No Chicken’s, No Foul: In consideration of George Segal’s Sculptures in Sheridan Square Park
I received an e-mail from Sarah Schulman wherein she writes: “We are doing a performance, a "walk" through the generational divide in the queer West Village. The piece is called "Favorites" - we are asking three people of my generation and three younger people to tell the group - their favorite thing in the neighborhood that is gone. And, their favorite thing in the neighborhood that is still here...They know you of course…Would you be willing to be one of the speakers? It's set up so that you pick a location either where your place is (or was) and we bring the group to meet you there. Then you tell us about both the lost and still existent favorite places for about fifteen minutes.”
The West Village spot I chose that is gone, was Keller’s, a bar on the West Side Highway first established as the Knickerbocker Hotel and Salon in the early 1900s. I was a flaneur on the Lower East Side but would also be an occasional flaneur in the West Village beginning in the 1970s. Keller’s was remarked on as the birthplace of Disco in the early 1970s, for having the Village People photographed in front of the bar for an album cover. By the mid to late 1980′s Keller’s catered more to a Latino and African-American clientele, renown amongst the swell of black gay legends in the literary world at that time, and would finally close in 1998, after HAART the AIDS cocktail arrived. The building was land-marked on November 14, 2006 by the Landmarks Preservation Commission. How much of the history of its patronage has been preserved? What stories might I have had to tell?
As plans for the walk progressed, the organizers realized that Keller’s was too far off of the path for the walk. The re-route was more likely to end at Sheridan Square Park, site of the George Segal sculptures. I was asked if I wouldn’t mind speaking to the group there. In my ever-conciliatory manner, I agreed. Being art worldly, my familiarity with the sculptor resuscitated my curiosity. What meaning could I bring to these sculptures for the occasion? What history do they have to tell? And how does that story bear on what they represent? The ghostliness of the sculptures seem to have been a prediction for what they would represent in the future -- ghosts of the past. The controversy around the proposal surprised me once I learned of its nature. I’ll speak to that at the end of my story, reclaiming and addressing what many of us know to be true.
In June 2011, following the passage by the New York state legislature of the Marriage Equality Act, Art & Antiquities director, Jonathan Kuhn, heard from Leslie Cohen, who with Beth Suskind, her partner of more than 35 years, posed for the female figures in Segal’s sculptures. Their picture was taken with the sculpture at the dedication in 1992.
The Models: Leslie Cohen and Beth Suskind met in Buffalo College, a teacher’s college in 1965 on the first day of their freshman year. A close relationship they developed at first, would scare them and they would drift apart. Leslie, after graduation, moved back to NYC to study art history at Queens College. By chance, through a mutual friend, Leslie would be reintroduced to Beth, in 1976 more than a decade after they first met. This reintroduction would happen sometime after Leslie had been living in New York. While studying art history at Queens Collage, Leslie would befriend John (a gay man) and be introduced to his friend David, an artist who threw parties in his loft on Canal Street. David’s then partner, Manuel was an assistant at the Sidney Janis gallery, which represented some of the leading artists of the time: Claes Oldenburg, Ellsworth Kelly, and George Segal. David would become one of the two standing male figures in the Segal sculptures. Leslie and Beth would be models for the two-seated women, so we know for certain how 3 of the 4 figures identify.
The Sculptor: George Segal was an artist I became familiar with as he was good friends’ with the FLUXUS family, a family of artists experimenting with the boundaries of what art could be beginning in the late 1950s. Knowing of this association made him more interesting than what his sculptures revealed. George Segal began his art career adventure as a figurative painter working in an expressionistic manner before coming to his renown with the Pop Art movement with his sculptures. Segal was born in New York, his Jewish parents were immigrants from Eastern Europe. His parents ran a butcher shop in the Bronx, then moved to a poultry farm in New Jersey where Segal grew up. In 1946 he married Helen and they bought another chicken farm in South Brunswick, where he lived for the rest of his life.
