M R McDonald
East Gallery
May 1 – June 2, 2019

That people in the scatterbrain of the city have such muted colorful lives and spread, shall we say, germinally, their mixed one samurai mouth turned down ideas in no special spatial order across down and into each one flute playing with a hundred fingers others unhindered minds, ah, light blue speaks to white as do others colors, as the wild no-people people populate so densely insensibly their each other other each space faces with moon cloth rage perceptive cross-moving ideas two blue eyes frowning and why not –when my own eyes at a remove perceive persons where no persons are but the hints of persons that lift where anticipation reads abstraction concretely, thought, ictic on surface as bird is ictic on branch, alight-and-off-on-a-wing as one touching gesture, it is the interpeople, the mesh that emerges all against white, black as the limning, crazy as hodge overlapping podge or Pogue or whoever, one wise almost Alec Guinness looks out at me, fades back into black, white, a yellow hint, and the stick man lies still, the golf swing is swung, it is not the emerging presences but the sense of potential presence here, in a canvas so like itself, place to face to place, not more blue than hinted yellow, not white ever, actually, but as if on paper, people, here on the screen, “they have their exits and their entrances” — as I too am entranced, tranced, traced, entrained..
– Charles Cameron