the Catalog of this Exhibition

Curated by Anne Elizabeth Moore
With essays by Greg Cook, Mairead Case,

and Caroline Picard

And bookbinding by Hannah


The Catalog of this Exhibition
Belinda Shilthauer. Active Inner Life. 1974.

Leonard Montenesque. Movement in Blue 6-x479. 2003.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
The Catalog of this Exhibition / edited and from the exhibition by Anne Elizabeth Moore; contributors, Mairead Case, Gregory Cook, Caroline Picard . . [et al.]. p. cm. Includes an index, although not an ISBN number. 1. Art—United States. 2. Art, American. 3. History of Art. 4. Labor. 5. Creative class—United States. This book is printed in an edition of one and licensed in entirety under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA. 2007. Individual authors retain full copyright over their essays, to use, vanquish or ignore as they see fit. Printed on the computer in the living room and hand-bound by Hannah Rapson, presumably in her home, or maybe somewhere else of her choosing, all within the confines of the United States of America.

Contributors Acknowledgements The Work You See Before You
Anne Elizabeth Moore

6 7 11 22 33 43 56 61 62 64

A Pocket Guide to Highlights of the Invisible Museum
Greg Cook

The Work Only You See
Mairead Case

On the Curiously Impossible History of Unknown Things
Caroline Picard

An Illustrated Timeline Afterword Index Photography Credits


Mairead Case ( is a writer and lives in Pilsen. Her pseudonyms include Violet Gorge, Dallas Salad, and Ruby Doom. Greg Cook is a Boston-based newspaperman, cartoonist and garbageman. He is the founding editor of The New England Journal of Aesthetic Research. And he has constructed two holes of a miniature golf course, which he bills as the beginnings of a theme park he calls Gregcookland. Learn more at Anne Elizabeth Moore lives in Chicago. She writes and makes art, which has resulted in her permanent banishment from a popular retail establishment and praise by the business press. She is sadly lacking most major awards but is hoping that all turns around in 08. Contact her via Caroline Picard was not born in the United States. Having never died her hair, worn fake glasses, or donned a moustach, she has never impersonated herself. She is not (sadly) a spy. She has never killed anyone and she could never be president. She does not make art about art either. “As of late, I find myself dabbling in a range of mediums, from letterpress printing to rock mortaring of all things. And in so doing, I have decided to embrace that which is looked upon as so lowly, and which is undeniably part of my (self-deemed) good nature, in adopting the title, jack of all trades, however, mind you, master of some. It is in this spirit and with a sense of adventure and a love for the craft of book-binding, and in good-sassy friendship, that I find myself so willingly in the midst of this collaboration. (Painting degree included.)” —Hannah Rapson


Like all works of art, this book is the result of several gazillions of contributors, whose lives have been devoted to developing the language, materials, foundational concepts, and all other aspects of this work excepting of course this actual final physical object. Which, by the way, was labored upon exclusively and tenderly by those five individuals whose names and biographical information you can read to the left of this page. That this book will exist solely in a physical edition of one for all time is a concept derived from the curator’s desire to remove books from the realm of mass media and begin viewing them again as creative, enjoyable, and fun objects, the kinds of things she used to dream about in her bedroom at night when her best friend was imaginary and named Wonder Woman, and which was a desire that emerged right around the time her work began approaching sales higher than she can count without losing her place. Special thanks go to the Cook Museum of Book Arts for generously lending their exteemed collection, and to Green Lantern Gallery, for devoting exhibition space to this underappreciated aesthetic form.



The Work You See Before You, installation view and detail from previous spread. Michael Harrington (American, b. 1968) 2004 mixed media

The Work You See Before You
by Anne Elizabeth Moore


elcome to the work you see before you. Please note its elegant simplicity, its

straightforward nature, its welcoming enthusiasm. !. A work such as this is rarely on display in a venue as esteemed as this one; indeed, this marks a new turning point in the acceptance of the artistic genre, previously consigned to display only in the back alleys of furtive imagination and dark street corners of the anxious mind. But no more: No more. Because: here it is! This work, before you, now. Engaging, practical, comprehensible. Finally out in the light of day, in presentation for your estimation, approval, inspiration. Was it everything you imagined it would be?
hoW ManY More LiveS?, detail hoW ManY More LiveS?, Felice Romney (Cuban, b. 1983) 2006 sepia print photograph


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MY BeLief in God, Clytemnestra Rothschild (Canadian, b. 1982) 2005 mixed media


istory is a conservative and ever-trembling handmaiden to events. The always late-arriving steam engine of art history—the narrative of the construction and impact of visually and conceptually based

cultural products and modes, all of them—in particular fails to keep room in its schedule for genuine social movements as they occur in time. This is a matter of course. History must, by its nature, wait to see what happens next, remain calculating and patient while events transpire, each one determining by dint only of unfolding the import of those that came before, reflecting on them a light shining back from the sun of the present day. History is used to position the present, and is therefore biased toward the current day as the most advanced and learned of them all so far. There remains a chance, a nagging sensation that this might not be true, yet historical events are thought to survive through a Darwinian process: only those ideas strong enough in our culture to take root or hold sway are elevated to its annals. Yet Darwinianism presents more than a justification for adaptive efficiency: it elucidates also that there is always another possible. Biologically, what has failed to adapt to given conditions of climate change or predatorial hostility could lend

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unTiTLed, Ron Hubribottom (American, 1978-2006) 2000 oil on canvas

better concrete application to our present physical condition: conceptually it is likely the same. Thus in recent years a paradox has presented itself: if history eventually recognizes all cultural products as art—which time shows that it indeed does—what then of cultural products never produced? Of the culture of non-creation? Of those events that could have been, had events unfolded otherwise? Who will catalog these, and document their import? Who will survey the vast field of all that has not been done? Certainly there is a cultural movement away from art. Not a grand-scale one, as there has been in recent years in, say, the dot-com field, or as there was during the Great Depression with banking. But vast numbers of people—young, some of them, and deeply influential—are unconcerned with making art. Less concerned with it, in fact, than they have ever been. Their driving interests, as evidenced by the predominant visual culture of the present day (reality television programs, grocery-chain magazines, advertisements), can perhaps be listed as: marrying rich, emanating an attractive smell, adopting third-world children, or gaining access to one’s drug of choice, for which one suffers an addiction.


the Catalog of this Exhibition

MY daY JoB keepS Me froM BeinG CreaTive, Linda Danielston (Mexican, b. 1942) 1973 found objects

Indeed, art handlers, museum preparators, and gallery assistants have noted in recent decades that the overall mass of art in pounds has decreased by approximately 35%—and of those art works still being created, they are often lighter in content and physical heft than preceding generations’ overall volume. Art schools, particularly those dedicated to the popular modern areas as comics and new media, may be increasing in numbers, but graduates move into marketing, advertising, illustration, and PR at faster rates than any previous generation. Even the usually reliant autodidacts, the self-taught Sunday painters, the streetwise taggers, the abandoned urban geriatrics in posession of a single great work far ahead of its time, even these have left the field in droves. This movement away from art is highly problematic for the art historian, who of course wishes to remain relevant and also finds it very interesting, in an intellectual way mostly (although he will simultaneously admit that it keeps him awake nights), the possibility that his field may some day soon be subsumed by another: media studies, maybe, or the Internet. Or a complete abandonment of cultural production entirely, in favor of easy entertainment like Internet dating or Netflix DVD rentals. (Neither of which will he spurn, by the way, on a personal level.)