Segal only ran the chicken farm for a few years, and began using the space to hold annual picnics for his friends from the New York art world. His location in central New Jersey also led to a friendship with Allan Kaprow in Rutgers University’s art department, one of the faculty renown for his germinal associations with the controversial FLUXUS group. Segal was said to have introduced several Rutgers professors to the experimental composer John Cage, which to me seems unlikely. Segal had a close relationship with Allan Kaprow, with whom he also shared a affinity as a Jew, Kaprow’s father was a Rabbi. Kaprow was a painter, assemblagist and a pioneer in establishing the concepts of performance art. He helped to develop the “Environment” and “Happenings" to describe art events that took place on Segal's farm in the spring of 1957. He’s also credited with developing their theory. In 1958, Kaprow published the essay "The Legacy of Jackson Pollock”. In it he calls for a "concrete art" made of everyday materials such as "paint, chairs, food, electric and neon lights, smoke, water, old socks, a dog, movies."
Knowing George Segal had only visited John Cage’s class at the New School that Kaprow attended, it was more likely that Kaprow would have introduced Segal to Cage. The American conceptual artist and Avant Garde composer George Brecht, born George Ellis MacDiarmid, also attended the classes. Brecht, who became great friends with Kaprow, would be, as I see it, an essential link for George Segal turning from a figurative expressionistic painter to creating his plaster casts that he became celebrated for.
Why body plaster-casting bandages? George Brecht was one of the originators of 'participatory' art, in which the artwork can only be experienced by the active involvement of the viewer, he is most famous for his Event Scores such as Drip Music 1962, and is widely seen as an important precursor to conceptual art. Brecht was also a chemist who worked for Pfizer and Johnson & Johnson, who had headquarters in New Brunswick New Jersey, close to Rutgers University. Johnson & Johnson had developed a body plaster-casting bandage material that was made available for artists hoping to raise the corporations profile in the arts. Providing George Segal with a local source for him to begin to produce his own tableaux using this white plaster bandage material that has me thinking of their contrast to Kaprow’s two memorable crudely rendered figures expressionistically covered in black tar exhibited at the Hansa gallery in the late 1950s -- one looking like a Venus of Willendorf and the other, a male figure with an oversized erect penis – preceded Segal’s first experiments. The rawness of the material would now be understood as there was a language in art to support it -- discussions around Kaprows “concrete art” and around Cage silence, helped tremendously.
So here we have George Brecht one of the originators of 'participatory' art, and widely seen as an important precursor to conceptual art as an animateur in having George Segal come to acquiring an abundance of plaster bandage material to create work that would eventually launch his career as a Pop Artist. Some of Segal’s more noteworthy The Holocaust (1982) in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park, The Commuters (1982) in New York’s Port Authority Bus Terminal, were dedicated a decade prior to this tableaux in Sheridan Square Park and 3 years later the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial in Washington, DC. (1995) would appear.
The Commisioner: Peter Putnam (1927-1987) a trustee and founder of the Mildred Andrews Fund, a private operating foundation that funded higher education and art, with an emphasis on sculpture, approached Segal, who apparently was not the first artist approached. Will we ever know who the other’s were? Peter’s mother Mildred Andrew Putnam, drew national attention after commissioning a sculpture by George Segal commemorating the 1970 slayings of 4 Kent State Univ. students by the Ohio National Guard. Kent State refused the gift of the $100,000 controversial artwork, entitled Abraham and Isaac and Putnam would donate it to Princeton University instead. But this deal would be different. What ever politics circumstances came into play, we may never know, however we do know that Segal accepted the commission which stipulated only that the work “had to be loving and caring, and show the affection that is the hallmark of gay people . . . and it had to have equal representation of men and women.” The established framework and support within the arts and the development of Pop Art supported a language that helped establish his sculptures into the canon of art history at the time, making him a likely candidate for this commission, and easier to market.
The figures, cast in 1980, received all of its community and design approvals in 1982. However, it would not be installed until the following decade amid political controversy much of it swirling around race and representation. “The sculptures were too white” was one claim. They were not a representation of the true history of gay liberation or the participants at Stonewall. On June 23rd 1992, the city’s first black Mayor David Dinkins and Parks Commissioner Betsy Gotbaum helped unveil the monument in Christopher Park. The initial opposition and rancor that had greeted the project had subsided; the advent of AIDS, which had devastated the gay community in particular, added a more somber dimension to the monument and its “mute” figures.
