PRINT November 2005


Patrick Hill, For Billy, 2004, rice paper, Davey Board, glue, wood, glass, ribbon, acrylic, and watercolor, 37 x 22 x 22".

FROM THE LAST DECADE, the most demanding critique on sculpture is Dennis Cooper’s Period (2000). Dedicated to Vincent Fecteau, the novel becomes a meditation on form in the face of death, which is also to say, on the form of the face of death—facing beyond’s effacements. An older artist figure, Bob (like the text, which ends by returning to its start, disappearing Möbius-ly into itself, his name is palindromic), has reconstructed an “average, citified house . . . in a completely impractical spot,” and painted the inside “wild black”—“zip, inkiness”—so that shadow swallows any hole, corner, or corridor. Bob’s unhomely sculpture, a memorial for a lost beauty, is a portal to the unspeakable—or not: Bob tells one of the look-alikes he fucks: “It’s just a house painted black inside . . . but as far as you’re concerned it’s art.” In the novel’s remains, Cooper spatializes desire and

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