Friday, January 13, 2017

Raymond Pettibon and Marcel Dzama at David Zwirner Gallery London


One of the many magical things I saw when I was in London last Fall (the number of which was so large that I still haven't gotten around to telling you about all of them!) was the Raymond Pettibon and Marcel Dzama show Let Us Compare Mythologies at the David Zwirner Gallery. Though each of these two artists has a very recognizable style, the way they created the work for the show--pasting up collages of joint work and then drawing directly on top of them and on the gallery walls--made for such a dizzying and delightful mishmash that it truly felt like a brand new thing, created by the collaborative entity Pettibon/Dzama. Great fun.
















Thursday, January 12, 2017

Poem #20


June 2010

walking to work about
eight months pregnant
I entered the crosswalk
and a car turned into it

a man in a garish shirt
leaned out the window
of the car behind the car
and hollered indignantly

CAN’T YOU SEE
THIS FAT BITCH IS
TRYING TO CROSS
THE STREET?!

and though yes of course
I was offended at the bitch
and judged his intelligence
for the fat I was also weirdly

thankful Most of all it
was the funniest thing
that had happened in
the past eight months

I tried to tell this story
to people all the time
for a while but no one
appreciated its humor


Wednesday, January 11, 2017

A Letter to the Editor


I like this letter to the editor of the Chicago Tribune so much that I reprint it here in its entirety. An excellent reminder to all of us in the media and publishing:

December 11, 2016

The Chicago Tribune must remain an independent, investigation-driven news organization no matter how much pressure a President Donald Trump puts on the news media to normalize his demagogic behavior and publish his constant stream of lies. In the press, lies must be exposed as lies. It is not enough to report what Trump says. The fact that what he says is a lie must also be reported. Every time. No lie can be left unexposed. 
Never forget — Trump will be a minority president. He lost the popular vote. He has no mandate. These are facts that should inform your response to all of his communications, his initiatives, his actions. When his words or his deeds are bad for America, the press has a duty to expose those truths.

The people will be watching your coverage in the months to come. Show that you are independent. Show that you are skeptical. Show that you will not simply repeat whatever you are told. Our democracy depends on news organizations like the Tribune to take these stands. 
—Karin Evans, Forest Park

image source is here

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

A Fourth Year of Pies


2016 was Bill's fourth year of making a pie each month (previous years are here, here, and here -- where you can watch my photo-taking skills devolve as you go back in time, fun!). By now he has gotten really really good at it. His crust is a delight every single time. And, as people who've attempted pie crust know, that's saying something. This project is an inspiration to me every year he does it (not to mention nicely filling my belly). Here, without further ado, is what he made:

(above) January: Chocolate Chess Pie


February: Grapefruit Meringue Pie
(inside the exquisite pie storage and transportation box I had made for him for him by woodworker extraordinaire B.R. Laramie)


March: Peanut Butter Icebox Pie (with decorative pi for pi day)


April: Strawberry Rhubarb Pie


May: Plum Custard Meringue Pie


June: Hersey Pie


July: Blackberry Pie


August: Plum Poppy Seed Custard Pie


September: Honey Fig Pie


October: Halloween Fudge Cashew Pie


November: Sour Cream Raisin Pie


December: Cranberry Sage Pie

Monday, January 9, 2017

Friday, December 16, 2016

Herikita con K


I cannot get over the work of Herikita con K. It is just so so so good. "The good news is that your heart is in perfect shape, you are ok, you only ate too much. The bad news is that the procedure wasn't necessary." Here you go, enjoy!





Thursday, December 15, 2016

Poem #19


1986

when I was in the fifth grade my 
friend and I marched from my bedroom 
out to the backyard where my parents were 
gardening and calmly announced that we were going 
to ride our bikes to the shopping plaza a mile or so away

my mother and father exchanged 
a strangled look over the tops of our heads 
then turned their faces towards us forced smiles 
and said ok have fun girls and away we went hair flying

all afternoon most weekends for years thereafter we 
slung our legs across bike seats rode down there 
flung bikes with no locks on the rack by the 
supermarket and wandered around

eating corn dogs and crinkle fries out of red plastic baskets in
orange vinyl booths trying on oversized purple cowl-neck 
sweaters and tiny shrunken jean jackets and one time 
transgressively prom dresses buying candy and tiny 
ceramic animals and babysitters club books and 
ninety-nine-cent bottles of wet-n-wild nail
polish in fuchsia and rainbow sparkle


image source is here