Osiris Mountain by Hollis Brown Thornton

Happy-first-day-back-in-the-office-after-a-loooong-weekend, collectors. If the return to the real world has been difficult, I just might have the salve for what ails you—a trip back in time. We're flashing way past the last 72+ hours of relaxing and celebrating—Hollis Brown Thornton-style—to the late 1980s, with his new print: Osiris Mountain.

First, a short visit to recent 20x200 history. When Jen first brought you his work in February 2010, she wrote:

VHS and Closing Credits at the End of the Movie from Hollis Brown Thornton (I found him on the internet, oh yes, I did!) offer a kinder, gentler nostalgia-tinged escape into other realms. In his statement, Brown (as he prefers to be called) writes about how our reality shifts as our present becomes our past, and the media he's depicted—video cassettes and on-screen space invaders—reference our progression towards an increasingly digital and virtual future.

We followed up with a new print later that year—just in time for holiday gift-giving*—when I introduced you to Atari, created from a permanent-marker-on-paper drawing of the infamous game cartridges:

Brown's collected and compiled dozens of cartridges to compose Atari. His marker-mellowed rendering of the games that defined our not-too-distant past documents ever-changing technology and culture, nourishing our collective nostalgia for simpler times. In the details they reveal their past lives and loves—once owned by Tom Regan, affectionately worn at the edges—evidence of good use. Like the tapes in Brown's VHS and the space invaders in Closing Credits at the End of the Movie, the cartridges in Atari are seemingly stacked against technological singularity.

I'll leave you now to revel in time travel and unpack the elements of Osiris Mountain.

* Psst: it's never too early to start your Christmas shopping!

Feral Church #2 by James Griffioen

I'm just one of about 800,000 people still living in the city of Detroit, Michigan, the nation's 11th most-populated city. Because of the events of the last half-century, this is a city that journalists and academics love to examine and study. In focusing on the sensational, they often concoct maddening generalizations about what they've found here. In the time I've lived in Detroit, I've come to realize that the most sensational claims and the public perception they create often have little to do with the day-to-day reality of being a Detroiter.
– From Yes, there are Grocery Stores in Detroit, written by today's multi-talented edition-maker James Griffioen.

Today's edition—Feral Church #2—is our third photograph from James' series documenting the unlikely beauty of nature's creeping triumph over Detroit's urban landscape. Detroit is a city whose image has been shaped for me by a variety of writers and artists—from Philip Levine to Karolina Karlic to Jeffrey Eugenides to Julie Mehretu to Andrew Moore, and yes, James Griffioen, whose documents and diaries of his life there have provided the most comprehensive account of its challenges and oft-overlooked riches.

My most recent (and somewhat surprising) literary encounter with the Motor City was via Patti Smith's memoir Just Kids. I didn't know that she'd lived in Detroit in the 80s and 90s (and maybe she still does? A cursory scour of the interwebs didn't yield an answer to that question) but it wasn't hard to connect her to the city I've come to know through all these great artists. Finding the heart and soul and beauty in a place or thing that most people find ugly and/or frightening is a defining aspect of the life she's lived and the art she's made, so it makes perfect sense that Detroit was a place that she made a home.

Ah, summer. Who doesn't love the enduring daylight and lazy haze of humid days? Daylight and its representation have long been the focus of many an artist. Now Jen Bekman Gallery has a group show dedicated to the very representation of light and dark, day and night.

Golden State Freeway/San Fernando Pass; from Los Angeles 02.12.04, by Michael Light

Entitled Dawn Till Dusk, the exhibition progresses throughout the course of a day to explore our impressions of time. From overt uses of light and shadow, to more subtle emotional cues in palette and tone, the exhibition brings together emerging and established contemporary artists to represent the passing of hours. Just as the sun rises on the east and sets in the west, the works in Dawn Till Dusk flow from day to night, reinforcing the influence of time-based elements.

Bask in the leisurely passing of hours as the shifting of light and shadow over landscapes and objects is examined in photographs, paintings and works on paper by 26 artists, including several 20x200 edition makers: Darren Almond, John Arsenault, Rachel Barrett, Robert Bechtle, John Button, Christian Chaize, Jorge Colombo, Amy Eckert, Candace Gaudiani, Derek Henderson, Todd Hido, Peter Allen Hoffmann, Jeremy Kohm, Michael Light, Michael Lundgren, Sally Mann, Klea McKenna, Sarah McKenzie, Stas Orlovski, Youngna Park, Ed Ruscha, Bryan Schutmaat, Mike Sinclair, Alec Soth, Esther Pearl Watson and Letha Wilson.

