Alice through the looking glass will be a multi-media production, and I pray I can finish it.
The Olympian and pedestrian,
The desolate and delicious,
Sublimates, subverts, Supersuperimposes
In the ripped Van Winkle of my nights.
But the daze is different
The groggy impossibility of cold orange juice
Undermined and underminded from the second floor
By the sand of my peace.
In the corners where my eyes have flown,
Closed until further notice.
But no one will notice
No matter the notice.
I sport the sand of the neo-pacifist
Sleeping through the cataclysm:
The sirens and screams
The desperate disparate knockings and poundings
The lost and foundlings
Of countless narratives
Like sedimentary layers
Of my history; orphans with no endings,
Around my still life.
The work of Bob Benvenuto has fascinated me since I first saw it because he makes no bones about his photographic creations. They are peculiar and often artificial, but they are not illusions. They engender an immediate and compelling conversation with the viewer, sometimes as a joke, sometimes a commentary, sometimes a question. Ordinary things and places become unique and alien, making us reconsider our daily lives.