Now let’s get real--the erasure of black and brown bodies from most revolutionary histories in the U.S. is not new, and ongoing. The criticism that the sculptures are “too white” I find laughable, if they were painted black or brown would it make any real difference to how they are seen? These sculptures were meant to be a representation of same-sex relationships, period. The race of their representation not clearly in evidence, so what is really being questioned here? How can one assign race to these bronze figures as they appear? They are representations of human bodies with no defined race. To create controversy around this fact while the black and brown bodies so evident in the Village, then and now, are continually marginalized and treated as other, throwing mud at this sculpture seems misplaced.
In the gay village, black and brown bodies are appreciated for their entertainment and fetishized value mostly, and have usually found themselves persona non grata in many of the establishments that served the gay clientele in the Village. The Village then a haven for the gay community has never really taken up the cause for the plight and treatment of the black and brown bodies in their midst and rarely invited them to the table when concerns of the “gay community” are redressed. We’ve had to make our own.
The micro-aggressions we are confronted with in many of these establishments back then are no less today than they were back then. They’ve just been normalized. We had bars that at times felt open to us while many others did not welcome our presence. We made spaces for ourselves in places like Keller’s and Peter Rabbit’s then, I’ve been told, and bars like the Hanger today. Chi Chiz, seen as way too black and in your face “thuggish” was forced out. Exhausted by legal battles and ongoing police harassment, at the behest of scared white neighbors, forced them to finally close their doors in January 2011. A quick Google search on controversy at Chi Chiz brings me to http://www.queerty.com/nyc-bar-chi-chiz-says-goodbye-20101217, wherein I read comments like “Should have left it open, as said in a previous comment now they’re all going to move into one of the other bars!” and “BTW, don’t think that they won’t come for the other bars in the West Village too. They won’t be happy until an area that has always been historically gay is completely whitewashed.” The battles of then continue today but now have a name and an organized front. What of the ongoing fights with FIERCE? An LGBTQ youth of color-led organization building leadership, political consciousness, and organizing skills of youth of color between the ages of 13-24, they organize around local grassroots campaigns to fight police harassment and violence and increased access to safe public space for LGBTQ youth fighting for their right to share the public space on the Christopher Street Piers.
When I look at these sculptures in Sheridan Square Park, I see nothing that speaks to the history of a once gay village neighborhood specifically. Presently staged, in an openly shared public space, a tableau of George Segal’s sculptural figures quietly rests in one area of a garden park, presenting 2 same sexed couples’, wrapped in white body plaster-casted bandages and bronzed, one couple seated, the other standing, neither having anything to do with chickens.
It's here! Our free walks festival! September 26th to October 7th. This consists of: Eight new walks by incredibly thoughtful and imaginative artists; a first-ever series of four Talks featuring pioneers of the walk form on Sunday, September 28th at Pratt Institute, co-presented by Pratt's new MFA in Writing; and an unusual Closing Night Benefit Party on Tuesday, October 7th from 7-10pm at Jack Geary Contemporary (185 Varick St) in SoHo. Details forthcoming on the party--I can tell you now that given what we're planning--well, I don't think anyone's ever tried this at a benefit before. If you go to this link and donate $40/person, that'll pay for yer ticket.
In addition to our amazing publicist Blake Zidell, we've Hyperallergic as our media partner to help spread the walk/talk love! But let's make it easy on em--please help us along by posting and sharing (and Cher-ing) on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram #ECwalksfest You can find any updates right here on our blog.
Participating Walk Artists: Karen Finley; Anthony Goicolea; Michel Groisman; Nisan Haymian; Amichai Lau-Lavie & Shawn Shafner; Sarah Schulman, Todd Shalom & Niegel Smith; Kristin Geneve Young
Partnering organizations: Pratt Institute's new MFA in Writing; Columbia University Graduate School of Architecture, Planning and Preservation (GSAPP); Brooklyn Museum; Jack Geary Contemporary; Aerial Arts NYC and Lab/Shul
This program is supported, in part, by public funds from The New York City Department of Cultural Affairs in partnership with The City Council.
Foundation support provided by Asylum Arts & Foundation for Contemporary Arts
“Mandala: Reimagining Columbus Circle,” by Karen Finley
“Let It Go: A Tashlich Walk,” by Amichai Lau-Lavie & Shawn Shafner
“Downside Up,” by Kristin Geneve Young
“Signature Walk,” by Todd Shalom
“Twelve Grey Lemons,” by Nisan Haymain
“Dark Hour/Light Moment,” by Anthony Goicolea
“Favorites,” by Sarah Schulman, Todd Shalom & Niegel Smith
“Playing with Steps,” by Michel Groisman
Since 2010, Elastic City has been working with artists to rigorously investigate and interrogate the participatory walk. Through this work, we have helped to pioneer a new genre within the performing arts. During the talks, moderators, panelists and participants will examine the participatory walk and its related forms while questioning its history, present and potential for the future.