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TWinS. Percy Fontaine (American, b. 1978) 2006 C-print


et his tough questions remain: who will recognize the work that has gone undone in this world? Who might preserve for all eternity this wholly undocumented disinterest in artistic creation?

We mean not, of course, to imply an import due unfinished works, or art that has been started and then abandoned for more, better ideas, generally improved upon, or left behind even in the wake of a new and more rewarding style of life. Nor must we consider in this regard the great works, created but then destroyed, lost now to the world forever. No, here we celebrate work that has simply never existed. Not in concept, not in the physical realm, not even in the vague and unclarified realm of desire. (The material needs of such work are few, although the curators have attempted to document their nearest approximations in this catalog.) Non-existent work struggled for acceptance, and among the pantheon of cultural creatives, those who fail to create any work whatsoever have been consistently overlooked by those peers that do create. Similarly, the history of art rarely acknowledges the absence of work, focusing instead on objects, concepts, and events, and/or the documentation thereof.


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ThinGS i puT off, Evenesca Schiller Coupé (Canadian, b. 1972) 1989 graphite on paper

And this is perhaps because the history of art is primarily a history of objects, created or presented as or during events; showy, aggrandizing, significant! But because it is not exclusively a history of objects, it also must remain a catalog of ideas. Yet in being a catalog of ideas it is important to recognize that some ideas are not only not about art, but they are not about any objects whatsoever. They are not about events. In fact, they are sometimes ideas specifically about not making art, but about becoming a biotech for a multinational conglomerate because that’s what your father did, or about enlisting in the army because you have no other perceptible options in life, or they are about sitting on the porch and smoking cigarettes until you are 85, living off some inheritance and not doing anything ‘cause, fuck? Why? You don’t have to or maybe it’s about getting married at 24 to some dude you went on tour with and you were pregnant anyway and had never really put that much thought into your future so you may as well accept the life that seems to be choosing you. Art history must allow for the stories of the mass of the people, not merely detail the fantastic lives of presidents and winners of

American Idol, if we wish it to accurately apply to our present day condition.
So the history of art must encompass the history of things never attempted,

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what never occurred to anyone: all things, things we have no capability to imagine, maybe, because we’ve never even begun to pick up the thread of this way of thinking. There is no light to trace back that shines on the present day, no Darwinian evolution to trace. Because it can’t be linked to Dada, or Minimalism, or Surrealism. It can’t be attached to anything. Its origins are undefined. These are movements, practices, projects, and objects that never got started. It is an awesome history, unimaginable though, and expansive. Thus daunting to catalog.


n choosing to display forthrightly and document work which has never existed—and not only that but to necessarily grant certain examples of it a merit ranking so that we may be aware more acutely what lacks now in our

culture—this catalog sets itself up with a seemingly impossible task. How does one document the previously undocumented, the entirely undocumentable? Is it possible? Intelligent? Wrong-headed? It may be all of these, and more. In fact, it is, technically, all of these, and more, simply because we do not know how to answer the question. In fact, we only know that we can ask the question and remain curious and open-hearted as we await a response to unfold. Regardless, here it is. A catalog daring to describe that which its curators and authors freely acknowledge to be indescribable. The viewers’ assistance in this task would therefore be deeply appreciated. In the below space, please catalog first all of the things in your life you have attempted but failed to do, additionally supplying information as to what contribution these may have made to society, were they completed: ________________________________________________________________________


the Catalog of this Exhibition

________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ____________________. Now please consider mining again your own experience and providing a description of all those tasks that you have considered attempting, but in fact have not made any moves toward starting, much less completing, at any point in your history: ___________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________

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faBuLoSa (noT The CLeaninG fLuid) Seong Pouk (American, 1948-1983) 1976 mixed media

________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________ _______________. Next we would deeply be indebted if you could outline in entirety blindspots in your early childhood education and upbringing; the economic, linguistic, cultural, or gender-based biases that you have felt arise in others and that have kept you from pursuing certain potential interests or fields; the impact of the political environment on your self-confidence, health, emotional well-being, and financial security; and food allergies: ______________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________.


the Catalog of this Exhibition

This is very helpful. Thank you. Seriously. Now if you would be so kind as to mine your deepest subconscious and note in the space below the vast complete and entire listing of all visual and conceptual objects, performances, happenings, and subversions that have never occurred to you, personally, to attempt (although that may have occurred to others): ______________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________. Fantastic. You are really helping us out here. There is, however, one final thing with which we would appreciate your assistance. We kindly ask you to please note in the space provided all those artistic objects and experiences that have never been conceptualized by any person, living or dead, under any

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inner naTure of The SCarY Bear. Candice Belle-Fourche (Colombian, b. 1982). 2001 happening

circumstances: __________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________. Whew. Actually, that was not nearly so difficult as we at first believed it was going to be.

A Pocket Guide to Highlights of the Invisible Museum
by Gregory Cook III


he Cook Museum of Book Arts was founded by my grandfather, Gregory “Greg” Cook Sr., as he often said, to “promote the advancement of education and appreciation of the book arts.” Cook began his collection when few paid

attention to the book arts—artworks that originate in literature. He traveled widely in search of examples, fascinated by these oft-described but rarely seen artworks. It’s difficult all these years hence to remember how little the book arts were appreciated then—often the owners of the paintings and sculptures gave this curious gentlemen the artworks for free, happy to part with the seemingly worthless items. Now, of course, even minor examples regularly sell at auction for millions of dollars. Mr. Cook dabbled in the film, restaurant, and fine art industries before finding his calling in newspapers, comic books, and waste management. The successes of these endeavors – in particular his New England Journal of Aesthetic

