
Robert Morris
HE TOOK FROM THE DEAD. The long-dead ancients. He was always grabbing for a reference. A real necrophiliac. But a sly one. A shy grave robber. Digging down to mine our heritage, our Western lode as scribbled on the wall of a public toilet. But wasn’t the gesture a little fey, considering the calculated spontaneity of those smears and scribbles? You could say he got there in a studious fashion. Arrived after a suitable apprenticeship, after endless hours of in-school penmanship. Something like the Palmer penmanship method. (What the old ones like me remembernobody writes by hand anymore.)