Yesterday, opening the kitchen trash can, I found this spectacle:After photographing it, I told Kim to come have a look. She said, "You know that there's no emotional attachment to that doll. It's the one with the broken head. Still, I guess I should save it for my art." I plucked the doll -- I'm not sure if he really is a "Ken" or not -- from the trash and started washing him off. This gave me ideas. I posed the doll emerging from the garbage disposal with a prop also removed from the trash can:Kim was very disturbed by this image and another I set up with the doll, where his legs are poking out instead. I suppose I can understand why, though she traffics in that sort of art all the time. What I do know is that my initial impulse to say, "It's art!," while looking at the contents of the trash can saved the doll from an ignoble fate and gave him the prospect of being incorporated in one of Kim's works. The archivist in me can't help but see this tale as an allegory of redemption.