Does an old chipped mug, by virtue of holding [Duchamp’s] fingerprints, qualify now for full curatorial support?
Crispin Trove, The Viewer as Pest.
He found consolation in his old indecipherable books. And in the walls all around him.
Agatha Vox, When Everything Was Singing.
“I want to be told that I am happy, Gavin. And in no uncertain terms!”
Hildebrand Slough, The Perfect List.
Among other things, Dickens was a master of lists, as was Shakespeare 250 years before him.
Palmer Coates, The Dark Afternoon of the Soul.
Discipline: an obsolete concept.
Nathaniel Bumppo, The Final Word.
It’s not what happens during sleep that matters. It is that we sleep. That’s what tells us something.
Octavius Kinder, A Sustainable Unhappiness.
“Well, sir, confusion is my meat and drink. My joy. I specialize in confusion.”
Benedict Elder, A Cosmopolitan Paradise.
They were told that life began when lightning struck a mud puddle. And they can’t get past that. They do not try.
Hilbert Kaasa, The Fabian Way.
He paid 180 million for that de Kooning. That is roughly $600,000 for each brushstroke.
Crispin Trove, The Viewer as Pest.
Benno laid camp for five legions__ / ____ / __at high ground / That river floods in spring__ /
Hildegarde Busby, tr., Latin Epigraph Fragments.
dennis scharnberg 