![]() ![]() ![]() Shot from the passenger side, it is nearly all car - an open-topped roadster - but you can see Irwin, handsome with a pompadour hair cut, at the wheel next to a beautiful unknown woman. ![]() Some time later while reading Seeing is Forgetting the Name of the Thing One Sees, a biography of Robert Irwin,1 I came across a photograph entitled: 'Robert Irwin, friend and car, c.1944'. It was just about a perfect day: I had burned gas, watched the sun glistening off the deep black lacquer on the petrol tank, seen some good art and talked to a good artist. As I was unstrapping my helmet, James Turrell came out saying he just knew that sound had to be a vintage Harley, and we stood around talking engines, talking paint, talking about the beauty of well-made machines that drink gasoline. I arrived and stepped off the machine, putting it on the side stand with the motor just chug-a-lugging away. So I rode it over to Dean Clough to see how the Turrell was coming on. I needed to put miles on it, get it to run as good as it looked - and believe me it looked good. It was beautiful it was just about perfect. I had a 1950 Harley Davidson 45, freshly restored. I'm thinking about the time I was in Halifax when James Turrell was building Gas Works/A Ganzfeld Sphere (1993) at the Henry Moore sculpture studios at Dean Clough. Just how finished is finished? I mean, when do you stop, never mind how you keep it that way when you decide you have actually finished? I'm thinking about finishes so good they make you want to cry. ![]()
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