Places | At Work

My Early Fame

We wanted to become artists. Instead, we worked for them.


Village Voice and the first and only short story I’d ever written. There was great portent in the otherworldly whine of the machine as I fed it my credentials. I clipped the pages together, along with the “sent” receipt, and slipped them into a manila folder, which I opened several times that evening to reread, as if something about myself might have changed.




Street studio/home. In the month or so he’d been there, Tucker had only met Schnabel once. He was up on a ladder applying plaster to a ceiling when he noticed his employer down below. Schnabel didn’t approve of the way Tucker was plastering and corrected the work from below by example, swinging his arm in great arcs, working my friend like a puppet.


Art in America