October 21, 2006
The first week of October during regular gallery hours, someone snuck into our private bathroom and stole a new bottle of Prada perfume and this piece of art. I'm asking everyone for help in trying to get this piece back. There is a $100 reward for the return of this piece—no questions asked.
The artist, Rob Yamabushi, resides in the hills of Ashville, N.C., where he runs a small design business making custom "Super Collage" pieces and t-shirts. This particular piece was commissioned by curator, Anat Ebgi, as the postcard image for our summer group show, "Wonder Twin Powers, Activate!".
Rob has never shown his collages in a gallery setting until now. We so loved the card image that we convinced him to let us exhibit the actual piece in the show. We ended up showing a few of his other collages as well. After the exhibit ended, we hung the collages throughout the gallery including in the bathroom. Whoever stole the collage ripped it out of the shadow box (it was only 5 1/2" x 5 1/2").
It is hard to tell anyone their art has been stolen, but especially hard telling Rob since this was his first experience with a commercial gallery. I know this is a long shot, but I'm hoping that maybe someone out there has seen, or will see, this piece. If so, please contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org, or at 312.226.3500. Thanks in advance!
Susan A. Gescheidle
October 17, 2006
There are a couple things I might have told you about the Bears (had you asked) going into last night's revival of the NFL's original crosstown rivalry.
First, I would have insisted that the Bears' game is so well-rounded right now, from passing to rushing to their o-line, d-line, defensive backs and special teams, that they could suffer a severe breakdown at any one position and still easily come out on top.
I still stand by this... sort of. But they sure tried their damnedest to prove me wrong.
Okay, clearly there were multiple points of failure. All of the missed tackles on Arizona's TD drives were like a sore reminder of last year's frustrating loss in Pittsburgh (though Rex's first pick didn't really serve to help his defense much). That the defense also wasn't able to shut Leinart down in Cardinals territory with the game on the line, and had to settle for that Rackers shank, was disappointing, to say the least.
But, all told, outside of the first quarter the Bears' D held Arizona to 9 points off of 5 turnovers (though I swear I counted 7 total, myself). Things could very well have been much, much worse (obviously).
No... For all intents and purposes, and any early lack of offensive line protection aside, there was but one true problem last night, and it was glaring: Sexy Rexy Glassman. I don't know if it was just a bout of the Monday Night Willies (for all the talk of last night being Leinart's MNF debut, it's easy to forget it was Grossman's as well), but there was absolutely nothing redeeming about that performance. Not a thing.
He looked worse than awful and had me mentally reverting to 2005: ever-hopeful, but dreading the prospect of the Bears' offense taking the field... i.e., don't make me beg for Griese, now.
Grossman was bad enough to quite literally give the game away on his own. 4 picks. Should have been more. But then the defense stepped it up something big and refused to let him.
We need some turnovers of our own...
We need the defense to manufacture some points...
We need Prime Time Devin Hester to dust off his wheels...
Yeah... we all had an inkling, didn't we?
My favorite moment was watching the line prop up Edgerrin James' alleged 220 lbs. long enough (progress schmogress) to allow Urlacher to do what he always seems to manage to do in these situations: to just make things happen.
Overrated my ass. Shades of his 2001 heroism there.
And then the moment that punt dropped into Hester's hands, with room to run, you just kind of knew the breaks were going the Bears' way for good.
So, defense and special teams remain the saving grace. Which is nice. And on the sunny side of the offense, if there's one thing we've learned about Rex over the past four years, it's is that his self-confidence is almost unreasonably unshakable. He'll bounce back. If it takes a full bye week of shame and severe corporal punishment up in Lake Forest, he'll bounce back.
The Bears are 6–0 and I think we're feeling just fine about everything for the time being, thank you.
The second thing I might have told you about our Bears (had you asked) was that the only really disappointing thing about the season up until last night was that blowouts kind of make for shitty highlights packages. And it's hard to really, fully enjoy the wins when the greater sports world refuses to obligingly salivate with you.
To be perfectly honest, there are really only so many English synonyms for "crush, kill, destroy." And there is only so much malicious satisfaction to be had from a post hoc jaunt through this comment thread meltdown.
After that, 34–7, 37–6 and 40–7 can get surprisingly boring.
This changed slightly when last week's shellacing of the Bills garnered a decent-sized national tonguebath (peaking about the time we heard Mike Ditka tell Michael Irvin that he was wearing 'a real nice outfit' on last night's pregame show). And yet everything TO-in-Philly still ruled Week 5...
And why not? As deliriously fun as the games have been to watch for a Bears fan, they've been, by and large, fairly short on pathos and NFL Films drama, let alone anything terribly Deadspin-worthy (in constrast to last season).
