Father and son and condor stood at wingtips, the father explaining why, at that hour, he had chosen to rouse his son and bring him to the fields, to the highest point on the gypsum outcrop that served as a compass point across his father’s fallow land.
The direction of modern art has been entangled (if you’ll pardon) with developments in advanced small-scale physics. (Astronomy, great capturer of the human imagination though it is, works at too large a scale to play with form; cosmology, paradoxically, does not.) The uncovering of the atom, its implication, meant something about the world and about logic, about how things fall apart and what they fall apart into. […]
He knew my worst fear was to sleep in the open, that I must be bundled against or cradled, of course wrapt or shawled, that I required at least one wall, which it was his duty, I now saw, to deny me. He had contrived a flat space bereft of landscape and promptly took off, […]