
JONATHAN HOROWITZ
I FIRST HEARD OF MICHAEL CLARK in the late 1980s, when I bought the Fall’s sound track to his performance I Am Curious, Orange. Through the rock press, I learned of his work with Wire and Leigh Bowery, and through those associations and a handful of still images, I developed a vague conception of something punk, English, and gay. Michael Clark became an imaginary pop idol for an isolated, sexually repressed Anglophile.
The first time I actually saw Clark perform was when his company came to Lincoln Center in New York this past June. Over the intervening twenty years, I had developed a “fine” art