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My first interest now is evidence of history. Everywhere I look, it seems, are fingerprints of time passing. They are paintings and they are stories. This photograph is from a WWII bunker that was painted once, then suffered the salt air of Puget Sound and then had been graffittied and painted over and weathered some more. It is direct evidence of that space, at that elevation, under the wear and tear of being a bunker now abandoned. And it is a richly deposited remain of the events of minutes and hours and climate and human vanity.

And it's a painting.

Picasa - bunker9.jpg

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