Exhibition details:
Dawn Till Dusk
Jen Bekman Gallery, 6 Spring Street, New York, NY
On view now through July 30th, 2011
Wednesday through Saturday, noon to 6:00 p.m., or by private appointment

Yuha Basin, by Michael Lundgren

And for today only, until 8:00 p.m. ET, be sure to take advantage of our Friday Flash special: Take $20 off of Dawn Till Dusk exhibited artists Michael Lundgren's Yuha Basin (available custom framed) and Michael Light's Golden State Freeway/San Fernando Pass; from Los Angeles 02.12.04.

Sunrise by Lisa Congdon

Tuesday greetings from sweltering NYC, collector friends! It's really downright icky out there today, and I expect that there will be plenty more of the same for the rest of July. Come week's end, I'm flipping the weather switch and heading off to the city famously described (although not by Mark Twain) thusly: "The coldest winter I've ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." To which I say: bring it on! And not just because of the weather, of course. SF has long been my second home, and it's also the home of lots and lots of the talented artists we work with. Today's edition, Sunrise, is by Ms. Lisa Congdon—she embodying many of the qualities I adore the most about my SF friends and colleagues: resourceful, endlessly creative, nature-loving, bike-riding, dog-loving and downright nice.

Sunrise is our eighth offering from Lisa, and its release puts her photography editions from her Collection a Day series in balance with her fine art print editions, which clearly establish that she's certainly no slouch in either medium. Sunrise is a print based on an original painting that's included in Boreas, an exhibition of Lisa's work on view at Gallery Hijinks, which happens to be in...you guessed it!...San Francisco. Here's what they've got to say about the exhibition:

This exhibition offers a vibrant palate of paintings, drawings and collages juxtaposed with cold, achromic objects and installation. Here the viewer may visually experience the continuous daylight of Iceland's summer midnight sun, autumn's Aurora Borealis and winter's endless darkness, all in one scope.

I've been promised a private tour of the exhibition by the artist herself, which I'm hoping will be followed by the sipping of delicious cocktails and the nibbling of yummy eats. (Both of those things being almost-too-easy to come by in that town.) If I'm lucky, some other SF-based artists might come along: J. Otto Seibold, Mike Monteiro, Wendy MacNaughton, Todd Hido, Jenny Odell... I might even be able to squeeze in a visit with papa-to-be Geoffrey Ellis and his lovely wife, Sarah. With so many people to see (and I've only named a few!) and so much to do, the week is starting to feel awfully short.

This week is likely to fly by as well, with things percolating furiously as ever around 20x200 HQ. We're still pretty amped about our sitewide launch of frames, which means that you can get any of this week's editions delivered to you in a gorgeous custom frame. Tomorrow brings a new release from Hot Shot Laura Bell, whose first prints made quite a splash. And then on Thursday, we'll welcome NY artist Tom Slaughter into the 20x200 fold. I can't wait to show you the two fabulous editions that he created just for us.

— Jen

Sarah Waiting for the Tide by Laura Bell

In our writing back and forth over the last few months, Pennsylvania-based artist Laura Bell shared how much attention she's been getting since becoming a Hot Shot last year. There's been an onslaught of interviews and posts all over the internet—thank goodness for Google Translate.

All exciting and good stuff, but, alas, a gal can't pay the rent on web traffic alone. So, we're more than pleased to present to you our third photography edition from Ms. Bell—Sarah Waiting for the Tide. Like her first two prints, Ferry from Ardrossan Harbor and Gust of Wind, Sarah is easy on the eyes, but that's not the only reason for her work's broad appeal.

For the collectors who know a little art history, it probably comes as no surprise that Laura names Vija Celmins, Nadav Kander and Jan van Eyck as artists that inspire her. She's borrowed both ideas and subject matter from all three, combining them into something that is entirely her own—especially in The Alba Series, from which Ferry and Gust sprang (and from which you are likely to see more of here). From Celmins, she takes a sense of introspection; from Kander, elegance; and from van Eyck, a certain sensitivity to light.

Whether you're familiar with Laura's references or not, Sarah invites us to take a little respite from all this seriousness to sit along the sea, and to look out instead of in.

