Black market art world – bad news. First there are the art thieves, a hoary bunch of lycra-clad thugs who believe their chosen line refines them beyond the specter of criminality. When they’re not plucking paintings off museum walls, they’re in the gym doing Pilates, their steel eyes far-away and dull, hypnotized by the electronica…
There is an image I chanced upon as a child, which left an indelible imprint on my mind. Captioned “Expose yourself to art,” R. Myerson’s famous photograph depicts a man in a trench coat flashing an outdoor sculpture. I dug it for the multiple-entendre and whispers of Zen that curled around the corners of the…
There is an image I chanced upon as a child, which left an indelible imprint on my mind. Captioned ?Expose yourself to art,? R. Myerson’s famous photograph depicts a man in a trench coat flashing an outdoor sculpture. I dug it for the multiple-entendre and whispers of Zen that curled around the corners of the…
When I was a small-town reporter on the eve of a five-year stint in the Hollywood trenches, I used to fret about the motion picture of my life. How would the cast and crew behind my own personal biopic bridge the continental divide between my years as a newspaperman and those I foresaw as a…
My stylist, or at least the design school dropout who calls himself my stylist, has tried vainly in recent months to get me to affect the mien of a 1970’s rock promoter. “That’s your look,” he assures. “Mildly dissipated with an artful sense of showmanship but vaguely villainous.” Most days it’s a near miss, but…
When last we spoke, I was being schlepped onto the Cork Theater’s stage to do a star turn in “Rapture in Suede,” a production with which I’d only become familiar moments earlier when I read my name on the playbill. Permit me to recall the last time something like this happened to me, when I…