Tag Archives: an artists life

I don’t have OCD. Really

“I’m not in the least obsessive, it just has to be right”.   Sura I was watching the film “Panic” and the young woman has the middle aged man she met in the shrink’s waiting room stalking her. They’re in … Continue reading

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Quality vs. Quantity: Time to Cull the Herd

From the print comes screaming. Rip. Rip again. Once more, a ripping. Eugenics in art. All those works in progress, good ideas poorly executed, trite ideas beautifully made. Someone else did it better. I’ve done it better. Intriguing failures, halfway … Continue reading

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What happens when you’re done?

 There are severals levels to “being done”. There’s done as in “tired” as in “I can’t stand up, It’s nappy time” done. There’s “out of ideas” done, as in I haven’t anything to offer up. I’ll put it away until … Continue reading

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Why The Palladio Company Went Away: The True History of its Demise

Some of you may remember The Palladio Company, which made machine coated platinum-palladium photographic paper. That was my baby. And in it’s youth I gave it up for adoption, wishing it well in all it’s future endeavors. The idea of … Continue reading

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Inexorable Change and Resisting the Nature of Things

I hung on to summer tightly, tightly. Mostly, I hunger for shorter days and the hermetic gravity of the weak sun, bone deep warmth of a fire, and the long quiet nights. How odd of me to resist. It was … Continue reading

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Curators, Museums, The Critical Eye, and the End of Innocence

So, I had arrived; a one man show, at The Marcuse Pfeifer Gallery, on Madison Avenue (way before Soho and Chelsea were hot). I’m leaning on the counter, chatting with Cusie, (wow, this is real!) when in walks Susan Kismaric, … Continue reading

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Where I went wrong, at an early age

Death is the Mother of Beauty: Wallace Stevens When I was 8, or so, on the walk home from school, I found a flattened chipmunk corpse by the side of the road. I brought the tail home to Mother. Proudly, … Continue reading

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