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.



Roosting on a hardwood pew, fidgeting with a stick of Juicy Fruit gum before my sister could catch me out, the crucifixion was of less interest than a much more dramatic story farther down the page. All of the graves in Jerusalem open up and the dead arise in a sort of Halloween bonanza and walk around the streets of the city like old times, having the beer they’d been wanting for five hundred years. Zombies in the tens of thousands, I supposed. Just imagine! Remarkably, the

#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



Asheville, NC, USA


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