David Ostrowski

An artist's breath, captured.

Music sucks.

Pristine white panels hung edge-to-edge, marking time.

F.

Absence as a staged photograph.

War.

A simple wooden plinth displaying an artist's aura.

Imagine If.

Empty storefront as exhibition.

Perfume.

Turning the lights on and off in a room.

No possibilities.

A piece of paper, stared at for hours.

I would prefer not to.

Hiding as performance.

To annoy.

Erasing a drawing, over a month.

Never.

A music score composed of silence.

Julio Iglesias.

Poems written in the sky.

I want to die forever.

Raw canvas with barely perceptible traces of footprints.

Sex.

Fade to white.

Let loose.