I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to post your beautiful postcard. It brought on a vision out of the fogs of the past, the fog of SF in the 80s.
It's been a week since we got home from Phila. We were driving from the airport to my aunt's and had barely gotten on the road when I felt like we were in one of my grandfather's paintings. He painted Philadelphia landscapes in the 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s: timeless, a place caught in amber, still waiting to be woken up, sleeping on and on through the years. Every time I go back there it's like time travel. It's at once horrible and wonderful, scary and exhilarating. And the torpor. I think amber is the best metaphor for the home of the Liberty Bell and other assorted Americana.
Back to your postcard! I don't think this is the first time your work has reminded me of Odilon Redon. Have you looked at his work? I hope you do. It's very haunted and shrouded in mystery. As opposed to amber, fog would be the operative metaphor, an atmospheric condition that is at once obscuring, but also freeing. Which is how SF felt back then.
I remember reading about Karen Finley, but I never saw any of her performances. And instead of the White Lady, I remember the Red Devil Man in the Mission. He was scary. It was difficult to tell what his deal was and it never occurred to me to talk to him. I don't think I would be able to talk to him now, either.