Wish you were here

postcard.jpgOnce upon a time I organized an exhibit on postcard art titled Flyways displaying cards sent from one artist to another following the migratory patterns of birds. All the cards were attached to white silk banners so that when a viewer walked by the banner would flutter a bit. It was quite extraordinary and I’m sorry there seems to be no record of it I can share available on the net. I was reminded of the power of postcards when revisiting one of my favorite sites, the Nonist, who is the type of incredibly clever artist and writer I always wanted to be. (For example, just look at this “public service” pamphlet on Blog Depression that anyone who has ever kept a journal of any kind can relate to.)

There is also something about the nature of a postcard that entices people to share without a huge commitment and perhaps that’s why they are so popular for divulging intimate secrets. There is even a call to artists for the collaborative project Wishing You Were Here, the standard phrase we use when we’re missing someone far away. I remember the last piece of mail art I received from a friend. It was hand-made, the front had a piece of dryer lint cut out in the shape of a tree and the message on the back was directed not to me, but to the postman who would be delivering it to me. Of all the snail mail I’ve ever kept, this is one of the most precious. I don’t even know where Nathan is anymore, we lost touch with one another long ago, but I still keep a piece of him in my box full of small ephemera. If there is any more physical example of a memory I don’t know what it is.