PRINT January 1988



WHETHER THE NEWS is good or bad, whether it's sunny or sleeting outside, regardless of the conditions of their domestic milieu, morning-TV viewers remain privy to a tableau of faux-lived-in midbrow cheer: burnished orange rooms abloom with botany and padded with pillows. These implacable interiors are invariably graced with quaintly paned picture windows which appear to look out into the world. But if we look carefully we might notice that these are not rooms with a view but rather trompe-television-l'oeil, rendered in the same stunned casualness of the interiors. The stunned casualness of the viewers might be interrupted when we realize that we're boxed in, that the windows are no way out, that we are blinded by the blinds and there's no escape through the fake landscapes and cityscapes painted on them. Nothing can rip asunder the “alwaysness” of this sheltered interior—no war, no natural

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