Too My Dearest Em (at astronaut school)

there's a barber and a mask and a gold thrown pillow

Too My Dearest Em,By virtue of being me I'm still here and still known only for my more obscure works, the grass that smells, and the softening effects of light varnish. I might not be included in any of the heavier books that you'll open but when you browse the stacks I will be represented. I've been thinking about you while sitting in a nearby tree. I had to play in the rain without you the other day. It's why I'm writing actually. I'm not about the things that I've done. I'm not about the old and the pious plays that men and women can love each other through. Not when I can miss you more.
Affectionately Yours,
Em

In this group we will affectionately discuss the persecution of such dynamic traditions as teams and their enthusiasts. How they contribute to an ongoing conflict which itself is a necessary component of the new urban economic ideal. How then does this ideal fall short of being actualized? In part it's these symptomatic patterns of null growth that are defined in systems which resemble complex symmetry but ultimately fail to present a large enough data set for any true comparison. How then can the post-contemporary narrative embellish and influence the perceptual experience of this work given this lack of true comparison? First of all, it cannot. But can this circumstance be isolated for deeper critical analysis along another vertices that is identified with either race, class, or gender? Can the overall conflict be isolated and documented in its entirety with these patterns once they've been statistically initiated?

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The apologist and the appraiser have decided to stay put

dashed wet and grim Oh now, Reagan of steel glitter in pants with which to shake them on down. Oh now, I shit you not for these are the things. Yes in any order you should choose these are the things to please please me, Oh Yeah. - Unmarked letter signed, A to A They'll say to me that it's safe to say so much for ubiquity, for disenfranchisement, and the terrorism of privilege. They'll say to me, With all of the effects from these profoundly toxic effects, is the project of our shared humanity effectively being dismantled. Are these the idle thoughts and sad tidings of despots and the tyrant kings inside of their comfortable towers of raised muck. As I've said before, They're not so far gone as to be gone for the good of all. This is plain to be seen in a world of bent backs and gross hyperbole. I'll sit in any unused doorway. I'll be beside myself while every door is locked. I'll dream of the halls and listen as the curtains, the drinking, an...

Piles of leaves: Letters Campaign

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Not the Willem DeKooning Retrospective (Not Even Close)

Willem DeKooning, Excavation (1950) oil on canvas Yesterday at work I bumped into this piece by Donald Kuspit on DeKooning's retrospective over at Artnet . Then this morning I bumped into this one on L Magazine's site, by Paddy Johnson . I don't know that Paddy Johnson demystifies DeKooning as much as she takes issue with his pallet, declaring it repetitive and boorish en masse. By contrast, Donald Kuspit writes an article painting DeKooning as a sadistic brute inextricably tied to the modern tradition in general and Picasso specifically. Together they make for some interesting reading, particularly as Kuspit never addresses the show itself in favor of drawing his conclusions from individual works. While Johnson seems to wear the show like an imaginary wool shawl, noting it's uncomfortable, out of style, and the zipper is broken. But she doesn't seem to get to a place that addresses what was actually there either, only what she felt was missing or to her mind ...

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