I heard last night that my friend, the artist Nan Hoover had died. I met her in the ’70s. Someone had given me her number in Amsterdam. I phoned, and she asked me to come and stay. Her apartment was white: white floor, white ceiling, white walls. She wore black; her dog was black, her cat was black-and-white.
Nan’s work was sublime. Moments frozen in light. She worked in video, performance, charcoal and installations. And photography, about which she wrote:
I am a painter
everything I do is seen
through the eyes of a
painter
I only use different
brushes from time to time
http://www.nan-hoover.com/
Photo: Nan Hoover