In partnership with Pratt Institute’s new MFA in Writing, Elastic City is thrilled to present four talks featuring renown visual and performance artists, curators, scholars and critics on Sunday, September 28, 2014 at Pratt Institute’s Higgins Hall Auditorium (61 St. James Place, Brooklyn) from 11am to 5:30pm.
Each talk will hold approximately 75 people and will last about 90 minutes.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
11:00am – 12:30pm: A Genealogy of the Participatory Walk
Pratt Institute’s Higgins Hall Auditorium (61 St. James Place, Brooklyn)
Featuring: Matt Green; Jeffrey Hogrefe; Aseman Sabet (moderator); Andrea Williams and Moira Williams
Sunday, September 28, 2014
12:30pm – 2pm: Politics of the Walk
Pratt Institute’s Higgins Hall Auditorium (61 St. James Place, Brooklyn)
Featuring: Christian Hawkey (moderator); Rachel Levitsky; Eve Mosher and Ryan Tracy
Sunday, September 28, 2014
2:30pm – 4pm: The Participatory Walk as a New Performative Framework
Pratt Institute’s Higgins Hall Auditorium (61 St. James Place, Brooklyn)
Featuring: luciana achugar; Miguel Gutierrez; Todd Shalom (moderator); Jillian Steinhauer and Pamela Z
Sunday, September 28, 2014
4pm – 5:30pm: Impossibility in Participatory Performance
Pratt Institute’s Higgins Hall Auditorium (61 St. James Place, Brooklyn)
Featuring: N.D. Austin; Ayesha Jordan; Nancy Nowacek; Niegel Smith (moderator) and Veit Stratmann
Y'can click on names on the left side of our Artist page for all artist bios.
Please check this page, as we will keep adding to the list of things that'll happen at our Closing Night Benefit Party.
Thanks to all of the artists, organizational partners and the EC board for all of your dedication and support! Also, a big hats off to the spectacular graphic designer Asad Pervaiz for the festival identity and to our new emissary Keith Paul Medelis for joining us in the cray fray.
If you want suggestions on which walks/talks to join (ALL OF EM!), just email me at: firstname.lastname@example.org
See you soon!
Director, Elastic City
from: Brooklyn Rail
Walking the Elastic City
by Patricia Milder
Becoming suddenly conscious of time and place can inspire melancholy. The experience can also be pleasing, or beautiful; Todd Shalom calls this “heightened awareness.” He says he felt it most profoundly when he was traveling, living for long stretches in Israel and Argentina. The first glimmer of an idea for Elastic City, his Brooklyn-based art-walk company, came when he was semi-delusional, high on altitude sickness in the mountains of Peru. Now he’s curating the walks in Brooklyn and Manhattan, and while they might not change your life, it’s refreshing to find a deliberately constructed experience—a performance—that exists just for itself, or just for you. No one here is begging for an institutional stamp of approval, and yet the walks don’t exist in a vacuum, either.
When I asked if there was some conversation to be had between what he did on the street and what was going on in museums, galleries, and performance venues, Shalom mentioned Marina Abramović at MoMA. I realized, when he started talking, that I couldn’t stand to hear any more about Abramović from anyone (at least for a while). I regretted asking the question. I wondered if he had a boyfriend. Then I felt guilty for wondering that. I tried to focus on the Abramović connection, but then he started talking about Twitter. I was distracted. I apologized, saying, “I keep losing my train of thought. I keep listening to everything on the street. That’s what’s happening to me. Because of the walk, it’s true.”
I meant his “Carroll Street Soundwalk,” which he had just taken me on. It was post-walk; the two of us sat on stools in front of a café on Fourth Avenue. We were drinking tea and watching cars and people pass by. A friend on her way to a talk on experimental Jewish poetics rode up to us on a bike. When she told us about the talk, I found out that Shalom had studied poetry, too: “I felt like poetry needed to live off the page for me in performance in some sort of way,” he said. “The words themselves weren’t expressing all I had to express.” My phone rang and I answered it. Kids played around on their skateboards for a while at the curb.
