Okay. So it is Saturday now and António has been given the weekend off. He is free to wander Georgetown, Dupont Circle and get used to the neighborhood around his hotel.
We had set the day aside in case we needed more time to gather supplies for the artwork he will be creating specifically for the National Museum of African Art. As he wants to build both a sculpture in the round and a large wall-assemblage, we weren’t sure how long it would take to find enough abandoned doors, windows, street signs and other miscellaneous bits. Fortunately, it only took one day, and so now we all have the weekend to recuperate.
We set out first thing in the morning -- “we” meaning myself (curator Karen Milbourne), the artist, the exhibition designer Alan Knezevich, and the museum’s chief conservator Steve Mellor. Steve was to look out for insects and potential problems that could arise from bringing these materials into the museum; Alan could help António think through what was possible in terms of cutting, installing, and working with the materials; and I was really just along for the ride – to take pictures and talk about artistic process.
The first stop was a fabulous place in east DC called The Community Forklift. It’s a non-profit organization which salvages housing materials to help communities re-build and re-furbish their homes. The occasional artist also passes through scrounging for materials. We were helped by the friendly and informative Ruthie, who first showed us the free stuff and then helped us get a cart to load up our goods. The Community Forklift is a cavernous warehouse filled with old fireplace mantles, toilets, cupboards, screws, and pretty much everything but heat. Unfortunately for us, the high on Friday was 17 degrees. So I have to say I was wishing I’d put on some warmer gloves, though I was able to thaw out in the van after António had made his selection of doors, windows, shutters, and what appear to be three legs and the cross-support to an old wooden table.
Next, it was on to a roofing store (where we did not find corrugated tin roofing), and then two different Home Depots, the last one located in Hyattsville, MD. It was a lot of time in the car, but as I work in an underground office, I was pretty happy just to have a window through which I could look out. After setting aside a stash of corrugated metal and plastic, and a bunch of tools, we stopped for lunch. At this point we were all getting a little testy, so the warm sandwiches did us some good. We were all nervous about how bad the traffic would be on the beltway and the infamous 270 and debated whether to call it a day or plow on. Once we committed to continuing on to Monrovia (in rural Maryland north of DC) and started driving, then kept driving, and kept driving, the van grew pretty quiet as we wondered 1) if we were going to find the scrap yard and 2) if it would still be open when we did. António was perhaps less concerned, as by this time he had dozed off as his jetlag was catching up with him. When we did eventually reach Raymond R. Loun, Inc., we discovered that the proprietor was out. After a series of conversations with neighbors about whether or not we could go ahead and rummage about the heaps of junk in his yard (and after Steve had bought a stash of chocolate whoopie pies from one of the neighbors), we got the go ahead and António and I started prowling. We found some really interesting aluminum melted in random, organic shapes, bunches of old street signs, abandoned step ladders, and even a snow saucer like I used to sled in as a kid. António plans to use the saucer as a symbolic moon or sun in his installation. Just as we were finishing up, Mr. Loun arrived and was kind enough to let us pay him and load up our “junk.” He charged $2 per pound. A bargain.
Overall, it was a pretty interesting day. I have to say the most interesting part was watching António’s process of selection. There were a number of occasions during which Alan or I would find something we found really interesting and we would grab António, he would say “hmm” and move on. Sometimes his reasons were practical, like a material would be too hard to attach. But he just knew what he wanted to transform a blank white wall into grand commentary on the growth and modernization of Luanda… who knew abandoned plastic shutters could be so eloquent?
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