Every now and then I remember an article I read in which a fine arts journalist conceded that fine artists might not want to sully their work with “meaning,” which as a proud cartoonist always bugged me, and then I remember this last row.
Antau finally stars in a full-fledged narrative, a bittersweet postmodern tale of personal branding and self-promotion running aground on the Hegelian Weltgeist. We laugh, we lose, we never learn. 15 pages.
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