Word: itemizers
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Neon has become a museum item in another sense as well. Starting with pop art, sculptors have been exploring its expressive possibilities. The artist who calls herself Chryssa has used neon in major pieces since the 1960s. Last year Artist Stephen Antonakos created two monumental 96-ft. by 12-ft. abstract neon walls of apple green, red-orange, pink and blues inside the Tacoma Dome, a sports arena. Artist Joe Augusta, who is also a tube bender, shapes masklike faces like Elvis Machine in startling colors, and Los Angeles Artist Eric Zimmerman made a playful neon birthday cake...
Another popular item is the Disaffected Artiste. This brand of person has been ridiculed for thinking that art is worthwhile--and perhaps in particular she has been told that her art is mediocre. She seeks protection by becoming defiant and bitter--and suddenly her art begins to make money or earn praise. She has discovered that condescension always works...
...station also had its first big news item: three hours before the broadcast, Cuban President Fidel Castro showed his displeasure with the launching of Radio Marti by suspending a U.S.-Cuba immigration agreement arduously completed only last December. Castro was particularly galled that the Reagan Administration had named the station after Jose Marti, the 19th century Cuban patriot and writer who regularly warned his country about imperialism. Castro's action, which ends visits to Cuba by exiles living in the U.S., was a direct retaliation against Miami's fiercely anti-Communist Cubans, who had been lobbying for Radio Marti since...
...stored. One card by American Greetings has the words "Open this birthday card fast" printed on the outside. When the card is opened, a relieved voice says, "Thanks, it was really getting stuffy in here. Happy Birthday!" Priced as high as $10, the electronic cards are still a novelty item. But since the cost of microchips is coming down, the industry hopes that tuneful and talking cards may eventually become a mainstay of Mother's Day, and every other conceivable occasion...
Witness Jack's seemingly innocent chore of taking out the Gladney garbage: Was this ours? Did it belong to us? I took the bag out to the garage and emptied it. The compressed bulk sat there like an ironic modern sculpture, massive, squat, mocking ... I picked through it item by item, mass by shapeless mass, wondering why I felt guilty, a violator of privacy, uncovering intimate and perhaps shameful secrets. Why did I feel like a household spy? Is garbage so private? Does it glow at the core with personal heat, with signs of one's deepest nature, clues...