"This is maybe obvious, but hadn’t really occurred to me until now: that loving art – even in one’s most absolutely borrowed, subatomic sense of the abstract – is just being places: viewing a romanticized or horrified or, at its best, realized allegory of where one is – of where, in that instant, one wants to go. One might call what it conjures a fondness for a fondness: the clinging together of pleasures like clothes; the horizon of what peace our mind’s integrity can spare.
And it is here that the metaphor comes into full flower: Wark’s distance from people as Madeleine’s exile from place. “I’m so fucking glad we’re out of here,” George mutters as they hit the road. Madeleine doesn’t respond; only sighs and strokes the back of his head. Perhaps her silence is literal: her failure any longer to engage the material of the narrative. Perhaps it is symbolic: the paradigm of having one’s morality blurred, of folk fucking painting, of learning what God means from a stranger. Or perhaps it just is: an image of geography, brand old with Before, new now like love to the point of decay.”
- Sam Donsky on Junebug (Bright Wall/Dark Room, March 2010)