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Artistic Promise

The bust of Franklin was really starting to creep me out. I couldn’t put my finger on it until a few minutes ago, when I realized that it’s got bedroom eyes. I look at it, and I swear Franklin’s about to blow a kiss, if not at me, then at someone standing just behind my left shoulder. Kudos to any sculptor whose realism survives through digital reproduction.

Speaking of sculptors, courtesy of my mom and her gallery, be sure to vote in the American Style Top 25 Arts Destinations contest. Vote for the cities your favorite museums are in (e.g. the MOMA, the Art Institute of Chicago, or the Getty) but when you get to the small cities, make Jasper, Arkansas a write-in candidate, and put as your reason the Old Carriage House. Sure, it’s self-promotion, but perhaps the magazine editors will notice and will send some freelance writer to investigate. And if you’re ever in Jasper, stop at the OCH and buy stuff.



I misread the title of this post as “Autistic Promise” and wanted to know what one of those sounded like… but I couldn’t stop reading. Greg, you know it is all and always has been about the Benjamin’s bedroom eyes. The subtle innuendo of his “come hither” glances; that coy twinkle almost whispers, “yes, I invented bifocals, but I remove them to gaze upon you…” Unfortunately, I haven’t held a C-note in years, much less the bust of an arch-Patriot. I say enjoy all the “checkin’ out” you can. You ain’t gettin’ any younger.

My God! It’s Bayard Taylor! Last I saw anything of you, you were riding your twin sister a camel!

So how’d this happen? Do they allow Americans to have Internet access in the Orient now?—I can’t imagine that you’d have stayed away from these parts for so long on purpose.

But, regardless how long it’s been, welcome, M: it’s really, really good to see your name, and you simply must write more of yourself. Write here, or e-mail (hermitsrock [at] gmail, and I’ll send you my other).