Op Ed

We should all just relax, lie back, and enjoy our enrichmutainment.

The video is a nightmare. It will ruin your day, and you can count yourself lucky that that’s the worst it can do.

Notes on a remarkable week.

Jules Buck Jones comes off a bit like a wild child. Formality doesn’t interest him. It’s easier to picture him perched in the canopy of a forest than standing on the concrete floor of a white-cube gallery.

No one would have played along if Duchamp pointed at the urinal in situ and said it was art.

When I heard they were going to put a woman on the $10 bill, my first thought was: Emily Dickinson. (My second thought was: can’t we get rid of Andrew Jackson instead?)

When does a young adult’s anti-intellectualism morph into something that it smells more like cynical political maneuvering?

As artists and writers, when we type in our usernames and passwords and enter into the near-mythic reproducibility of social media, we must never forget that our job is to remain rigorously critical in the face of distraction.

Is this art? Is that a stupid question?

To non-creative people, this must look nuts.

To an outsider, the A&M campus feels unattractive, humorless and a little silly. And yet: there really is a palpable, profoundly likeable sense of honor at the place.

I attended a new writers’ conference in Minneapolis over the weekend, hosted by the Walker Art Center. It was called “Superscript: Arts Journalism and Criticism in a Digital Age.”

I would be embarrassed to ask a young writer who is just starting out to give us their content for free, on the argument that our larger audience would “give them exposure.” Hey, artists: does that sound familiar?

Out here, you could believe that any artwork could grow to unholy proportions, in a sort of 'Food of the Gods' mutation.

Even in Bryan, TX, where everything is maroon—even here, it's here.

I feel for anyone who wants to write for a living and won’t get to do so in an office with other editors and writers.

The wunderkammers we experience in museums today are less about the objects they contain, and are more exhibits about exhibiting, displays about display.

In 1988, and an art-appreciation class introduced me to Chris Burden along with the idea that a person would have himself shot or crucified or potentially electrocuted to death for the sake of art.

A brief meditation on the size of Texas and the variety of people and concerns as it relates to art communities, cross-pollination, and even Glasstire.

Preventing awfulness should not be the aim of a public art selection process.