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“December Sun”

Basketball is back & the longest night has passed and this year is finally drawing to a close—the ceremony of ending 2020 is nerve-racking, given that this feels like a failed test for the future rather than anything worth raising a glass for passing.

So the bottles have been put down and the work is on the way, for now I am stumbling ’round this new habitat of Hollywood, under the welcome warmth of a December sun.


I remember after Trump got elected, people would text me things like, Well, at least there will be some great art made, not realizing that was impossible. There was no great American artistic response to Trump because his administration was America’s art: the inevitable conclusion to a culture wholly governed by the aspirations of capitalism alone for two generations. The created result of a collective societal effort to reward wealth and celebrity above all else—and four years worth of daily reminders that America’s liberal institutions have failed to do anything but provide a veil of humanity over a ruthless police state that hates the poor just slightly less than it needs poverty for survival.

Now, the veil has been lifted. Between the Democrats railroading the Bernie Sanders campaign again to this nation-wide criminally negligent response to the pandemic, it is obvious that you only need one hand to count the amount of people working for the US government who don’t prioritize their own self-interest. Yet, the machine is right there, ready to roll: ready to declare a new year, ready to ‘move on,’ ready to forget by commemorating a new day to say Never Forget.


Hollywood Housing

We are about to face off with a national existential crisis, where those that have survived this massively traumatic event will be watching a series of systems push to get ‘back to normal’ as quickly as possible, leveraging an already broken economy against itself again. There is an omnipresent sense of grief and confusion, there is no stated ideology to help the people, and so far every government action is more of an insult than it is earnest service of the public good.

These are a few of the things—along with a few personal circumstances one could describe as difficult at best—which have driven me to take account of the Proper Nouns of my life; I suppose this is an effort to move the scales on a few of those toward something new, or perhaps something old under a new light, the kind that stays warm through the winter.

So through this space I will occasionally check in with the world, to discuss ideas or talk shit about all the dumb ways humanity ends up using time on this planet. Thanks for reading.





Colin Smith is an interdisciplinary artist based in Los Angeles. His assembly-based work focuses on human nature and its relationship to media, language, time, and systems of control.