Chatty valiantly agreed to drive down to Philly to see Zoe's show under I-95. And it was the greatest thing ever. As we all know, I am slightly prone to exaggeration, but I really mean it this time. I bought eight $5 pictures (a huge expense on my finishing-grad-school budget, but I did manage to snag two pretzels, about a dozen hugs, and three sticky pieces from the pillars at 3:05). Zoe is pure f**king genius, I say this because of her impeccable eye, her phenomenal cuteness, and her commitment to art in (and ABOUT) public spaces. But most importantly, Zoe is the rarest of fancy artists today: she appears genuinely, deeply in LOVE with what she is doing. She obsesses about the tiniest details of the hanging, freaks out about her cool new printer, does not appear to ever stop talking to random members of the public about her work, and best of all, smiles. Smiles! constantly! And I have never seen her wear black. Here, my friends, is the perfect example of the post-postmodern artist. Somebody who gives a shit and wants her work to actually say something.
By the way, I called the Bucksbaum! Congratulations Mark Bradford!!