— Sara

New York Valentine 1 by Tom Slaughter

New York Valentine 2 by Tom Slaughter

Greetings from the best city in the world, otherwise known as New York City. While some very few of you might want to debate such a bold proclamation, I'll give you fair warning: With so many amazing 20x200 artists bolstering my position, resistance is futile! The newest recruit to our I <3 New York art army is Tom Slaughter, a kindred spirit that I connected with in January via Tumblr bon mots, and bonded with over Dean & DeLuca cookies when Sara and I paid him (numerous) visits at his über-cool lower Broadway studio.

Tom created New York Valentine 1 and New York Valentine 2 especially for us, and while he accurately describes them as being "a little Stuart Davis and a little Roy Lichtenstein," what they really are is 100% Tom. I say this having had the good fortune of spending a good chunk of time in his aforementioned studio, where his collages, cutouts and drawings (in various stages of completion) are hung, leaned, layered and stacked. We could've limited the number of trips made to Tom's studio, but we had an awfully hard time choosing where to start our collaboration. His wide-ranging, always exuberant oeuvre is overflowing with perfect-for-us imagery, and once we got to talking about the possibilities of different media, well... fuggedaboutit!

Because here's the other thing about Tom: He's awfully charming and fun to hang out with, and his studio—its Polaroid-portrait lined entry and industrial shelves heaving under the weight of art books and ephemera, and its layers of New York City sound and soot seeping in through wide-paned windows—embodies everything I loved about downtown New York City when it overflowed with artists and galleries; when lower Broadway was desolate by early evening, its fabric stores shuttered and its loft-dwelling denizens having a drink or two (or more) just a bit west of there, at Fanelli, or maybe having a snack at one of the many cafes that're now shoe stores. The two of us could talk for hours about all that stuff, and we probably would've without Sara's gentle yet firm guidance towards some clear decisions about Tom's art and our editions.

Which brings us to right now, when I get to present our first two prints by Tom, a couple of Valentines for our fair city, with love from me to you.

— Jen

Installation view, Dawn Till Dusk at Jen Bekman Gallery.

Wall Street Journal photography critic William Meyers reviewed the Dawn Till Dusk exhibit over the weekend. Youngna Park's much-talked-about photograph, Balloons (Midtown, Manhattan), was featured first in the piece—followed by Meyers' descriptions of the works by Sally Mann and Todd Hido—but 10 other 20x200 artists are also exhibiting in the show.

Installation view, Dawn Till Dusk at Jen Bekman Gallery. Can you spot the 20x200 edition-makers?

Installation view, Dawn Till Dusk at Jen Bekman Gallery.

Dawn Till Dusk follows the course of a day to touch upon the telling of time, as employed both by artist and curator, and is on view through July 30th at Jen Bekman Gallery, 6 Spring Street, NYC.

You can read the full WSJ article here.

Butterfly Chair by Karen Barbour

The Trees Need To Be Cut Down by Karen Barbour

NYC greetings, collectors. The sweltering temperatures and pungent aromas that make our city summers so...how do you say?...special have unleashed themselves upon us. The air's staying thick with heat long after sundown, and, oh, how it lingers! I broke a sweat just walking to the gym in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun began heating the haze anew. With no end in sight, I'm pretty relieved to be heading west tomorrow evening—to wintry San Francisco. Until then, I'm extra über-appreciative of the art-filled and air-conditioned refuge of 20x200 HQ.

Speaking of California, today's editions—Butterfly Chair and The Trees Need To Be Cut Down—are by the enviably situated and awfully talented Karen Barbour. If I had a moment to spare during my upcoming sojourn, I'd gladly hotfoot it up to western Marin—in my own humble opinion, one of the most beautiful places in the whole wide world—to personally welcome Karen to the 20x200 family. But with every moment (and then some) spoken for, I extend my warmest greetings virtually, taking comfort in knowing that she fits right in among the 200-plus artists who are part of our extended family.

Figuring out where new artists fit in is an entertaining enterprise, especially with someone like Karen, whose work reminds me of a seemingly disparate array of our previous editions. The "walled gardens with enclosing hedges, boxwood hedges and bushes clipped into shapes" that Karen describes in her statement bring Beth Dow's gorgeous garden tableaux to mind. Both are interested in our oft-gone-awry attempts to reign in and order what nature has designed, although their expressions of that awry-ness manifest themselves very differently: Beth's black and white subtlety is an excellent foil for Karen's outside-the-lines depictions.

