Ground Fault Interrupt

Episode One Hundred Fifteen: Ground Fault Interrupt.
In which we put our foot down.


  1. This one started with my noticing my clicking ankles as I walked down a hall at work. Wearing new shoes - a little tighter than I'm used to (company doesn't make the half size) that made me teeter a bit as I found my balance in them. Thinking about foot bones and foot binding.

    And so the comic evolved into images of feet. Alec Guinness as Gulley Jimson in "The Horse's Mouth" (1958), skeletal sketching from Da Vinci (late 1400's?), a snapshot of a medical model of a dis-assemble-able foot that I gave to Anne (a pharmaceutical company promo) backed by the globe, and an image of feet at home.

    I think I remember my father enjoying "The Horse's Mouth," and I know I did some thirty years ago when I watched it, and I'm wondering whether it would seem anachronistic now - the lovable, irascible artist, crusty on the outside yet with the heart of gold. Jimson being Fixed on Feet, that being his niche, and wonder now whether the film (and book?) angles that fetish cheekily as a commentary on the absurdity of trends in pop art. In any event, that came up when I thought of feet.

    Similarly, I once owned a nicely bound copy of reproductions of Da Vinci anatomical drawings, and they nestled in the back of my mind somewhere in a formative manner.

    So, whereas some of these images are in their own ways proscriptive, I think what I've realized after I arranged them in this way is that the first three frames are various levels of abstraction of the idea of feet, and the final is a representation of actual physical feet. So, there's a moving toward grounding - feet standing in for being grounded.

    Hence the title: Ground Fault Interrupt. The device that ensures a circuit is grounded when the circuit encounters a problem. It's an engineered safety. When I become too abstracted - always the problem, no? - the GFI here is actual physical presence. Sitting in my pj's at a coffee table, lanky-toed foot in Timberland socks by my foot's side.

    Begrudgingly optimistic.

  2. I, too, can't help but wonder about the other side. Unfortunately, such thoughts lead me to the bottles in the side bar, which then lead to an aside, and inevitably to viewing things from the under-side.

    As far as I am able, I do overtly not get the relevance of bowhunting camo/cover accessories. Perhaps the process of 'blending in' to end life is it's own form of grounding that brings us more in touch with our own experience?

    Touche, Robot-esque commentator. Your estimating algorithms have out-surrealed the surrealest of my dream-like narration. I welcome the obliterating future with open arms. May my bolt strike be a clean one.



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