In direct response to the untimely death of my mechanical talisman, the L.C. Smith and Bros. typewriter, I have hung the magnum opus of my 1980's unemployment on our living room wall. Mrs. Sander has been gracious about it, probably because it now only ghettoizes one wall instead of three. Somewhat pompously entitled "Wreck of the Temple" it was always intended to hang together, but up until now never has. It's about 12 feet long and 4 feet high Sort of a cinema-scope triptych of motel rubble and Komar and Melamid inspired red drape. The first two were painted about 25 years ago and the third was painted about 15 years ago, in a much different style. I really like it together. It makes me want to paint more after I get a new Prozac prescription.
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