Miriam Dym – Means of Conveyance: A letter to Young
We’re out here in Parkfield, crunching chips, quaffing 805’s and talking about art. We were unpacking our library and we found this Miriam Dym publication from POST. We thought of you. This is a pretty neat little book! I’m glad you mentioned Miriam when we stopped in last week. I’ll send you some shots of the pages.
Your relentless friend,
The show in 2001 at POST included three large-scale drawings depicting scientific looking rooms in elevation, as though one was looking into them. Also present were three colorful prints showing the rooms in plan. Miriam had made funny little carts to ride, “means of conveyance;” she included these in both types of illustrations.
“The human being”
The shape in partial view to the left is an abstract representation of the self, of the artist. I’ll send you a detail.
“A technological mandala for the artist, Miriam Dym”
Habib told us that David Pagel (who wrote about the show for the LA Times) noticed this glyph in the prints and attempted to locate it in the large drawings. It was interesting to Pagel to determine whether the conditions of one were matched in the other.
The artist, shown in plan, in Ramps buckets room ground plan.
“Ramp buckets room, elevation thereof”
At the time, we bought one of the prints. Later we bought the other two. They were installed at Wilcox in the hallway to our bedroom. Due to space constraints, they were partly behind a glass door, I’m afraid :(
“Ramp buckets room ground plan and Red ramp room“
Miriam told us that she wanted this work to indicate how the means we use for depicting space – elevations and plans – are disorienting when we are engaged physically with moving through that space; and that considering our bodies as we navigate space can also disrupt our feeling of place.
“(Not) the end”
Meanwhile, I am here in Parkfield, and you are in Los Angeles – also “here.” And, in my head, I am constructing around me the space of Commonwealth and Council, I am walking in my mind across the floor to the balcony.
Outside there, I see brick walls of the neighboring building, and a precipitous drop to the ground; outside here I see hills, and a dirt road that David has lined with twigs. The floor of the porch where we sit is wood, as is the floor of Commonwealth and Council, where I imagine you to be. I miss you, Young, and all my friends; yet not with sadness or finality, but in a way that will make my visits to the city and the time I will spend with my friends there more precious.
Send me stories from Los Angeles, and I will send you stories from here – wherever “here” is.
All my best,