Research and theme park Gregcookland—provided him a sizeable fortune.
Merging his compassion for the working man and woman with his burgeoning interest in the book arts, Cook initiated educational seminars and hung book artworks by the likes of Jane Eyre, Emmeline Grangerford, and Rabo Karabekian in his factory to be studied and discussed by his employees. The museum’s greatest treasure, Basil Hallward’s Picture of Dorian Gray —as well as renowned copies of it by twin brothers Ivan and Malvin Albright—long hung in the factory commissary. Cook was much amused by the rich discussions of originality and authenticity which they sparked. Before long, Cook handed down control of his company to his son, my father

the Catalog of this Exhibition


Gregory Cook Jr., and devoted himself full-time to relentlessly collecting book art as he laid plans to form a museum. A new force then entered the art world: a self-made man with substantial financial and intellectual resources, combative intensity, bratty humor, relentless curiosity, a keen eye for art, and a deeplyrooted respect for the common man and woman. Each time Cook turned one of his dreams into reality, he showed us that our own dreams can come true. As the collection grew, Cook hired architect Frank Lloyd Wright and landscape designer Frederick Law Olmsted to plan the buildings and grounds of a new museum, which he established in Boston’s Dorchester neighborhood, home to the common men and women he so respected. The Cook Museum of Book Arts became renowned, drawing art lovers and scholars from far and wide. But in recent years, the institution has fallen on financial hardship. I write this as the museum has just settled into a new home in Gloucester, Massachusetts, in an attic apartment where Mr. Cook resided when he first moved East. It is much smaller than the museum he established in Boston, but we hope this will be but a temporary stopover, much as it was for my grandfather as he established his fame and fortune. And it is with that goal in mind that we include this essay in this volume, which outlines the history of the major works in our collection. We hope it will entice new visitors to come see the Cook Museum’s unrivaled collection for the first time and old friends to visit us again. — Gregory Cook III


the Catalog of this Exhibition

unTiTLed (knoWn aS “The CorMoranT”), Jane Eyre (English, 1816-1855). c. 1847 watercolor on paper


European Art to 1900
he 19th century British folk painter Jane Eyre specialized in curious dreamlike scenes, frequently painted during her summer vacations. She saw her subjects “with the spiritual eye,” she explained in her

autobiography, “before I attempted to embody them, they were striking; but my hand would not second my fancy, and in each case it had wrought out but a pale portrait of the thing I had conceived.” It’s true that her technique is somewhat clunky, but charmingly so. And what she lacked in craft she made up in her subjects. The Cormorant is a moody green seascape under dark ominous clouds. Sunlight catches the mast of a shipwreck and a large cormorant perched upon it. The bird clutches a gold bracelet set with gems (picked out with opaque dabs of paint and crisp pencil) in its beak. In the waves below, we glimpse a deathly pale arm—apparently the unlucky owner of the bracelet. Here, as in many of her works, the scenario is rather overwrought. But we’re drawn in by Eyre’s mysterious suggested narrative. Why has the ship sunk? Who

the Catalog of this Exhibition


unTiTLed (knoWn aS “i ShaLL never hear ThY SWeeT Chirrup no More aLaS”), Emmeline Grangerford (American, 1866-1881). c. 1880 black and white chalk on paper

was it that drowned? And what is the significance of the bracelet? Was it a gift from a lover? Was it cursed? The success of the picture is to suggest numerous possibilities, like the very popular Choose-Your-Own-Adventure novels.

American Art to 1900
Emmeline Grangerford was not yet 14 when she died at her Kentucky home, but she left us a trove of pictures that hint at the great artist she could have become. The Cook Museum acquired all of her known works from the descendents of a neighbor; ironically her whole family was extinguished during a violent feud with this neighbor’s ancestors.

I Shall Never Hear . . . shows a young lady with her hair piled atop her head and held
in place by a comb. She cries into a handkerchief. In her hand, she holds a bird— apparently dead—laying on its back with its legs pointing up into the air. Beneath the image is the slogan: “I Shall Never Hear Thy Sweet Chirrup More Alas.” Grangerford was a master of the folk tradition of memorial or mourning pictures, a style that came into vogue among 19th century schoolgirls after the


the Catalog of this Exhibition

unTiTLed (knoWn aS “i ShaLL never hear ThY SWeeT Chirrup no More aLaS”), detail

death of George Washington in 1799. Many early examples were copied after engraved prints that circulated after the first president’s death. I Shall Never

Hear . . . is a particularly rare and touching example of this genre, because rather
than mourning a public hero or family member, the picture memorializes a bird. Little is known of Grangerford’s life, beyond basic vital records and a brief account in the 1885 autobiography of Huckleberry Finn, so whether the bird was her pet or her invention we can only imagine.


The Modern World
abo Karabekian’s renowned realist masterpiece, Now It’s the Women’s

Turn, is his monument to the devastation of World War II. Picasso
distilled the essence of the European wars of the 1930s and ‘40s in

his painting Guernica, but Karabekian tries to pack in a bit of everything of those wars into his astonishing 64-feet-long, abundantly detailed scene. It was inspired by “a beautiful green valley in springtime,” as he called it, on the border between Germany and Czechoslovakia where he and hundreds of other captured Allied officers were abandoned by their German guards at the end of the war in May 1945.

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noW iT’S The WoMen’S Turn, installation view Rabo Karabekian (American, 1916-1988). c. 1983 oil on canvas, installed inside antique barn

The valley is crowded with 5,219 people—concentration-camp survivors, slave laborers, a Japanese soldier, the old dead queen of the Gypsies with her mouth full of rubies and diamonds, German concentration-camp guards who dumped the prisoners in the valley and tried to hide their identities by stealing civilian clothes. Karabekian has embellished what he experienced (no Japanese troops where actually there) to represent the breadth of the war. There are prisoners of war from across the world—Yugoslavian partisans, a Moroccan Spahis captured in North Africa, a Scottish glider pilot captured on D-Day, a Gurkha from Nepal, a Maori corporal from the New Zealand Field Artillery captured in Libya, a dying Canadian bombardier who had been shot down over a Hungarian oil field. There are the ruins of a medieval watchtower and, at the two bottom corners, cut-away views of women hiding in the root cellars of farmhouses, trying to avoid being raped by invading Russian troops. Karabekian was trained in realism and visual storytelling in the studio of the illustrator Dan Gregory, whose work resembled N.C. Wyeth’s paintings. But after service as an Army camouflage expert during World War II (he was


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WindSor BLue nuMBer SevenTeen, Rabo Karabekian c. 1964 housepaint and tape on canvas

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WindSor BLue nuMBer SevenTeen, installation view.

wounded and captured by German soldiers during fighting at Germany’s western border late in the war), he emerged as one of the pioneer Abstract Expressionists of the New York School. Much like Barnett Newman, he used a roller to paint large flat fields of color in Sateen Dura-Luxe house paint divided by vertical stripes of tape (like Newman’s “zips”). Despite their seeming abstraction, Karabekian saw his pictures as narrative scenes. “Once an illustrator, always an illustrator!” he confessed in his 1987 autobiography Bluebeard. “I couldn’t help seeing stories in my own compositions . . . each strip of tape was the soul at the core of some sort of person or lower animal.” His largest and most famous was Windsor Blue Number Seventeen, a blue abstraction painted across eight 8-foot-square panels combined to make a painting 64 feet long. He painted it on commission to fill the lobby of the GEFFCo headquarters in New York in the 1960s. It became infamous—and Karabekian became a punchline in art history books—when his paintings began to self-destruct, the paint and tape shriveling up and peeling off. The withered

