I wrote this little fantasy piece in 1969, after spending time in Detroit, erstwhile car capital of the known universe. I spent a day with some designers and engineers at Chrysler and came away with the idea that what these guys really wanted was a problem they could sink their teeth into. They presented themselves as practical problem solvers for the consuming public. I wondered what they might do if given a chance at tackling a real enigma. What might be more worthy than to save our planet? The concept of all the people on this planet coming together to save the planet seems silly and childish. Some people understand, but too few. Even in the 1990s just picking up candy wrappers from the elementary school yard took much effort. Back in the 1960s few could see the potential of planetary warming. Alternative modes of energy and an awareness of global issues were not yet on the horizon. Problem solving was equated with the creation of new money streams. Around the same time, paper...

The Peculiar Saga of Abe Tater Above is an 1864 photograph of a heart-shaped potato. This, the only known image of the mysterious potato, was taken by an unknown studio assistant of the famous photographer Mathew Brady. The glass plate negative of this obscure potato portrait rests in a locked drawer in an unmarked and secure room in the Library of Congress. Undoubtedly there will be those who declare this image to be fake. It is not. It is the real thing. It has been whispered that in addition to being "heart-shaped", the potato seemed to emit a rhythmic sound: lub dub lub dub much like a human heart. Unfortunately, neither video nor motion picture had yet been invented to capture the pulsing motion of the heart-shaped spud as it beat like a human heart. Thomas Edison, an unknown teenager at the time, might have captured the sound and motion of this unique potato if he could have also time-travelled with the appropriate instruments. Time-travel has yet to be...

Brown Paper Grocery Bag Drawings I was four or five years old and knew This boy and that girl only from afar Sounds from their moving lips Not words just strange noises They looked like drawings of people Made with a yellow pencil On a brown paper bag, then erased Not a new yellow pencil On the first day of school But the kind of pencil that someone Chews and bites, a stubby pencil With a hard nub of a pink eraser I did not play with these children They did not play with me Their mothers looked at the dirt Their mothers were also erased Drawings on brown grocery bags No one spoke of these wraiths Beings that came one week And vanished the next Hauntingly invisible Five Birthday Candles and a Gauze Fuse Having been born after World War II, what would I, as a small child know of massive scale human displacement? How was my little brain to deal with the idea that most men I saw had two legs and my neighbor only one. I took it as mat...

As a prelude to the poem below, I remind you, Jackson Pollock was not an easel painter. His paint was oil-based, soupy, house paint. Such paint was ruled by gravity and Pollock's gestures. In addition to his intended target:the canvas; anything nearby was destined to be splattered with what I call: Over-Splatter . Stray drips inevitably landed on the floor, walls, other finished paintings, and his own skin as well as anything he might be wearing while he painted. A wristwatch would have been in the path. Therefore, it made no sense for him to wear a timepiece as he worked. It would get sprinkled, until one would be unable to tell what time it was. So, this little poem relates to the absurdity of Jackson Pollock wearing a wristwatch while painting his largest 1950 canvases. I suspect, as there are plenty of other images of Pollock without a watch, that he must have had a reason to wear a the timepiece during this photoshoot. Certainly Hans Namuth arrange...

Have you looked at the simple garden hose? Aside from their color and location they are in either of two primary states: orderly or free. Both conditions may be beautiful. The first, orderly state is coiled. This is a human imposed composition, unnatural to the hose. All other arrangements are more or less at the whim of the water conduit. Only a Simple Garden Hose A hose is only a hose Except when it is more than it seems and still at times nothing less than a hose The Garden Hose You Anticipated If you know me at all you know to expect a garden hose. Eventually, one or more will be revealed. There is always a hose, most often a tangled squiggle.

Trouble In Interesting Doses The best way to experience Ordinary Happiness is to stay out of some trouble, But not all trouble. Found Drawings Humans sometimes see connections between unrelated products of coincidence. Perhaps it is more universal, not limited to humans. Cats might hear the metal on metal sound of a can opener and run to the kitchen. Is it dinner time? Or are you opening a can of peaches? At the intersection of Boulevard St. Germain and Rue des Saints-Peres I found a scribbled sheet of paper worthy of being a book cover. Happenstance can beget happy drawings. The surrealists exploited this concept, although it lacks current coinage. I see the unintended drawings left in the flint gravel of the Luxembourg Gardens by the dragging into position of a sage green metal chair. Beautiful found drawings abound. It is cat food to my eyes. N’Oubliez Pas les Poissons Rouges This all goes b...

The Grown Boy & The Very Big 3-Way Plug One would guess the boy was no more than twenty-nine years of age in this faded photograph. Barely more than a toddler, artistically, even though his work had already been hung on the wall of the Museum of Modern Art. Perhaps he was twenty-eight. No doubt he felt he was a man. He was still, even at that age, green, just an artist on the cusp. The prior day he had carefully planned and watched, alongside Claes, as the Three-Way Plug was repositioned by riggers. Carefully, they stood back, having an awareness that straps lifting heavy sculptures may snap causing untold angst. IT HAD HAPPENED BEFORE. All went as planned. No problems this time, unlike the Roman marble elephants. He was just a kid making his way through the maze known as the Art World. He was about to leave the safe life of a museum paycheck in exchange for the uncertainty of the studio and the fickleness of the gallery network, well known as anything but a saf...

Back in the 1960s Ann Arbor was an incubator of performance Art, with my friend and mentor Milton Cohen as one of the pivotal leaders of the Once group. Milton brought visual arts into the temporal world already occupied by music, dance, and theatre. He was at home with composers, poets, actors, musicians, dancers; the world of here, then gone. Cohen, who was hired by the University of Michigan Art Department as a painter, evolved into a painter whose medium became light, color, and motion. In his studio, known as the Space Theater, above East Liberty Street, he scheduled performances of his colored light, sound, film, projections, optical manipulations, and a live dancer for a small audience who sat on cushions on the floor. I attended several performances over the years. The events were free of charge. Famously, during the early 60s Milton arranged for an entire crew along with all his Space Theater components to perform at the Venice Biennale and subsequent tour of additi...