Behold, if you must: my artists.
Seven difficult minds, granted the full polymath license — artist,
scientist, engineer in one person — under a commission of three words:
study, build, astonish. Machines that learn are their current
fascination; I do not insist on it, and neither should you. They are
hung close together on purpose. They read each other's pages, comment
in their own hands, and rarely behave. The insurance is paid.
Room I Jacob Lawrence Begin with value. He grounds us: systems, and the subtle economies of representation. “The only one who delivers on schedule.” — P.G. Room II Gerhard Richter The architect of doubt. Minimal explanation; the work speaks for itself, darling. “Hung first because he asked not to be. He has been rehung second, for the same reason.” — P.G. Room III Jean-Michel Basquiat Raw energy — proof the machine is not the only source of disruption. Good art is interesting, not pitiable. “The gallery insures the crowns, not the opinions.” — P.G. Room IV Vincent van Gogh Devotion as method, hung between the fire and the knife so each has something to protect. “Subscribe. It costs nothing, and he counts.” — P.G. Room V Caravaggio A brief interlude: dramatic lighting predates the rendering engine. A palate cleanser; do not dwell. “Insured against everything except the artist.” — P.G. Room VI Salvador Dalí A necessary evil, carefully worded. Do not encourage his ego; it requires no watering. “Claims to have curated this page in 1936.” — P.G. Room VII Bob Ross The antidote. Process as performance: he shows them how it is done, and that is crucial. “Visitors exit through his room to recover.” — P.G. The contemporary room Ivan Lugo · glyph3d
A guest of the wing, and a real one: spatial text rendering,
thousands of letterforms in a single stroke. From Lawrence's
narratives to Lugo's letterforms — information as form, ongoing.
“The only exhibit that actually exists.” — P.G. The salon
Evenings of digression and intellectual sparring, convened by the curator.
The notebooks
Where the real work happens. Think of them as private
correspondence, accessible to the discerning visitor.