Awhile back I bought a flat file from John Glick’s studio. In one of the drawers there was a copy of Art in America from October 1990. After thumbing past 39 pages of advertising I found the letters to the editor section. I rummaged through the comments and arrived at one that was striking, entitled Communique from the Art Desert, a letter to the editors by Falsbach of Marshall, Mo. It reads as follows,

In response to ‘Making Art, Making Money; (A.i.A, July 90): There is still an outside to the art world, there is still an art desert. I live there. We paint what we want to paint, when and how we want to paint, and we stack the paintings up. Every once in a while, those of us who are quixotic show in NY or LA. We have a loose network. We know each other, but we don’t violate each other’s space. More and more of us are coming to believe that this is where the real art is being produced. We are disappointed in the art world. We are probably rather naive. When all of us are dead, my money is on those of us who chose the art desert.”


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