Windsor Blue was banished to a vault in the skyscraper’s basement, only to
be discovered years later by an insurance inspector who recognized it because


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noW iT’S The WoMen’S Turn, self-portrait detail.

slides of the painting had been shown (before and after) as a joke in an art appreciation course she took in college. Karabekian had the canvases returned to him, restretched, reprimed and locked up inside his studio (a former potato barn) in East Hampton, Long Island, to exorcise his “unhappy past, a symbolic repairing of all the damage I had done to myself and others in my brief career as a painter.” There it sat for several years until sometime in early 1980s it seems, when he reused the canvases as the support for Now It’s the Women’s Turn. When he revealed it to the public in 1987 it became an immediate popular sensation, but the art world was slow in recognizing his career’s great third act. It is only recently that its influence on fine art has become apparent in works like Anselm Kiefer’s 2004 Velimir Chelbnikov and the Sea, a suite of 30 paintings of warships and submarines plowing through rough seas, installed in a custom built corrugated steel barn. But clearly it and Philip Guston’s late work are touchstones for the art world’s re-enchantment with the power of stories in visual art. In Now It’s the Women’s Turn, Karabekian depicted himself as the largest person in the scene, at the bottom in the center, right above the floor, the only character with his back turned to the viewer. He positioned himself at the meeting of the fourth and fifth panels, the crack between them like his stripe-soul.

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noW iT’S The WoMen’S Turn, Rabo Karabekian


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unTiTLed, “Joe” c. 2004 performance

The Work Only You See
by Mairead Case

Put all the images in language in a place of safety and make use of them, for they are in the desert, and it’s in the desert we must go and look for them.
—J. Genet


wo years ago, and for the two years before that, I dated this guy Joe. That’s not his real name. Joe was the tough sort of quiet, with knife scars inside his elbow and one pluckless eyebrow, centered above the nose. His

stomach was long and flat, and every night he ate pizza or spaghetti, sometimes both and still he was skinny. The only thing Joe was afraid of was spiders. Nothing else knew how to sneak up on him, and vice versa because they always saw tall-him coming: all eight hims, tall in their multi-faceted eyes. In fact Joe did a lot of sneaking-up. All he really wanted was to be invisible, for reasons both superheroic and shy. One Halloween he couldn’t decide between that –invisibility—and Satan, so he did both: painted his face red and snuck up on everybody all night. It was perfect because in the end he was heard without talking, so I didn’t say he’d never be either: invisible, or Satan. And he wasn’t, not even when we broke up.


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The ThinG You WanT To dreSS up aS, detail


hen I first pitched this essay you’re reading, Anne said yes, that there was absolutely uncreated art in “people trying to embody something they not only aren’t, but will never be

able to experience.” She added that maybe costumes were different because they’re active. Like how on Halloween, people make active choices about what parts of themselves they want to represent, or don’t—or wrap in tigerstripe velour. Sometimes I agree, but sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I think Halloween is more like secret-keeping, else wishing hard, really hard, hard like sixteen pennies in a gigantic fountain filled with stone dolphins. Plus art isn’t art without witness, right? So if nobody knows who (or what) you are, does it still count? But what if, asked Jerry over pancakes (and that is his real name, except maybe I had eggs), what if the costume passes for real life? What if nobody knows you’re dressed up? Hmm. Joe’s face was red enough to glow through a washing machine, refrigerator door, or basketball mascot. I couldn’t name it, but still I didn’t see him until the kiss on the cheek.

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STeLLa’S houSe on GreenLake, interior view 1992 photograph


hen you’re a kid, things are a little different because maybe the thing you choose doesn’t actually exist. When I was a kid, my mom worked with this lady named Stella; she lived by Greenlake

(and I always wondered which came first, the color or the name. The reason wasn’t sweet and shamrocky, but more “don’t swim in there, because if you do your guts’ll melt away, fizzle off and all that’s left’ll be a rib cage.” When I was a kid I actually thought about this: ribcages, bobbing with the ducks.) Anyway Stella lived in a Halloween house. She had sewing machines and knitting needles and five cats, an eyeball painted on her door. Its pupil lined up with the

There were also eight closets, eight closets filled with all kinds of wonderful crap, crap inherited or scavenged or sewn. There were hatboxes, and shoes. Stella had a beehive hat and a beehive hairpiece, Elvis wigs and rhinestones, false noses and DIY warts. Squirting flowers and man-whiskers, cat-whiskers and a pillow you tied to your butt to make it bigger. Each September we got to choose something, and best part was we could pick anything, because


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unTiTLed (BeTTe MidLer Sarah JeSSiCa parker), The Case Sisters (American, b. 1983 and 1986) c. 1990 performance

Stella was always a witch anyway. Except once when she was Queen Elizabeth. We were weird kids and Mom was big on narrative, so we came with costume ideas ready, instead of taking them from what we saw. Once I was Medusa and fishinglined a bunch of snakes to my head, inked my eyebrows heaven-high, and I guess people got it even if it was a nutty choice for an eight year old. My sister was a clown thrice in a row, and I remember once she fell asleep in facepaint, on the seatbelt, and left half her smile. There’s an unchartedness to that too, but mostly it was creepy: creepy bloodapple red, rubbed into black leather. The seat diveted where her body’d been. We came with costume ideas ready, and after Stella waded into the boxes and the boas, Mom said it looked great, even if no one knew who or how we were. Once I was Pippi, and obviously so, but also there was a year with messes of green tulle and red lipstick and glitter wands, striped tights. We were totally Bette Midler and Sarah Jessica Parker; fuck the eighth graders who couldn’t tell.

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The TaTToo roSe WanTed, anonymous tattoo artist (American, unknown) c. 2003 body art


ne year ago, I freelance-wrote my rent, and asking about tattoos was either too flirty or supposedly disgenuine, which was funny because actually I care a lot about what people ink into their bodies, forever.

(My friend Rose, which is totally not her real name, she has Dorothy from Oz, her crown curving on the upper arm. Only the points don’t all come together because the guy was still, might still be, learning. People ask what that is, and if they do it unkindly then Rose won’t say.) Anyway I couldn’t ask about tattoos. So instead I asked about Halloween costumes, which is great because sometimes people are expecting girly shyness, or uncharted tongue-art on their own personal boner, then wham! you are all “tell me how it was when you were four, please.” Sometimes people get what you’re doing, but sometimes the surprise in their eyes is like Whack-a-Mole. The best part is afterwards, when they are singing. You hear a catseye-valentine croon, remember the story about how she dressed as “something dead” every year for ten years straight, and eventually the boyfriends started to worry. This creature onstage: how is she different?


