JOHN DIAMOND-NIGH

Evolving aria on art and life

On my lap sits a packet of carrot seeds. In lieu of a handy notebook the packet is covered with scribblings–painters' names, possible first lines, addresses, existential question marks. Tomorrow I'll plant the seeds.

 
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#Magic good, magic bad, magic #diabolical

What happens to the #jesters when the #king himself is ten times more obscene? What happens to the #subversive role of the #artist when #democracy itself is being overturned; when #religion hugs the devil himself as a means to keep its kingdom secure? Have we #humanists (momentarily) been beaten at our own game? Our pants are down. Our swords have been stolen. Our old, misty, exploratory lexicon–#contamination, #pluralism, #relativism–has been co-opted in the most poisonous a

Tall tales but true

Sassy chimney, hard-partying chairs, horny headboard–all the makings of a hedonistic hoe-down. In fact, all the makings of an Andy Warhol #fairy tale, composed for, and circulated among friends. Funny we call them #tall tales when they go so deep. My daughter asked me recently for updated drawings of Silyak and Samovar, two mice in a long-running fairy tale that daddy made up years ago. Silyak and Samovar visited the pyramids, they went to mass at Notre Dame, went back in tim

 
 
 
 

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