In 1993, always in search of lost notes and found images, I spotted an odd little envelop in a Katmandu shop. It was full of hand-drawn Kama Sutra woodcuts. No sign of the artist’s signature.
The same couple, in the same room, repeatedly attempts dozens of impossible postures. The simple line drawings are naive and awkward, the couple is ticklish, almost slap stick.
To paraphrase my friend Matt Freedman: The entire operation seems doomed to an endless spinning in search of the sublime. This is a kin to my own take on the human condition.
The cast glass Japanese Mikasa frames – usually given as wedding presents – reference the “kitsch” factor in marketing the “sublime” in American culture — a shiny, reflective, priceless, yet fragile, decorative beauty. I especially like those that look like hair swept up into a bow. I search them out on Ebay – where most wedding presents end up eventually.