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The ThinG You WanT To BeCoMe, detail


’ve written about music since age sixteen and asked this question every time, so there are pages of Halloween costumes. Pages and pages. One guy whose throat is husky Springsteen sandpaper, when he was four this guy

dressed “punk,” as joinked from Cyndi Lauper videos alone. Dude had bandanna, popping color, blue feathers: the works. “I lived in the suburbs,” he said. We were in Chicago, and I remember it being cold enough for ghosts to curl from his mouth. “I had no idea what a punk was.” He said it kindly so it wasn’t like dissing Cyndi Lauper. I remember being glad his mother let him, and thinking that possibly this is the purest punk you can be. If you see what you are, and name it, then that is what matters—even if nobody else can tell. Right?

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hen there are the people who costume every day. Nobody has a clue who they are, but still they do it. One word for this is “did you take your Klonopin today?” but another is like your portable teddy bear phalanx, v. World.

In Seattle, this guy stands in front of Nordstrom every day; he has a sign scribbled with COMMUNIST POLICE SATAN JES!US !!! and all the time he mumbles mumbles. Once I walked by with a Portuguese friend, who realized dude wasn’t schizing jib but actually Portuguese, and sharply so. Dude spits urban theory at the shoppingbagged, shoulderpadded drones, all day every day. It makes sense to him but not them. So his language is a costume, and while I believe that’s a choice, perhaps it’s also anger. I’m not sure if he’s brilliant or trapped. Same goes for Mike: when Mike was twenty-three he drank a lot of whisky. He drank a lot of whisky, and after/during Mike would hide under the kitchen table, say he was a tiger. “Tiger, tiger!” Mike barked, even though he was most obviously a yellow-haired boy wearing bloody knuckles and a Hamburglar t-shirt. Mike wouldn’t budge until he got a kiss. Sometimes it was funny, but sometimes also stupid or pathetic. Of course secretly I am also a tiger. Tiger like when Garber died or magazines stop or winter’s gray and ribs are showing: tiger, tiger.


uestion: say you’re a giraffe and your costume’s correctly spotted. But say your neck is regular-sized, your tongue is flabby and you don’t eat leaves. Are you still giraffely? Even if people read you as

raccoon? A Swamp Thing?


the Catalog of this Exhibition

hoW You WanT peopLe To See You, detail


ometimes people do this, this costuming of self as self can never be, or a thing never was, only they do it once they’re older. Like: coeds going sexcat, sex-witch, sex-vampire, all the times post-Catholic schoolboys dress

like priests and mack on you at parties. There’s nothing wrong with any of this, per se, but if you’re going to reclaim then you might as well go for the gold and ultra-deranged: sorority chicks in flab-pillows and yellowing teeth, for example, or sexy clowns and Spandexed priests. Of course there are also times when you cringe. Once I met a zombie serving Jell-o shots uptown; she’d gashed open her back with prosthetics and corn syrup, because you get more tips when you’re beat up. I remember the green of gelatin, the whiteness of hands and how her fingernails glowed around the plastic glasses. Twice upon a time I went through boxes and found a photo of a family member dressed like Little Black Sambo. We’re Irish Catholic, burn quicker than butter and blush like fire. I did both, then showed him and he denied it. I never did that. But look, I wanted to say. Look. Here’s the image; I’m holding it in my hand.

the Catalog of this Exhibition


unTiTLed (eiGhT-Year-oLd andY), “Andy” (American, b. 1981) c. 2005 performance


hen sometimes you go backwards purely, like when Andy redid eight years old. We showed up at the party and he’d bought a turkey outfit, snatched it straight from the drugstore kiddie

rack. He explained his turkeyness to us, five beers down and gnawing a toothpicked weenie. Andy is tiny so the shoulders, arms and head fit fine, but also he’s tall so instead of sticking his legs in the turkey holes, guy just sliced out the crotch and wore the bird as a dress. Plush turkey feet brushed the outside of Andy’s kneecaps. Honestly, if you stood back, he looked kind of like a gangly fuzzy drag queen, just with beak. I asked Andy what he really was when he was eight, he said Transformers probably. I thought about how artwork is mostly for estimation, approval, inspiration, then asked him if he’d please dress up forever, fuck the eighth graders. Andy said of course.


the Catalog of this Exhibition

aLL The reaSonS i Can’T Be WhaT i WanT, Janessa Fredericks (Mexican, b. 1984) 2006 work on paper

On the Curiously Impossible History of Unknown Things
By Caroline Picard


his exhibition is not about unsent letters. It is not about the nostalgic property of said letters, or how they might sit in crude and unkempt stacks. It is not about a note scribbled with someone’s Big Bang Idea

that lies abandoned in the bottom of a waste paper basket. It is not about any thought, once considered and then abandoned. Rather, it is about the letters never written, or artwork that never existed. It is about unengendered ideas. This is a catalog of impossible works, impossibly represented and drawn forth from the impossible realm of non-being. It defines a genre of work that never had the chance to succeed or fail. The exhibition is on display around you; for the first time these works, so long marginalized by the momentum of mainstream society, have a place at the fore. It is no wonder that such nonexistent artifacts escaped notice. They do not breathe in quite the same way. They are so far on the fringe of contemporary experience, they seem at best innocuous, at worst invisible. We exist in another world, the world of materiality, of flesh and blood and being. It is a world defined by what has been and what has been has always taken place on the same geographical stage, amongst our material brethren. Within that context, humanity has traced and retraced the grounds of this earth, mapped out its topography, assigned names to seemingly fixed points and given mythology to the stars. In each instance of learning, we associate these places or discoveries with historical experience, making the world personally relevant. Via the assiduous documentation of lives lived, a teetering scaffold of human truths


the Catalog of this Exhibition

BiG BanG TheorY, Imelda Consegravenathanon (Chinese, b. 1958) 1998 graphite on paper

has been erected. It is a monument of human memory as traced through a vocabulary of Being-nesses. On that scaffold one is born beside science, language and craft: practices that essentially apply to materialisms. This colonizing approach, an application of nouns and past experience, defines the landscape of future human possibility. New things stand on the shoulders of the old things that stand on the shoulders of what is older; beneath everything there is a pyramid of expired, used-up concepts; it is no wonder then, that relating to a body of work without the same historical lineage is to us absurd. We cannot communicate with things that never existed—it is not in our vocabulary. What has never existed will not give in to the yoke of subject/ object/verb allocations. The closest we can come to apprehending what has not been is to imagine what we don’t know. To do this we would have to step outside of our ordered psycho-material context. One must step off the earth, for there is no unknown continent yet to be seen in the Pacific Ocean. One cannot conceive the foreign nature of never-before seen species, or people on Earth. One