Only a couple of hours before, I met Shalom and a few other people in Carroll Park, where he told us that the only rules on the walk were that we had to silence our cell phones and refrain from talking. We followed him past the basketball courts and then down Carroll Street as he pointed out sounds; the idea, it seemed, was just to notice them. At one point he mentioned that when John Cage and Merce Cunningham lived in an apartment together in SoHo, Cage threw out his records and said that when he wanted to hear music, he just opened his window. When I listened, the neighborhood sounds quickly transformed. It wasn’t much of a stretch to hear them as music.
About halfway through the walk I began to feel as if I couldn’t see so well anymore. Or maybe I didn’t want to see. Seeing was distracting attention away from the “soundscape,” a term coined by the acoustic ecologists that means pretty much what it implies: the landscape of sound. Shalom told us to pair off; a stranger watched me walk down the street with my eyes closed, taking responsibility for keeping me safe. He didn’t touch me as I walked, but every now and again I would hear him say, “here’s a curb,” in some thick, European accent. He had a nice voice. I tried not to wonder anything about him, accepting, instead, my own heightened state of vulnerability—watched but unable to see. I directed my mind even deeper into listening: for cars, for the breeze in the trees, and for my caretaker’s sometimes quiet warnings about walls to my left and broken glass in my path.
Those two hours later, then, as I was sitting and chatting with Shalom on stools on Fourth Avenue., my ears were still open—more open than I can remember them ever being—and the sounds of the city were distracting me. This, he said, is one of his greatest joys to hear. “I remember giving a sound walk in Tel Aviv,” he told me, “and I got a phone call the next day saying, ‘I’m walking down the street and I’m hearing things that I don’t normally pay attention to.’ And that was the best compliment that one could give me.” In this way, the walks can be interpreted as educational, though not overtly so.
The essential politic inherent in each walk is subtly recognizable but so experientially based that there is room for every participant to have his or her own private reaction. Niegel Smith, the other half (with Shalom) of the performance group PERMISO, and the creator and leader of popular Elastic City walks “Follow the Leader” and “Monumental Walk,” says that this is actually one of the most important components of his walks. “My walks are political statements in as much as I’m saying we need access to these spaces, but I want to give space for each person to create their own dialogue around that.”
My own dialogue about public spaces during “Follow the Leader,” Smith’s walk in lower Manhattan, went kind of like this: It’s amazing how deeply ingrained my obedience to the symbolic authoritative gesture has become. I’d rather refrain from questioning than deal, on any level, with an armed guard. Further, the parallels with this in my personal life are alarming—I’d rather talk aesthetics. When we spoke after the walk, I tried to understand, again, where this sort of site-specific experience fit into the performance landscape. We were on the grass in City Hall Park, doing that leisurely kind of park-sitting that’s almost like laying down, but isn’t quite:
Rail: I noticed, in both walks, these really interesting moments of aesthetic awareness. So let’s speak of this as performance, like what makes “Follow the Leader” a performance and not just a lesson about government and public spaces? Watching, for example, each participant walk so closely behind the passerby he chose to follow—I felt so aware witnessing that. It’s very beautiful to see everyone else’s little pair and to be in step with them as well.
Todd Shalom: That’s actually referencing Vito Acconci’s “Following Piece.”
Niegel Smith: But even more rudimentary than that, it goes all the way back to the principles of aesthetic design. The one I hold on to the most is repetition, which is how we get to ritual. Literally seeing an object repeated draws our attention to that object: seeing the lines, the form, the color, the shape, the momentum.
Shalom: I’m thinking of the concept itself of following someone in public, whereas you’re looking to all of these different components, and both ideas are present.
Rail: So there are intentionally layered art historical and design references happening the whole time.
Smith: Yes. But it’s also curious to me, because I started in the theater and later found out that a lot of my theater stuff had actually come from the visual arts world. I started to see that the theater is far behind visual art, and all these principles that we’ve been working out of came from performance art.
Smith then told me a bit about his theater background, which made me realize just how precisely directed the experience he had just led us through really was. “11 Tony Nominations!” he exclaimed and raised his hands up over his head—he’s the assistant director of FELA! on Broadway. He also recently directed Neighbors at the Public, and says that the most exciting thing about theater is that the audience is actually present. It’s easy to forget, in the rarified live-art world, how infrequently “liveness” actually occurs in most popular entertainment forms (theater being the exception, as Smith points out). On these walks, the audience is present, and they’re also participants.
