Rindon Johnson, An island is all surrounded by water In the morning foreboding Quickly solved by dripping A shower, you know A slow crawl to the park Wait first meat A coffee A hill A roundabout A breeze on the lake A larking body of water, once screaming once babbling, once running A sleeping family A white child with A water gun A tall tree A tunneling A horn Another A too small blanket, you in my mind and next to me A wind in my ears, my basement look what I found, leave the lights on A sigh A tie on a rooftop A still flooding Another horn All in the flight path An immovable object A clapping of leaves A certainty, it is seven feet deep One boy watches the other A horn, 2022.
Leather, indigo, crayon, pencil, watercolor, gloss medium, varnish, 62 x 50 inches (157.5 x 127 cm.)
Installation view, Rindon johnson, Liz deschenes, and Troika, Under the Sun, 2022. Max Goelitz, Berlin.
Rindon Johnson, Floating through the canyon, through the canyon, through the canyon, the Peace of Martial Law, the PEACE of Martial Law, the canyon walls are 2000 feet high, 2000 feet high, 2000 feet high, some rose-colored glasses, some rose-colored glasses, it is only a matter of time. No, this thing and not the other thing either. CREEK! It’s only a matter of time. Find me inside, many of us were scared, but after they ate a pizza from the backpack of a man who was taking a swim, they were looking for dessert. They found the bag and decided to take it away., 2021. Rose Brooks leaded stained glass, 99.5 x 74.5 inches (252.5 x 189 cm). Installation view, Law of Large Numbers: Our Bodies, 2021 SculptureCenter, Long Island, New York.
Rindon Johnson, Coeval Proposition #2: Last Year’s Atlantic, or You look really good, you look like you pretended like nothing ever happened, or a Weakening, 2021. Realtime portrait animating program, projectors, platform, computer, Ten month duration. Installation view, Law of Large Numbers: Our Bodies, 2021 SculptureCenter, Long Island, New York.
Rindon Johnson, For example, collect the water just to see it pool there above your head. Don’t be a Fucking Hero!, 2021, ongoing. Rawhide, paracord, rainwater, Dimensions variable with weather conditions, approximately: 20 x 60 x 36 inches (51 x 152.5 x 91.5 cm). Installation view, Law of Large Numbers: Our Bodies, 2021 SculptureCenter, Long Island, New York.
Rindon Johnson, Why, if it was so bad here, did he not go to another place to live? So it’s pretty big, it’s about twice the size of my fist, you can hear the bag is crunching as I turn it over, there’s not a single animal, no insect, nothing, it is so old it reflects back blue light, so on a very clear, cool day, it is hard to say where it is that the sun meets the sky. They brought me here, the boy replied, 2019. Rawhide, dirt, 35.5 x 23.5 x 15.75 inches (90 x 60 x 40 cm).
Rindon Johnson, Still from Among other things (nearby occasions or 8 acts for Jeremy): What should we call this form of existence: a constant vista where from one view one can see the cage of one binding state and from another view, another binding state? Come here and have a taste (play to be played). Hadi writes: All night I dreamed of these lines and couldn’t help it other than believing that dreaming these lines mean I should send them to you; it is coming from an old poem that made sense to me when I saw the cage inside the cage / Birds are free of cages, and cages are free of birds / Where have you came from that causes you to be so free / Although every birds voice is a kind of crying for end of the day / You must sing more since your cry more sounds like the beginning of the day. / I think birds are standing for people, but I’m not sure what the cage stands for. You must know. (I don’t.) Maybe there are things that we should become accustomed to not seeing or knowing (I entered the tunnel of my own will) I play the song over and over; without beginning and without end or when you druge up the past needlessly the dutch say you’re digging up old cows, 2019. HD Video, 26 min 34 sec.
Rindon Johnson, Why is labor so virtuous when we could have this other thing? (A true radical makes nothing.) What you choose to reinscribe is a form of previous pain brought upon another leave it, leave me be. Inscribe. I will not participate. Oops I’m participating. We’d be best to go a little too hard. (How do I decolonize something I cannot see?) Rose says to me as I am leaning half my body out the window to look at the dark looming cloud, We’ll never know if it’s going to rain until it rains, Rin. In Nicaragua they say: The world was once destroyed by a deluge. After its destruction, the gods created all things afresh. Ongoing. Rawhide, dirt, water, leaves, mold, bungee. Installation view, 2019, Sculpture Center, Queens, New York, Photo: Kyle Knodell