Or how the Pet Mayor of Corrales made me less afraid of myself
It’s been four months and I’m still finding stuff
Today’s Office Excavations post is about a box of phlogs. If you punch this word into Google, you’ll get a dozen different definitions. I think, in this case—although there is no explanation accompanying the box—the artist means “photo logs,” or something of this ilk.
The box, which was under a stack of junk on a bookshelf in my office, is full of black, matte, blank greeting cards, each with a black and white photo glued to the front. Most of the subjects pictured are people, although one is cutlery and dirty plates. Each photo has intriguing composition and exudes a melancholy feel, such as I like my art to have. On the back of every card is an essay relating to the image on the front. The essays are little capsules of narrative poignancy.
A sheet inside the box reads “Phlogs: Journey to the heart of the human predicament. Note card series by George Stranahan.” (Dirty dishes do get right to the heart of my predicament.)
It turns out that George Stranahan is a physicist, philosopher, educator, writer and photographer who lives in Colorado. He is also a brewer. He started the Flying Dog brewpub in Aspen, which expanded to become a brewery in Denver, with his friend and neighbor Hunter S. Thompson!
The note cards are an offshoot of the book, Phlogs: Journey to the heart of the human predicament, which is full of photos and essays by Stranahan. He had some help on the bound version from author Nicole Beinstein Strait, who wrote some of the essays.
The note cards are really cool and I’m willing to share. If you comment on this blog, I will mail you one at random, and you can regift it or tack it to your wall. (Up to 12 people, because that’s how many cards there are.)