Jonathan Lethem in The Yale Review:
My childhood home was a palace of uncanny and singular artifacts. I took this for granted, as one does. My father was a painter, and the centrifuge of such stuff was his studio, on the top floor. It erupted with his new drawings and paintings and “assemblages”—he never called anything a sculpture—many of which he would hang for brief or sustained durations on the walls of the parlor and in the stairwells of our three-story house. Later, after contemplation, some of this artwork might retreat to the wall of his studio for further effort, then emerge changed, or it might vanish into storage.
More here.
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