Invited by Lucie Stahl to respond to her gorgeous and trashy collaged posters, I look back in my diary and am surprised by the number of parallels in our dreams and notations. I've never met Lucie Stahl but we live in the same world: oil spills, palm fronds, novelty key chains, sports beverages. Like me, she's a self-appointed reporter. Stahl's posters begin with her odd inclination to write down fragments of overheard conversations, ambient thoughts and fleeting anxieties that – once preserved (and obsessively so, under buckets of chemical gloss) function as video-grabs from the deluge of information that we understand, more or less, to comprise consciousness.
