The lamp of bittersweet reminiscence burns dimly yet dependably. The 15th anniversary of Micah Carpentier’s wretchedly received exhibition of paper bag drawings in Havana’s Grand Theatre is upon us.
David Schoffman and I plan to mark the occasion by mocking our innocence in a runnel of tears.
I remember so well, Micah, with tortured anticipation, installing each of his seven-hundred bags as if it were a sacrament. I can still hear the scraping of is well-worn eraser making last minute addendums, luring his life’s work to a state of near perfection.
The unschooled and the ambivalent were lulled by the malicious into greeting the work with contempt. The gods were appeased only by his death.
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