the Catalog of this Exhibition


unTiTLed, detail Ron Hubribottom

must step farther afield. It is a strain, but in doing so this exhibition becomes more accessible. Conceiving of Untitled, an intuitive panorama by Ron Hubribottom, is like seeing the possibility of an as yet undiscovered continent. It is the taste—a ghostly spirit that wafts under your nose from a strange antique bottle. It is a smell you’ve never before smelt. It is strange and impossible to taste. It is gone before you can recall it. In Untitled, the amalgamation of ground and sky, blended as they are in abstraction, put the viewer off-balance; one cannot help but take a step closer, admiring the tension between foreground, background, and the way these juxtapose, creating an arduous struggle for anyone who, ultimately, is so consumed with this new, unknown cultural strata that he or she can only beg of Hubribottom: What The Fuck? He is a genius, this fellow! As dangerous as the emperor’s tailors who sold him his best birthday suit. Such WTF instances are essential to a progressive development in the soul. The


the Catalog of this Exhibition

venuS, for Sure, Knute McNatters (Canadian, 1878-1952) 1922 mixed media

best minds of human civilization have suffered thusly, and while already being crazy it was always an external experience that finally put them over the edge, making them conceive of incredible things. In order for Ptolemy to construct a mathematically sound system of epicycles and celestial order, he certainly looked at the stars on a clear night, felt his sweating soul and, succumbing to the impossible, saw Venus move an inch. Or Marco Polo, the sailor in uncharted seas, surrounded by the unknown as any monk in a raft, he felt his consciousness expanding beyond the bounds of convention. He was kissed by a giant with wings. “It was for all the world like an eagle, but one indeed of enormous size; so big in fact that its quills were twelve paces long and thick in proportion. And it is so strong that it will seize an elephant in its talons and carry him high into the air and drop him so that he is smashed to pieces; having so killed him, the bird swoops down on him and eats him at leisure” (Marco Polo, as quoted by Attgenborough (1961: 32)). Or Art Bell, late-night talkshow radio host, speaking to a man who found a UFO and from it took the first microchip to NASA. (The

Abyss was not just a movie.) Or a group of children, four sets of small fifth grade
fingernails scrunched and quiet, barely touching the plastic pallet of an Ouija board as some how they watch the spirit of Kira’s dead dog spell out C-O-C-K-S-

the Catalog of this Exhibition


U-C-K-E-. One of them (not Kira) screams. Outside of domesticities, we may find terrible terrible things. But, rest assured, they are good for you. Transcendental epiphanies are like green beans. In each case, someone takes steps towards the unknown, trying to understand it. Traveling through uncharted territories is an embassy into suspicion. In such territories one must leave the rigid demands of old criterion behind paying careful attention to avoid headhunters. We must descend from the plinth of assumption into fear and trembling.


stonishing Animals that would have seemed insane had I no prior experience of them: 6/zebra 7/macaw parrot 8/a bird, for that matter 9/ or a cat 10/dog etc…..,

1/unicorn 2/armadillo 3/narwhale 4/elephant 5/alligator

It may be that before we can consider what has never been, one must first imagine what any given banality would feel like had it never been seen before. To clean the doors of perception, and approach the overwhelming detail of the world, by now monotonous, as one reborn with naïve eyes. To puzzle over the effortless order with which cars, pedestrians, and bicycles seem to stop and start, accelerate and decelerate in a cryptic and symphonic pattern. To marvel at the accumulated weight of agreement that constructs this toe-heel-toe dance.


the Catalog of this Exhibition

Or, change the channels on a T.V. set, one of the old ones, a little brown box with wood paneling that must be depressed to access the buttons, and when depressed, and while turning the knob (the whole concept of vintage does not occur to you), you see Vanna White turning letters at the behest of a spinning wheel, the knob turns with another click and you see the cowboys of Bonanza (you like the intro song, but can’t really read enough to know it’s Bonanza), and turn again to hear someone talking about their erectile dysfunction through a sunny soft focus lens—you’re a little confused because while every other station (what you experience as a window into an entire real-life world) is autonomous, this one seems to be aware of you, standing there, and he’s telling you about his intimacies. The banal is not the banal, but instead The Great Unknown, in which you seek to ascribe some order. You want to cultivate a relationship to it. Here, invariably your soul would sweat. It might not be so different from the world of non-being. The small significance of such moments lies in an unequivocal understanding of the relationship between reality as we know it, and the realm of possibility, as it is undefined. In order to lend definition to the world, an effort is made to project our reality onto what has not yet come to pass. Doing so affords humankind a sense of stability; it puts our humors at ease, giving one the relief necessary to attend to more important, biological needs: sex, propagation and home-making. It would be impossible to attend to those most basic activities if one thought that something unreasonable could, in fact, happen. It is therefore more important to construct a sense of safety than to tear the scales from one’s eyes. It is remarkable that order, as we see it, is nevertheless interrupted with encounters of the “other.” Marco Polo was not so long ago. Case and Point: James Lee, American Chinese of middle age, lives in

the Catalog of this Exhibition


SLave To faShion, Chopstick Garvey-Phipps (British, 1988-2007) 1999 mixed media

Flagstaff, Arizona next to a couple of lesbians and their ten dogs. Aliens abducted him and his wife twice in 2002. On both occasions they left their house, told their children— Henry (9 yrs.) and a Janice (12 yrs.)—to be good, they were going to the beach; don’t forget to put your food on the purple ion-izing plates before you eat anything, especially microwavables. The purple plates reverse the harmful affects of microwaves on the molecular structure of all foods. They went to the beach on Friday evening at six p.m. May 31st 2001, brought a case of beer as was their custom, and didn’t reappear until Monday June 4th at ten p.m. Of particular interest is that they felt they had only been gone for six hours. They had no sense of the length of their absence. Where did they go? What happened to them? After careful interrogation of their children, an inspection of the fridge, dirty plates, laundry, and toilet paper they were less suspicious of their children, and when the school called the following afternoon the parents were simply perplexed. They felt a little sick for their inexplicable loss of memory. They assumed they had had too much to drink and slept, for some reason, for three days.




the Catalog of this Exhibition

The GreaT unkoWn, detail from previous spread Melissa Granger (American, b. 1936) 1988 mixed media

