Turning Up Bones
Because we’ll all be fossils one day.
The fact and fiction of David Lee Holcomb. You decide which is which.
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In a twenty-two-year-old farm boy from rural Alabama, barriers to comprehension were high. It didn’t take me long to understand that inserting chunks of Eliot or Auden into every conversation never fools anybody, but the significance of the mood/doom connection went right over my head. Click here to continue
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We all have our own sacred cows, ideas that are so deeply embedded in our psyches that we are willing to go to any lengths, make any sacrifice, to defend them. Unlike concepts that are patently stupid, like Holocaust denial or trickle-down economics or Adam Sandler movies, these are so intrinsic to our worldview that… Click here to continue
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Any time you have more than one person in a room, you’re going to have differences. Despite these differences, we still get along, because we have made some rational decisions about what really matters and what can be overlooked in the interest of consensus and coexistence. Click here to continue
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Voltaire pointed out in 1733 that “The interest I have in believing a thing is not a proof of the existence of that thing.” Click here to continue
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Elaine de Kooning once recalled a party where she and another painter, Joan Mitchell, were asked, “What do you WOMEN artists think … ?” Mitchell interrupted, “Elaine, let’s get the hell out of here.” Click here to continue
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The market value of the works that Richter is known to have obliterated is estimated at somewhere around $65 million. My bonfire of the vanities would encompass little more than a few hundred dollars’ worth of paint and plywood. Click here to continue
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In black and white, structure becomes clearer; light and shadow take on more meaning. Detail can become clinical, precise, or it can dissolve into mere texture, like the fabric of a tapestry when the colors have faded away. Click here to continue
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We turn to memes and tweets, chewy little mouthfuls of snark, savoring the ones that appeal to us, spitting out the ones that don’t, passing the bag around and around, sharing and resharing, licking the salty-sweet crumbs off our fingers. Click here to continue