Senior Art Exhibit 2005: Amelia Simunek
You're standing in a subway station waiting for your line and a disgruntled man reading
a newspaper is framed in the window as the train pulls away. You're at a traffic light
and you look over in time to see someone in the car beside yours sneeze. You watch
a woman stub her toe or a pair of teenage girls decide to turn into the public restroom.
You see someone struggling with shopping bags or recalcitrant children. These are
small moments you share with people without even the slightest acknowledgement; by
you or them.
Sometimes the window of time is longer. At times long enough to wonder what they're thinking. Sometimes long enough to see storylines written just beneath the surface; like old chipped tables with wobbly legs covered in white linen and propped up with shims. This is how I see my months as an evening hostess in a Los Angeles area restaurant: the collection of shared moments with people. The people I worked with. The people I seated. It was an interesting place. These images are mental recollections. Not so much watercolor memories, they are more an oily residue. Just moments that felt so permanent and repeated. The same play, with the same characters, night after night… and me just an understudy along for a short ride.
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