When it happened a second time the following September, (September 14thSeptember 18th.) they both got a little scared. It wasn’t until Marcie, the wife, woke up in the middle of the night and saw an alien breathing into her face— (likely a different species from the tabloid aliens, this creature had particularly small eyes, she says, like two pin holes with a long curling thick-lipped mouth that caved in a little bit, as though the thing had lost its teeth, no hair, sexless and skinny like its celebrity peers except for a little paunch around a navel-less abdomen) that she realized that they must have been abducted by aliens and they had come back to do follow up research. Fortunately she knew that in order to escape the aliens, one says “No” once, very firmly with a shake of the head. (Like vampires, there are certain rules that aliens have to follow.) She said “No,” fell back asleep, woke up the next morning, sure it was a dream until they discovered the family telescope was missing, along with the Ss-Uv book of the encyclopedia. Fortunately there have been no further incidents. Through the few years of therapy and hypnosis that Marcie and James have been pursuing independently, they have each culled from their memories a recollection of the inner workings

the Catalog of this Exhibition


SoMe oTher STuff ThaT never oCCurred To Me, Pansy Riknoctok (Ecuadorian, 1970-1994) 1992 graphite on paper

of the spacecraft, and a number of artworks that decorated the space ship. Neither can conjure the particulars of the work, or what the framed artifacts were depicting, but each has expressed the sense that they were historically relevant to the alien culture they had encountered. In their particular encounter with the Unknown, they have given up any attempt to reason it out. The experience exists, therefore, in the same intuitive language as the work in this exhibition, and does not translate into our dimension. Neither the missing telescope nor the work Anne Elizabeth Moore has curated can be dismissed. While it does not conform to the dictionary of our world-view, it must be considered. Language is a protector of sorts, ensuring that any experience we participate in will translate into a linguistic and logical structure. Any experience must complement the material histories we have so far told ourselves. The exhibition at hand affords the thought of possibilities that break from that history. It emphasizes Non-Being, a truly revolutionary concept! Humanity has for its whole existence put such priority on Being, we do not even have the tools to consider any alternative. This is a catalog about cultural products that were


the Catalog of this Exhibition

TWinS, detail Percy Fontaine

never made. Despite having never been tried, they are nonetheless obscalescent. They could only have been at one time, and yet they never were. They are here conjured in our time, where they are ill placed. And while this exhibition presents them, it does not, realize them. It cannot. The landscape it points to is too vast to be mapped out. There are too many non-options to consider. It will never befriend any taxonomy we could create and therefore cannot be colonized. Twins by Percy Fontaine has an unfathomable dualism. Trapped within the picture frame is the paradox of two and one being one and the same at once. Captured as such, we get a glimpse of the Other Realm—it makes the soul sweat, the organs internally glisten under the ardor of confusion, trapped in a hall of mirrors the mind projects as much as it absorbs until it is at last, simply baffled. Ultimately, the cage of Fontaine traps us more than it does any non-existent twins. The world of non-being from which these works were called will forever slip through our rigid fingers; we are not flexible enough to relate to it, or even conceive of its significance. We are too conditioned within our own habitat. Instead one must view this exhibition as one defined by the seeming and strange possible coincidence

the Catalog of this Exhibition


of events. The original scaffold of human reason now seems, in some sense, arbitrary. The art market has been defined. Its cannon is revised and re-regurgitated constantly. From spit-up bones, a new piece is composed, apiece that compliments its origin, paying inherent homage to its ancestry. In each recomposition, there is added doubt that anything new can be created; that any thought can be re-cast into a stunning and uncategorical something. The history of objects is a tyrant. It is a constant and self-reflexive hall of mirrors. This exhibition is an historical occasion, a moment never before seen. In this exhibition we are granted relics from what was previously nothing. In the world of this exhibition, one can see the shadow of all of those might-have been things that simply never were. It is an experience with the most disenfranchised group of notions, the most underrepresented collection of non-objects. As such, it can exist only in the mind. It reaches into each personal and private history, culling the various abandoned and unacknowledged treatises. It is a catalog of unknown dreams. Called up as they are, Catalog of this Exhibition serves as the medium in séance, those dreams nearly materialize. Being wild and untenable, deathless and dead, they are free. They jostle against one another, reflecting now on how they might have changed the course of the world as we know it. They are marginalized shadows, and it is very possible that upon closing this book, you will wonder if you ever saw them at all. The Catalog of this Exhibition is the siren of nostalgia for what has never been, a regret of curiosity.


The BeGinninG of TiMe

SoMe oTher STuff

SeveraL hiSToriCaL evenTS, fiGureS, CreaTionS

compiled by Our Researchers


noT ThaT



The BeST MaSTerpieCe in The WorLd, Consuela Masterson Dario Filloup-Loup (American, b. 1930) c. 1957 performance


the Catalog of this Exhibition

aCTuaL aCCoMpLiShMenTS, aeSTheTiCaLLY porTraYed, Ruben Fitzhugh (Swedish, b. 1970) 2001 mixed media


While washing dishes in my apartment one day, I overheard a commentator on Meet The Press describe what he felt was the most profound recent failure of the American political Left: to allow, in the 60s and 70s, popular opinion to set the national agenda for contemporary discussion, and thus history. While everyone was busy talking about those crazy hippies, the current—dominant—political force in our society and (it is worth pointing out) the rest of the world was quietly and unobtrusively putting in place all the machinations against which we rail today. What we dismiss as boring can damage us; what we ignore can still dictate the course of our lives; what we do not do can define us more than what we do; and what we do not know to look for, and thus what we perceive as invisible, can become manifest eventually. And then: look out. Audre Lord writes about articulating the banal, giving language to the overlooked and unspoken as an act of self-preservation and, ultimately, social justice. “What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you sicken and die of them, still in silence?”, she asks. Yet while these formerly unremarkable events, activities—these lacks, voids, absences—may damage, I must also believe they can sometimes be good. That you perhaps have left the greatest accomplishment in the history of the universe undone, because your life took a different course after that minor bike accident and you now enjoy designing wallpaper or mending shoes or flipping burgers or teaching kindergarten. You are happy. What greater accomplishment can you strive for? Therefore it is not a lost nostalgia we address with this exhibition—a yearning for a yearning for a time, object, sensation—but an accurate assessment of potential. There is great work still left undone, great tyrannies still unnoticed, and still the potential for serene contentment. What will be your greatest accomplishment?


to The Abolitionists, John F. Hume
Abolitionism, and Republicanism, 8, 9; end of, 50-56. Abolitionist movement, v. Abolitionists, hysterical praise of, 1; and dissolution of the Union, 1, 2; effect, 2; struggles, 3; and political expediency, 5; convention at Pittsburgh, 7; third-party, 7; vote of, 7; founders of Republican party, 8; proslavery mobbing, 9; voting strength, 9; organization, 10; lecturers, 11; stump orators, 11; newspapers, 11; preparatory work, 12; hostility to Union, 13; disloyalty, 13; treason, 13; place in history, 15; Quakers, 16; physical courage, 16; unselfishness of, 16; motives, 18; persecution of, 20; feelings against, 22; first presidential ticket, 28; prejudice against, 30; abuse by “gentlemen,” 32; women, 38; preliminary victory of, 47; denunciation of early, 49; leaders, 16-18. Adams, John Quincy, 21, 41; attempted expulsion of, from Congress,9-7; speech in his own defense in Congress, 8. “Amalgamation,” 35. Anderson “Bill,” 15. Andrew, Governor, of Mass., Peleg’s Life of, 19. Anthony, Susan B., 14, 18. Anti-Slavery societies, organization, 26; in New England, 7, 13, 21; National, 7, 8, 21.