Switching media, I see a certain otherworldly kinship with Rachell Sumpter's celestial landscapes, rendered in a palette reminiscent of Matisse (updated for our century by the use of harder-edged jewel tones) and evocative of the layered backdrops of David Corbett's abstract compositions. Expanding my connection-making to artists that I hope to one day welcome into the 20x200 fold, both David Hockney and Tina Barney come to mind, with subjects and environs I see as being not-as-distant-as-you-might-think cousins to the figures and landscapes that recur throughout Karen's larger body of work.

All this artist introducing/welcoming and connection-making is the kind of thing that makes my job the funnest job ever, and I'm always on the hunt for inspiration and additions. And it occurs to me as I write to you all that one of the amplest inspirational sources is right before me, in all of you. So, dear collectors, I'll leave you with a question and eagerly await your replies: Which artists would you like to see popping up in your inbox and arriving in your mailbox?

— Jen

Jeffrey Teuton, Gallery Director at Jen Bekman Gallery. Photo by A. Jesse Jiryu Davis for thelodownny.com

The Lo-Down, the Lower East Side's news and event source, featured an interview with Jen Bekman Gallery Director Jeffrey Teuton. Jeffrey talked all things JBG, 20x200 and Hey, Hot Shot!.

Jeffrey and the gallery were featured as part of the site's focus on Third Thursdays, which reminds me: What are you doing this Thursday? If you're in NYC, you should head down to the Lower East Side, where neighborhood galleries—including Jen Bekman Gallery—will stay open until 9:00 p.m., showcasing (and contributing to) the Lower East Side’s flourishing arts scene.

Installation view, Dawn Till Dusk at Jen Bekman Gallery.

Currently on view at Jen Bekman Gallery, through July 30th, is Dawn Till Dusk, which was just reviewed by the Wall Street Journal.

After Bierstadt by Jason Burch

Hello, collectors! To compose this note, I'm borrowing the approach New Jersey-based photographer Jason Burch used to create the print that we're presenting to you today—After Bierstadt. To put it crudely, I'm going to cut and paste to give you a taste of what this work is all about. As you can see, though, Jason's approach is far more refined than mine—I hope, at the very least, I'll get points for transparency!

From the newsletter penned when I introduced the series of work—Constructed Environments—that After Bierstadt (along with Ringside) comes from:

Ringside is deceptively simple and smart. One of a series of photomontages by Jason Burch, it's part of a larger experimental practice in art-making. As in the first two photographs we released from him, Natural Selections XI and Natural Selections XIII, Jason's interest in the rich tradition—from Hannah Höch to David Hockney—of creating and re-creating meaning in photographs by plainly altering, omitting and adding information is clear. But where Jason's other images are more cerebral, Ringside [and After Bierstadt, too!] is both sophisticated and a little silly—offering a potent one-two punch (couldn't resist).

And straight from Jason's own artist statement about this print:

I really like the idea of using a painting as a blueprint for construction. It is at once both a profound idea and yet contains absurd comedy about it, as well. Albert Bierstadt's painting, I think, is a great foil here, as his idealized view of the American landscape represents an unattainable goal.

...Recently, I made a series of videos on a large construction project in Montclair, NJ. The scale of the project was immense, much like the scene depicted in After Bierstadt. One video depicts two men discussing the rebuilding of a hill next to a housing development and the possibility of adding a water feature. Because, we can always make things better.

Yes, we can always make things better—some days it's just easier than others. Jen will be back tomorrow with some more elegantly composed prose (no pressure, lady!) to accompany a trio of explosive new photographs.

— Sara

Apart Camera by Todd McLellan

Apart Flip Clock by Todd McLellan

Apart Typewriter by Todd McLellan

Hectic, harried Thursday greetings, collectors! Relieved to be out of the NYC heat I am, but my SF-bound flight was delayed, putting me to sleep well after 1:00 a.m. This lack of solid Zzzs and general jet lag, paired with a back-to-back schedule, feels a little like what might be the human incarnation of the objects that appear in today's photographs from Todd McLellan.*

The precursors to his more orderly editions, these (THREE!) latest prints—Apart Camera, Apart Flip Clock and Apart Typewriter—show the beauty and intricacy of ordinary (and outdated) things as they are erupting into space. His documents expose all the tiny, crucial parts that make these obsolete items function; frozen in mid-explosion, their components—minute and integral—are taut with tension.

