"Found Art"

[H. Haggerty]

Found by me on the street on Christmas day written on an evelope (Something
is missing when you don't see the handwriting):

Call the CIA

- Mom - sleep shirt
- Dad - thermometer
- Scott - ? - Call the CIA
- Sam - shoes
- Robbie - toys
[Everyone else except Uncle Calvin gets Hickory Farms sausages or pictures]
- Uncle Calvin - ethnic food

www.foundmagazine.com  
A 21 Ballons Production
excerpts from issue #2 of the print magazine

"Found Art" and Finding Yourself by Jon Spayede writing in utne magazine
www.utne.com, reprinted in "Found" magazine.

Finders and keepers are everywhere, seeking out the mystery and beauty of
"found objects." As Jenn Shreve pointeds out in a recent issue of Wired
magazine, collecting found objects is a bona fide trend "that views 
society's detritus as a means of creative expression"
[boring references to modern art removed, ironic bullshit]
Yet is is obvious to everyone who comes in contact with it that found
art goes deeper than these ironic acts...
Yet it doesn't feel wholly accurate to explain away the fervor for found
objects as nothing more than a return to the real, a desire for direct
experience in a hype- and media-saturated world, a craving to pick up 
something fascinating for free in the world of commodities...
[goes on to explain his fascination which is not mine]

interview from same issue with life long collector Dave Hewitt:

davy: why do you collect all these found things

dave hewitt: you can learn so much from just the smallest fragments of
people's lives. someone's essence emerges from these tiny details, notes and
lists and things never intended for other people's eyes. that makes it sound
like it's  a purely voyueristic thrill, but the appeal extends much further
than that. yeah, it's fun and it's amusing, but it's also really poignant.
within each of these finds -- especially the letters and the photographs --
something universal is revealed, something that offers insight into the human
experience, the human condition. i like seeing people who seem to be leading
very different lives from me are still experiencing so many of the same
emotions and rafting through so many of same triumphs and sadnesses. it makes
me feel powerfully connected to them -- and i don't know who they are really,
just this single anonymous person whose note i've found. they end up standing
for all people and so by extension i begin to feel a sense of powerful
connection to everyone.

>From "Found" magazine, written on a vomit bag found at Los Angeles (LAX)
airport:

To face you fears, I'm here. But I can't show you how.
When I look into your eyes your sole (sic) touches me.
It's like a drug.
We can be friends but right now you should take care of things
(Find out for yourself).

Found on usenet this morning on an Irish list (not strictly found because the
poster is not anonymous -- i am still working through the details of how to
classify or use this material (whether i need permission. etc...)

    I am minded of an evening in Brittany when, in the course of meandering
from one megalithic site to another, a sudden downpour forced us to take
shelter inside the mouth of one of the passage graves - I think it was @
Mané-Kérioned.  No torch, of course, meant no exploration, only a wait till
the squall passed.
    In the quiet, to my utter surprise, something deep in the primitive part
of my brain sensed the profound darkness behind my back as alive, & uncanny,
& sent a powerful shiver up my spine.
    Of course, the conscious brain knows these are but tales & imaginings,
stimulated by similar experiences on the part of the many weary travellers
thru all the ages, who similarly sought shelter in those ancient places only
to find their sleep haunted by the mists of previous traveller's tales, & who
added to the lore, & so on back who knows how many ages & ages into the past.
    But the other part of the mind says:  perhaps, back there somewhere, a
door has opened, & closed again.



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