he fact of my camera has by itself created occasions. Nice afternoons when someone calls to say hello. Surprises. It's an opener to people I don't know, know only by their work, will see only when they come through Cambridge/Boston. None of it or little of it would happen if my work didn't exist, if people didn't know it, like it, want to see some of it. The stopping by is random; there isn't any continuity or relationship involved. But it rounds out the edges, makes me feel active; in a way, enlarges the time.
The first and only time I met Joanne Kyger she came over with Peter Warshaw and Sidney Goldfarb. She and Peter had just come back from Puerto Rico, she read a long prose poem from her journal; Peter showed us the slides he had taken of monkeys.
