebly in the wet sand with grains stuck to its legs and antennae, not having a good time. I brushed it off a bit and moved it away from the water. The next morning, it was still where I’d left it, and not moving anymore. I kept it in a medicine bottle. Several days later, we were back home in Illinois and I was sitting on the couch in our living room. I opened the bottle and smelled one of the worst smells I have ever smelled, like sea rot and bodily waste. The beetle was not gold or iridescent anymore. It was brown and spotty. I hadn’t considered how you probably have to dry or preserve big meaty bugs before keeping them as treasures. The beetle went into the trash.
Chipped black rock from NYC streets. I lived in Greenpoint for a month in the summer of 2013 and saw this rock when I was crossing the street. It looks like it was struck by something powerful and left with a vicious scar which has since been worn smooth. This rock is the unnatural sister of the eyehole rock from Lake Michigan.
Alabaster(?) from Glendale, Queens. I found this rock on a dirt path leading up to my neighborhood. I’m not sure if it’s alabaster, but it sure looks like it. It also reminds me of the sort of crappy pebbles you’d see in an ashtray or a miserable flower bed outside a doctor’s office, but I’m giving it a chance.
Coal from Glendale, Queens. Found on the same dirt path. Coal looks very good and this piece is still jagged.
Twelve-pound paving stone from a sidewalk tree planter in Glendale, Queens. There are these tree planters all over, and some of them are really messed up; this rock was displaced, and I took it home. This was back when I’d just moved in and had very few belongings. My room was basically a mattress and bedding on the floor, a makeshift desk, rocks and trinkets on the windowsill, and this big stone against the wall. Someone told me that my room was “very Japanese style” once back then. I have never been to Japan. I think living like that suites me in a complicated way. My dad’s mom is Japanese and have always felt something of the Japanese spirit of artistry and commune with an object or an action in my art and life or whatever I’m doing at a given moment, or I guess that’s what it is, since I wouldn’t know, not really being very Japanese (I am aware Japanese people have furniture). I believe that everyday life should be beautiful, or is beautiful, I believe in a daily peace that everyone is entitled to, that anyone is capable of finding simply through living and encountering things they don’t have the power to change. This is why I hate the idea of luxury. I feel that I have improved my life by bringing a twelve-pound rock into my home, for free. I would rather have rocks than luxury.
Pink granite sphere, nearly, from a Queens cemetery. Many of the cemeteries around our neighborhood are beautiful and expansive and you know, what else can you say about good cemeteries. There is a Jewish tradition of leaving rocks on graves. This rock may have been left on a grave at some point, but I don’t know because I found it nowhere in particular on the ground. It is very round and smooth. I like this idea of leaving rocks on gravestones except why even have the gravestones, I wonder. Why not just come to the place where someone was buried and leave a good rock until you’re dead too and nobody is left to remember to go there and leave a rock, instead of having a big carved rock nobody cares about. I would like to be buried naked in the ground without embalming or entombing or grave marking of any kind. Maybe bury me with my rocks.
Rock from The House on the Rock. My favorite place in the world is an insane complex of attractions in Wisconsin called The House on the Rock, originally a home built by a millionaire and wanna-be-frank-lloyd-wright named Alex Jordan, Jr. in the 1940s and 50s. There are so many things to be said about the House on the Rock, probably the first being that it is built on top of a great big rock, not this rock of course but a geological feature of the landscape. My good friend Michaela brought me this rock from her recent visit. I have only been there once and have no other keepsake but poor photographs of the attractions.
Rectangular rock. I do not remember where I found this rock.