The concept reminds me a little of Sharon Hayes’s street performances—the “Love Addresses”—though Shalom and Smith don’t admit to being on as direct a mission as she is to confront “the public.” Hayes sees two specific audiences: her performance, she knows, will be different for each group. There are those who come specifically to see her (and the reactions of those just passing by), and passersby who don’t know who she is or why she’s speaking into a microphone about her lover and current events (or why a small group is attentively listening to her speak). Passersby during Elastic City walks like “Follow the Leader,” who inevitably notice the participants at some point, are acknowledged by the artists, but never directly confronted. The work is not meant to offend them—this is to the artists’ credit. In a performance world where offensive behavior often seems rote, it’s refreshing to see people filling spaces with productive and energizing ideas.
Shalom and Smith started working together in 2006 as PERMISO (the name comes from the Spanish term for “permit me,” essentially used to barge one’s way into a situation), creating a shared vocabulary that combined free form performance art ideas with theatrical structure. They have a manifesto, cheekily titled “Our Core Values,” which includes a commitment to never create work inside or in private spaces. Elastic City is Shalom’s baby, though, and in addition to including as many of Smith’s walks in the program as Smith is willing to give, he’s curated walks in this first season led by artists he has, on some occasions, sought out and coached in the form. Neil Freeman, an artist whose work focuses on cities, lists, and maps, gives a micro-level view of the streets in Bushwick combined with a bird’s-eye view. Daniel Neumann, a German-born sound artist, gives a soundwalk in DUMBO, under the bridges.
As with everything about this small company—only a business because it “needed to be”—choosing artists and concepts for walks is more personal than strategic. “What do I want to explore?” and, “how can I find the experts?” are the guiding questions. A more body-focused walk led by a downtown choreographer or dancer is still on Shalom’s wish list, as well as a strictly text-based walk led by a poet. There might be a scent-walk in the works, led by a rosarian, and if it’s starting to sound shticky—exploring the senses!—don’t worry, he’s conscious enough of the danger.
I’m the first to run from gimmicks and insincerity, but there’s something about the way Shalom talks about his walks, which are sometimes one-man experiences, that makes me trust that he’s genuinely excited about his and others’ personal, performative interactions with the less dramatic bits of living. (This is, after all, a guy who wanted to create a gay zine entitled “Snuggle.”) Why else would someone do a solo walk through the suburbs on a rainy day, snapping photos and re-imagining childhood memories? Or advertise a free walk over the Brooklyn Bridge—one time only, for one person only—to mark his first time crossing that particular monument? “In doing this thing that I really want to do, am I their escort or are they mine?” Shalom wonders.
Smith also develops walks around his own interests and experiences. Upcoming for him is a walk through Harlem, designed to unearth tensions between black culture and counterculture, titled “This Ain’t Yo’ Mama’s Walk.” Both performers expressed a need to inhabit their own discomfort in the walks, which is why the performances have short runs and new ideas are continuously in development:
Shalom: If I don’t feel nervous before a performance, then I’m over it.
Rail: Then you’re just going through the motions…Though it seems these walks give you a lot of opportunity to feel nervous.
Smith: I can’t wait to do “Monumental Walk” in a cemetery, which actually came up because I had a make-out session in a cemetery once and it was one of the most intense, wonderful making out sessions I’ve ever had.
Rail: Because it’s a little scary?
Smith: It’s a little scary, but it’s also this pristine, Victorian landscape.
Shalom: I’ve never made out in a cemetery actually, have you?
Smith: It’s really hot. Maybe it will be a couple’s walk. Maybe you’ll have to bring someone to make out with.
And there you have it: what I’d want to understand as a queer, participatory (not to mention economically morbid, as in “you can’t take it with you”) response to Tino Sehgal’s politically backward “The Kiss” (2002), is first about nervousness, personal experience, and specifically, how fun it is to make out. For the record, however, Shalom shot the couple’s walk part of that idea down. His exact words were, “No, no, no,”—but still, you never know.
About the Author
PATRICIA MILDER is an art and performance writer based in Brooklyn.
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