It makes you wonder how much time goes into making something so precise... and so disorderly. Just think of the deconstructing and reassembling of these mechanical objects for photography's sake! Thankfully, Todd's meticulous attention to detail and his painstaking process in constructing his Disassembly series—which also includes Old Camera, Old Typewriter and Old Flip Clock—are all captured on video. When Todd McLellan photographs the gadgetry and inner workings of obsolete everyday objects, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

— Jen

*Speaking of hectic schedules, Todd recently welcomed a baby girl into his family! Congrats! And it seems his detail-minded, curious and mechanically-inspired eye has caught the attention of some big name clients: Todd's latest coup was shooting an ad campaign for VW. Double congrats!

National Treasures by Amze Emmons

The Sleepwalker's Language by Amze Emmons

Happy Tuesday, collectors. After quite some time of admiring his work from afar, I am pleased to present our first two editions ever from Philadelphia-based artist Amze Emmons. The thing that makes Amze's work so interesting is what is also strangely absent from his pictures—people. In our place, instead, are things that we create, manufacture, gather and leave behind—by choice or by force. National Treasures and The Sleepwalker's Language are from his series Refugee Architecture.

The subject sounds dire, but in creating his works, Amze elegantly arranges (or re-arranges) the detritus that swirls around us in the news, adding bits and pieces of things he sees walking around in his own hometown. With a sunset-color palette, his invented landscapes allow us to examine our world as it is—constantly changing, for better or for worse. And sans refugees, the places and stories we see and hear distantly in the news become our own.

I'd highly recommend that you take the time to listen to Amze himself talk a little more about his work. And if you're in New York, you have just this week to catch the tail end of Sea Worthy to see more of Amze's art in person. A broad undertaking encompassing a group exhibition, ongoing workshops and artist-led excursions on the water, the astutely curated exhibition brings together NYC-based and visiting artists, as well as several noteworthy institutions and art spaces, to celebrate New York's waterways. Amze's works—as well as fellow 20x200 artist Tod Seelie's—are on view till July 29th, when the exhibit closes. That's this Friday, so don't delay!

— Sara

Sea Worthy
Elizabeth Foundation for the Arts Project Space
323 West 39th Street, 2nd floor, NYC
On view Wednesday through Friday, noon to 6:00 p.m., now till July 29th, 2011

After the Rain by Chikara Umihara

Greetings from scenic Yachats, Oregon, where I'm enjoying a working vacation with my fella and his family. Today's edition, After the Rain—our third from Chikara Umihara—has been on my mind all week.

Being on the Oregon Coast, and hiking in its adjacent forests that are criss-crossed with rivers and streams, I've been thinking a lot about what it is exactly that's so gratifying about the simple act of gazing at ocean, sea or stream. Chikara's shimmering lake is perhaps as different from Oregon's churning coast as a body of water can be, but they're kindred in soothing constancy.

Sara and I both did quite a bit of oohing and ahhing over Chikara's sun-dappled surface, albeit somewhat sheepishly. Being the discerning contemporary art ladies that we are, we're well aware that the current cognoscenti often take a dim view of falling for the pleasures of a natural landscape. But, like ice cream for dinner (another pleasure I am absolutely guilty of), I stand strongly in favor of such sybaritic enjoyments! The art snobbiest will argue that art always has to be about something—perhaps the sort of something that Chikara explores in his Aggressive Girls series? Obviously I share that belief, too, but being so post-everything that we're robbed of making meaning from the pleasures of natural beauty seems kind of absurd.

As Chikara describes in his artist statement, these are the things that are often hard to describe in writing, so we write them off. While the essence of this kind of looking and feeling is difficult to put into words, I never want to be so post-anything that I deny myself (or any of our collectors) those sorts of basic, yet vital pleasures.

Speaking of which, with trails to hit, seals to watch and microbrews to sip, I'll take my leave for now. But look for me tomorrow with another watery edition from a legendary artist.

— Jen

Salon style hanging in action. Installation view, Dawn Till Dusk at Jen Bekman Gallery.

