This trope of a thing attached on the canvas - shrimps, soupcans, stickers, etc.. - the pre-ordered packaging of current-discourse. Assemblage-readymade-chic: the go-to symbol of fractured meaning in late-capital, Harrison semio-neurosis, manifold course nebulousness of a gee-shucks consider-the-lobster-type mire.
But for all Lee’s noodling in the bogs of contemporary tropes, there’s a repressed nostalgia interned in the postmodern-chic, hinting an emotional resonance in the tacky theater carpets. Reminiscent of Richard Hawkins stapled boys, or Fecteau’s early shoeboxes, and sometimes stepping on the toes of Tom Burr; and of course FGT - A pathos embedded in the minimalist-chic, disco heavens dancing over the corpse of autonomy's box.
Lee all about towel's touch. Cinema and the faces drawn in the dark through touch, felt over carpet cinema.
Lovelorn, the word we're looking for.
