Laing includes performers in her study—poignantly, Klaus Nomi, the countertenor and lonesome bird of the late-nineteen-seventies East Village art scene—but spends the majority of her time discussing the acknowledged masters of modern despondency: Edward Hopper, of course, with his crayon-ish greens and reds and neon chiaroscuro; Andy Warhol, isolated and protected by his layers of sartorial artifice; and David Wojnarowicz, the leader of his own crew of lost boys.I don't see any despondency in Hopper. Some of my happiest times have been spent wandering alone in strange cities, deliciously alone, almost as if I had arrived from another planet. Being alone and feeling lonely are two quite different things. I love the one. I'm not sure I've ever experienced the other.
Sunday, July 17, 2016
… Loneliness Belongs to the Photographer - The New Yorker. (Hat tip, Rus Bowden.)