Now that we offer custom frames, our prints arrive in your mailbox ready to hang and looking fab! But how you go about hanging your artwork says as much about you as the pieces you collect. Hanging artwork in a row or grid is especially great when your collection has similarly sized or themed works, and it makes for a clean, classic presentation. But salon hanging is excellent for displaying works of different sizes, media and themes.

Salon style hanging originated in the 17th century, in what would eventually become the Paris Salon we're familiar with. The Salon and its presentation of artwork—wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling, to maximize exhibited artists—were instrumental in bringing art to a larger audience, especially once the Salon was opened to the public in 1737. (Art for the masses? How forward-thinking!)

Jeffrey Teuton, Director of Jen Bekman Gallery, uses salon style hanging often at the gallery, so we had a one-on-one with him for a salon hanging tutorial. Get your hammer, nails and level ready!

Jeffrey Teuton, Gallery Director at Jen Bekman Gallery. Photo by A. Jesse Jiryu Davis for thelodownny.com

"Showcasing a collection and a variety of pieces makes a statement about that person," Jeffrey says about exhibiting your artwork, then adds, "It’s a portrait of that collector."

Jeffrey also points out that you should be looking for an organic flow to emerge among the works. And it is perfectly acceptable, if not encouraged, to mix painting and photography, black and white and color, he notes. But, balance and flow are key.

Salon style hanging in action. Installation view, Dawn Till Dusk at Jen Bekman Gallery.

Jeffrey's Steps on Salon Hanging:

1. Measure out the wall you’re trying to fill. "You have to know the space you’re working with," says Jeffrey.
2. Lay the artworks on the floor before hanging them directly to the wall. If you start hammering away willy-nilly, you’ll end up with one too many holes on the wall and likely an imbalanced and uneven display.
3. Remember: It’s not just about the size of the artworks, but about a balance.
4. You’ll want to start with an anchor, a focal point. This could be the biggest piece, or your favorite piece, but it will set the tone.
5. Arrange artworks around your focal point in a pattern of your choosing. "You’ll start to notice that the work interacts with other works, that it is having a dialogue and engaging with the other pieces around it," he explains.
6. Once your pieces are in the desired layout, it’s time to move them to the wall.
You’ll want to either use two nails (instead of just one) or hanging wire to ensure the pieces stay put and don’t shift. Even things like closing of doors and rumbling of nearby trains can “unstick” an artwork and cause it to become uneven if not anchored to the wall properly.
7. In general, you'll want to hang your anchor at eye level, or around 58" from the floor to the center of the artwork. Other pieces will hang lower, higher or level, depending on your selected flow and balance. Also, when installing artwork over furniture, leave at least 8” between the base of the frame and the top of the furniture. And remember, avoid hanging your artwork in direct sunlight!
8. Step back and observe your masterpiece!

WATER FINDS ITS OWN LEVEL HOWSOEVER by LAWRENCE WEINER

Working vacation greetings, collector friends! Since my business is a pleasure—with editions from the likes of LAWRENCE WEINER to announce—it's hard to stay away.

WATER FINDS ITS OWN LEVEL HOWSOEVER is our second edition from LAWRENCE WEINER, a man who lives up to his ALL CAPS expectations. With the ocean a mere few feet away from the living room window, we've been doing a lot of tide-tracking here on the Oregon coast, and I've had ample opportunity to contemplate the "kindred constancy" shared by various bodies of water that I referred to in yesterday's newsletter about Chikara Umihara's new edition. How nice, then, to round out this week with the source of said constancy—namely, water's own-level-seeking ways.

After some fruitless internet scouring, I had a very early morning discussion with my boyfriend about the origin of the expression, and what it really means. He got all science-y on me, talking about the gravitational pull of earth, moon and sun and how water's frictionless particles are at their various mercies. All of which made perfect logical sense, sure, but stands in opposition to the anthropomorphized ocean of my imagination. That ocean is willful and steadfast, always pulling its edges back into itself, ceaselessly SEEKING its own inherent levelness—gravity be damned! It turned into a broader conversation about celestial bodies, symbolism, orbits and rotations, the kind of conversation I hope that Mr. WEINER himself would find quite pleasing, disinclined as he is to provide explanations of his own. As he writes in his statement:

RATHER I PREFER TO PRESENT AN EXISTING FACT AND LET THE JUDGEMENT OF THE RECEIVER REST UPON THAT.

And with that, I'm off for another hike, a birthday celebration and the contented contemplation of tides high and low.

— Jen