What is relevant is that I am no longer sitting in the room that holds Excavation yet I am thinking out of the painting because my whole exterior is now the painting. A while back I realized that I was no longer thinking into but rather out of the painting. Additionally, I do not wish to speak of Cubism nor do I wish to recant the Picasso and Cezanne derivations possibly inherent in the painting’s creation. This is because everything is inherent here—the world has been recalibrated and the voices of the streets demolished by a fed-up yet invisible wind that buffers the leftover bones into surfaced distractions. Yes, bodies, particles of bodies occluding the surface but not as entire, as the pockets of jittering viscera and the plunging concatenations of two-toned struggling are heavily vacuuming, heavily capable of reeling all eyes in; the audience is hooked. Quite often, and however unfortunately, I used to feel and see people pass so quickly by this piece—as I sat in front of it for my hour-long stints—that I am sure that they proceeded with their days in an unaffected manner. Yet this sort of blasé perusal of museums is understood. It is very well known that people look at a placard before they do the piece it represents. Also, I think that de Kooning himself would rather those willing to be swallowed up look a little longer at Excavation and that those passing in a fleeting manner can just sort of fuck off. Conversely, it is precisely this swallowing-up which gives the piece a fluttering constancy, a blood-losing lament. Excavation exerts gasps and trembles that can only have arisen from destruction, from not necessarily the world defeating the self but the self defeating the self in order to know the self within a world, destruction as reconstruction. Despite the obvious pointers, the title and the layered cuts, Excavation forces a viewer to move into the painting in order to take an understanding out. It cannot be determined as flat or understood quickly because one has to maneuver through the bones and interruptions the surface parlays, one has to become its flesh.