Zuma Series 1977&78
Every time that I would return to this house I would notice that it had changed.
Often it was a minor change, some rearranged papers and a few empty beer cans
in the corner. The change was at times more substantial, like arriving to
find the house full of large tree branches that had recently been set on fire
and extinguished, water still dripping from the ceiling. On another occasion
there might be a strong wind blowing through the window. Once I arrived to
find the house gone.
On Initially arriving I would move through the house looking for areas or
situations to photograph. If nothing seemed to interest me I would move things
around or do some spray painting. The painting was done in much the same way
that one might doodle on a piece of paper. At that point I would return to
the camera and explore what ever new potentials existed.
These photographs are not meant to be documents of painting, or sculpture,
or even of environmental works. When photographing the space I saw my painting
as only an aspect of what was there. The painting did allow me to explore
my own gestures. However, it can not be isolated from the broken glass on
the floor or a curtain being blown by the wind. No element is of greatest
importance. I am most satisfied when the line between evidence of my actions
and what is already there is not distinct. These photographs are the product
of my involvement with an evolving situation. The house evolving in a primarily
linear way toward it's ultimate disintegration, the ocean and light evolving
and changing in a cyclical and regenerative manner. My acts, my painting,
my photographing, my considering, are part of, not separate from, this process
of evolution and change. These photographs are not so much about this process
as they are remnants from it. My participation was not so much one of intellectual
consideration as one of visceral involvement.
John Divola, 1980