Matthea Harvey gets her due in the New York Times. While the reviewer hits upon her style (and those like it) pretty closely, he irreverently claims its an easy one to pull off. I hear these other inventions of art were also easy to pull off and took no time at all.

Rheumatism with Landscape.

Meat Pie.

Abstract Graveyard Dancers.

Homo Rainbow.

Loitering Redneck waiting to become an Icon.

So much easier to understand, now we've stripped artist of stylistic privelage.

What an asshole.

Here is a similarly well written and interesting article on Donald Barthelme, except I enjoy the author's description of Barthelme's style, which, after 2000 words, he surmises as "pleasure bursts." That seems about right.



I've been reading Zbigniew Herbert's Collected Poems that Ecco put out. I love it. Particularly the prose poems from his '57 collection Hermes, Dog and Star. They are some of the most masterful prose poems I've ever come across. And isn't that the most badass book cover ever? A lot has been written about this collection in the last year, which I will keep away from until I form my own opinion. An opinion further than "awesome." But really, I probably won't give a fuck.

Another post from me today on The Bostonist. It involves the charms of the idiotic.