I think artists are just people. We’re like poorly compensated accountants. Or baristas. Or cubicle jockeys (of which I am one). It’s a craft and a skill, sure, but that’s about it. It’s not a lot more mysterious than that. I think that there are as many ways of being artists as there are artists […]
art·ist : a collage /ˈärtist/ to be able to read thomas aquinas, his writings on grace and look at abel ferrara regarding his take on saints and sinners but also to be able to have the freedom to reflect on the new york jewish artist genius lawrence weiner’s statement in 1968 regarding the work of […]
Art is inspiration, revelation, introspection, yes, but also it’s a painting, a photo, some words on a page: artifice by human hands. How much faith do we put in human hands? How reliable are we as narrators? Do any of us know what the fuck is going on? (A wink and nod from artist to […]
When I was very young I used to spend hours pretending to be a dog—crawling around on my hands and knees, licking my paws, and wearing a pink studded collar. I even got my little brother to sneak cereal from the kitchen so I could eat it out of a bowl on the ground. I […]
Brooklyn I wander aimlessly across Brooklyn as much as I can. Any day I have free – if it is not too bitterly cold – or torrentially rainy or wildly windy – I head to Brooklyn – either on foot across one of the bridges, or else by subway. Even on rainy days I often […]
Phonometricians 1: On Being Asked “Are You a Living Artist?” in 2013 2 1. Say yes — and 3 A. There’s profundity to the joke “Why did the chicken cross the road?” We imagine the lost author of the joke and the first few people who never heard it before. He is standing on a […]
I Art does not exist by itself. Art only emerges dialogically through the multi-faceted processes of an artist creating something and people experiencing that creation. In this way, it may be safer to say “art only exists in time,” or that “art is a process.” Focusing on the dialogues that bring art into existence explodes […]
A Memory of Fish Ever since I was a child, it has been my tendency to create around me a fictitious world, to create and surround myself with friends & acquaintances that never existed. My pockets were always filled with odds and ends, gathering everything I could find when I went out for a walk: […]
V The boy’s mother comes out of the cleaners carrying her sequined handbag and a pain between her shoulder blades. She steps off the curb and winces. The streets are always too crowded when I leave, she thinks, wishing they’d let her come in earlier as she whisks around the legless man perpetually posted […]