Well, this is all clearly inoperative today.
Last night offered pathos and drama in spades, what after a near ROTY-Crowning Upset-of-the-Season precipitated by a Chicago offensive meltdown, followed by a defensive stiffening, back-to-back defensive TDs, an 83-yard return for 6 and then the lead, a 41-yard shank wide left with 0:53 remaining and a Denny Green presser meltdown for the ages (which even put Leinart's post-Bowl whining to shame)...
I may be too young to really remember the '85 Bears' loss at the Dolphins, but last night I bore witness to one of the most memorable Monday night games ever played.
And this one counted in the win column.
That's why they took the damn field, Denny.
(Though I think we should probably wait a few more weeks before we crown their ass.)
Update the Second: Actually meant to link this above as it's fairly apropos to my regular beat (such that it is right now)...
It is a sublime pleasure, TOTALLY, for a national audience to see just exactly what life is like as a fan of The Buzzsaw That Is The Arizona Cardinals. Jesus. Welcome to the desert, Matt.
Edmund Burke's definition of "sublime":
[A]n artistic effect productive of the strongest emotion the mind is capable of feeling and wrote 'whatever is in any sort terrible or is conversant about terrible objects or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the Sublime'.
Yup, that's the Buzzsaw. Well played, Will.
To which I would add:
The passion caused by the great and sublime in nature, when those causes operate most powerfully, is astonishment; and astonishment is that state of the soul, in which all its motions are suspended, with some degree of horror. In this case the mind is so entirely filled with its object, that it cannot entertain any other, nor by consequence reason on that object which employs it. Hence arises the great power of the sublime, that, far from being produced by them, it anticipates our reasonings, and hurries us on by an irresistible force.
October 5, 2006
I'm looking for a research assistant to help me with a book about Internet culture that I'm writing for Doubleday, which is due to be finished by the end of next March. My name is Lee Siegel, and I'm a senior editor at the New Republic, and the author of "Fallling Upwards: Essays in Defense of the Imagination," a collection of essays that has just been published.
I would prefer a graduate student. Salary is to be decided with the person I hire.
Anyone who is interested can respond to me at this email address : [address redacted]
And Doubleday knows a thing or two about grace:
Landis: Of course, Jackie O. was a great lady. Those are going to be some tough shoes to fill. Everyone loved her. She had such... grace.
Elaine: Yes! Grace!
Landis: Not many people have grace.
Elaine: Well, you know, grace is a tough one. I like to think I have a little grace... not as much as Jackie—
Landis: You can't have "a little grace." You either have grace, or you... don't.
Elaine: Okay, fine, I have... no grace.
Landis: And you can't acquire grace.
Elaine: Well, I have no intention of "getting" grace.
Landis: Grace isn't something you can pick up at the market.
Elaine: Alright, alright, look—I don't have grace, I don't want grace... I don't even say grace, okay?
Landis: Thank you for coming in.
Elaine: Yeah, yeah, right.
You yourself comfortably adopted a false persona when you had Sprezzatura comment about one of your critics that he "couldn't tie Siegel's shoelaces." Doesn't that show great immaturity on your part?
I am too childlike to be immature.
Is that just doublespeak?
No, I'm saying it under my own name.
Artists are allowed to be ill-mannered brutes without diminishing the quality of their work, but shouldn't critics be balanced and self-analyzed individuals?
Of course they should. I'm thoroughly analyzed. I can show you the receipts. But as Sprezzatura, I wasn't practicing criticism. I was indulging my temperament and abandoning my intellect. Look, putting a polemicist like myself in the blogosphere is like putting someone with an obesity problem in a chocolate factory.
What are you talking about?
How dare you question my authority! Seriously, the blogosphere strips argument of logic and rhetoric down to the naked emotion behind it.
Your new book, "Falling Upwards: Essays in Defense of the Imagination," fortunately does not lack for logic or rhetoric, not to mention nuanced and witty considerations of everything from Dante to "Sex and the City." Can you explain the title?
Falling upwards is a physical impossibility, and anyone who works with the imagination is in the impossibility business. The other meaning is that what our dominant culture considers falling or failure is, in the realm of art making, often a triumph of character or spirit. For example, there is such a madness to become famous. Obscurity is the new poverty. People don't seem able to bear being unknown. But obscurity and struggle are the artists' Harvard and Yale.
Anonymous bloggers are also saddled with obscurity, which I doubt you would similarly glorify.
That's right. In their case, anonymity is obscurity's rash. At least for those who practice incessant character assassination, which represents a good portion of the blogosphere, they vent out of the pain of being unacknowledged.
Physician, heal thyself.
Preferably, somewhere out of the public eye.
"From the Department of Final Words, Lemonade Division"
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