Hopper

Myself

I have been two-timing my Popper book. My only excuse is that Popper requires digesting, so in between I indulge myself with Gail Levin's "Edward Hopper, An Intimate Biography". Like all illicit affairs, I am passionate about my new muse and I fear I might finish all 760 pages of the biography before I am even halfway through Popper. A scandalous affair indeed. The quotes are not from the biography but from the Tate Modern's 2004 Hopper Exhibition booklet that I dug out on impulse last night. On the topic of art, this is an interesting piece on the death of photography.