I'd hoped to photograph Ann Harkness and Rowena Bush's A Drop of Truth performance at Still Light gallery, but all I found there was a mannequin someone had distorted into a wood crypt. The box was intersticed into a curtain of upside-down Madonnas. The wall rained down with a splendid selection of all kinds, colors and shapes of medium-sized Madonnas.
But it was Ann Harkness lying there so still, listening like a corpse visiting her own funeral. Artist camouflaged as art, in the quintessential locus to hear what people mutter at art when artists aren't apparent.
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