Logan Square, 1992

I tell Kevin I lived in Logan Square ‘92 to ‘93. He says he can beat me: he was there a decade earlier. No matter how far back you go, how old-school you take yourself to be, someone will turn up who’s even originaler and authenticker than you. I bet whatever lungfish crawled out ofContinue reading “Logan Square, 1992”

Every man a Rembrandt?

About the time Jackson Pollock was breaking the ice by dripping and dribbling skeins of house paint over cotton duck tarpaulins on the floor of some barn on Long Island, millions of suburbanites could produce their very own masterpieces in minutes thanks to the miracle of step-by-step instruction. The Craft Master paint kit box topsContinue reading “Every man a Rembrandt?”


Ray Johnson made up a word to call his artwork. The word’s definition, even its place in a sentence, is elusive and mutable. Like the man who coined it, an ever-moving target. I’ve gone to see Johnson’s show at the museum a few times and intend to see it a few times more. It showedContinue reading “Moticos”