I feel like I know you. I’ve seen your picture of buffalos stampeding off a cliff and wish I owned a print of that. It would hang on my wall, but where in there is the story of you being raped unconscious? Where are the black beauties you ingested that kept you up for days? Where is your positive test result the clinic gave you? Where is the glorified You the Art World conveys whenever you and your work are mentioned? How can I feel like I know you from a work of art compared to your experiences in a car, at the pier, in a booth in a porn shop, in a dark alleyway, in your bedroom as a young boy before you understood who your parents were and were not for you? As a child you walked alone for the first time through the big city streets learning what you needed to make that work of art of buffalos stampeding off of a cliff one day...and you must have thought of me too.
David Wojnarowicz
Untitled (Falling Buffalo)
Gelatin Silver Print
10" x 13"
Edition of 100
1988-89
