When Pantheon published Michael Lesy’s Wisconsin Death Trip in 1973 (and in sordid paperback, as well as hardcover), critics offered their amused attention and the kind of gatekeeperish admonitions that rock writers dole out to the debut albums of upstart groups.
Kate Zambreno is the author of, among other books, the novel Green Girl (Emergency Press, 2011; Harper Perennial reissue, 2014) and the nonfiction text Heroines (Semiotext(e), 2012), texts of women, of literary modernism, and of startling critical and emotional insight.
Despite her prominence within the contemporary art canon, Agnes Martin nonetheless remains something of an “artist’s artist,” her work revered more by critics and practitioners than those uninitiated to modern art, to whom her spare abstractions can come off as inscrutable.
A turn of the page reveals an image—more precisely, a photograph, and in its frame is a grid of other photographs and viewers who come closer for examination.
How do we enter a book? How do we move around in it and travel between its pages, chapters, and various corners and openings? These are some of the questions Tate Shaw asks in his collection, Blurred Library: Essays on Artists’ Books.
There’s a new art form in town. After the “End of Painting” and its rebirth, the rise and fall of minimalism, the up and down lifecycle of performance and multimedia art, newly coined movements and -isms now whiz by with dizzying speed.