hi rude camel,
January 28 - February, 26, 2017
3315 West Washington Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90018
The anecdote he related drew me even closer to him./ I was lucid enough to notice that his pace slowed up as I drew near him./ I drew my head slightly back. He put out his hands to take it again. I drew it farther back. He held out his arms and appealed plaintively, almost like a baby,/ These dangerous nocturnal adventures into which I let myself be drawn by my sombre heroes are thus the elaboration of an erotic ceremonial, of a mating which is sometimes quite long.
One might think that, like Montaigne, he is going to draw a good−humored and familiar self−portrait./ I was afraid he might draw his knife to kill me,/ (the murderer withdraws but his withdrawal is upward)/ He draws it from his pride.
[He] almost always sits down and eats in the kitchen or the looted drawing−room./ My soul would have relaxed there, grown languid, as in a room whose shutters have been drawn, if only I could have gone a few days without worrying about money./ One day, while he was away, I found a lot of military medals in a drawer.
I've drawn out this account for two reasons./ The reason I tore out and saved the scrap of newspaper with their photographs was the desire to draw from it food for argument in favor of treason, which I have always endowed with a radiant visage./ I would sometimes adorn it with an artful comfort drawn from what was peculiar to it.
Behind a real or sham physical ailment which draws attention to itself and is thereby forgotten is hidden a more secret malady of the soul. I shall list the secret wounds:
a hand cut off,
a gouged eye,
a peg−leg, etc
15 lines from Jean Genet's The Thief's Journal, trans by B. Frechtman, The Olympia Press, Paris, 1954
Brazzeal lives and works in New York. She completed an MFA in studio art at NYU in 2014