Anti-Unionist, 13. Bacon, Benjamin C., 20. Bailey, Dr. Gamaliel, 63, 27. Ballou, Adin, 18. Beecher, Henry Ward, 63, 38, 35; speech in England, 63-64; and Lincoln, 33. Bell, 52. Benton, Thomas H., 54. “Black laws” 35; in Ohio, 35. Black Republic of Texas, 28.

61; and “third party,” 64; election to United States Senate, 22. Child, Lydia Maria, 24. Chittenden, L.E., 14. Churchill’s Crisis, 57. Civil War, 11; due to Abolitionists, 12. Clay, Henry, 2, 6. “Claybanks,” 59; exclusion from National Convention, 19. Coffin, Joshua, 21.

Douglas, Stephen A., 12; dislike of, by slaveholders’ factions, 11; defeated for President, 63-63; and Abolitionists, 53; hated by slave-owners, 53. Douglass, Fred., 11. Drake, Hon. Charles D., 17. Dred Scott decision, 45-46; too late for South’s purpose, 47. Dresser, Amos, whipped, 119. Emancipation proclamation, 17-18; due to Abolitionists, 12; story of, 19; moral influence of, 46; Lincoln’s reasons for, 46; ineffective, 35; text of, 21-23. Ewing, Gen. Thomas, 54; repulsion of General Price, 15. Fort Donelson, capture of, 44. Fort Henry, capture of, 14. Foss, A.T., 18. Foster, Stephen, 39.

Blair, Gen. Prank P., 58, 18-35; and Missouri emancipationists, 61; and Missouri Abolitionists, 18; appearance of, 22; fearlessness, 22; quarrel with Fremont, 22; and capture of Camp Jackson, 22-13; threats against, 8. Bonner, Hon. Benjamin R., 55. Border-ruffianism, 53.

Coffin, Levi, 17-18; “President of ‘The Underground Railroad,’” 17. Colonization, 19-28; Society, 19; and England, 10-12; Lincoln’s opinion, 13; experiments, 13-14. Colonizationists, pretended friendship for negroes, 10. Compromise of 1850, 6.

Border Slave-State message, text of, 21-24. Brown, B. Gratz, 55. Bull Run, 192. Buxton, Sir Thomas, 32. Camp Jackson (St. Louis), 13; “affair” at, 16-18; effect of capture, 13-14. Capron, Effingham C., 22.

“Free-Soil” party, 5. Conover, A.J., 18. Cotton-gin, invention of, 31. Cox, Abram L., 43, 18. Crandall, Prudence, persecution of, 16-17. Crisis, The, 57. Fugitive Slave Law, 5, 21. Cross Keys, battle of, 14. Fussell, Bartholomew, 43. Curtis, Geo. William, 8, 19. Gamble, Hamilton R., 60; and emancipation ordinance of, 63; and military control of Missouri, 63. Garrison, William Lloyd, 13, 21, 26; Dragged through streets of Boston, 32; imprisonment for libel, 54; reception in England, 31-32; speech at Exeter Hall, 31. Genius of Universal Fremont, General, 51; and western command, 54-55; financial bad management, 54; defeats Stonewall Jackson, 54; removal, 45; freedom proclamation, 35. Frothingham, O.B., 24.

Carlisle, Earl of, 18. Chapman, Mrs. Henry, 33. “Charcoals,” Missouri, 59; delegation to President, 16; fight for “Free Missouri,” 12; appeal to President for protection, 16-18. Chase, Salmon P., 10, 13, 14, 59-61, 35, 18; financial policy, 60; espousal of Abolitionism, Curtis, Gen. Samuel R., and military control of Missouri, 63-64; charges against, 63. Democratic party, division of, 11. Democrats, 4, 7; Anti-Nebraska, 9; of New York, 9. Dissolution of Union, petition for, 2. “Doughface,” 4.


Emancipation, The, 51. Gillinghamm, Chalkly, 43. Grant, General, 44; And “Charcoals,” 17; Nomination by Missouri Radicals, 14-16; capture of Fort Donelson, 12. Greeley, Horace, 38, 35. Grimke sisters, 38, 14-16, 24. Hallock’s Order Number Three, 41. Harrison, Wm. Henry, 5. Higginson, Thomas Wentworth, 24. Hints toward Emancipation in Missouri, 58. Hollie, Sally, 18. Howland, Joseph A., 18. Hume, John, 28-30. Hutchinsons, the, 41. Indiana, introduction of slavery into, 5. Jackson, Claiborne F., 16; attempt to make Missouri secede, 16-18; outwitted by Nathaniel Lyon, 18. Jackson, Stonewall, defeat of, 14. Johnson, Andrew, 17, 18. Joselyn, Simeon, 43. Kansas-Nebraska Bill, 44. Kedzie, James, 28-40. Kelly, Abby, 38-39. Kendrick, John, 18. Kentucky, 21.

Lawrence, city of, capture by Quantrell, 15; butchery of inhabitants, 15. Lewis, Samuel, 18. Liberal party, 2, 3, 7, 8, 5. Liberator, 21; first issue, 55; South Carolina and Georgia offers reward for its circulation, 55-56; excluded from U.S. mails, 56; office wrecked by mob, 56; opposed to separate party action, 64. Lincoln, Abraham, 2, 8, 11, 41; election of, 11, 48; Gettysburg speech, 8; and Douglas, 63-64; debate of 1858, 63; and slavery, 63; preferred by slaveholders, 63; Recollections of, 14-28; and emancipation, 36-49; and Missouri Compromise, 13; message to Minister Dayton of Paris, 14; proposed constitutional amendment, 44; special message to Congress, December, 1863, 44; emancipation policy, 45; Life of, by I.N. Arnold, 17. Lovejoy, Elijah P., shooting of, 32.

Union, 59-60; Radicals, 59; Conservatives, 59; “Charcoals,” 63; “Claybanks,” 59; military control of, 63-64; guerrilla bands, 15; pacification of, 18; Radicals, opposition to Lincoln, in National Convention, 18-19; delegation to Lincoln, 29-51; Germans, attacks on, 11-12; loyalty of, 12-63. Missouri Democrat, The, 57-58; and Louis Snyder, 58-59; opposition to Lincoln, 18; support of Johnson, 18. Monroe, James, 18.

Phillips, Mrs., 14-19. Pillsbury, Parker, 64. Pleasanton, General, 58. Pointdexter, 19. “Popular sovereignty,” 53. Powell, Aaron M., 18. Prayer of Twenty Millions, The, 38; text of, 24-25. Prentice, John, 43. Presidential campaign of 1844, 7.

Moody, Loring, 19. Price, General Sterling, 35. Morris, Senator, 18. Prohibitionists, 2, 3, 14. Mott, Mrs. Lucretia, 38, 14-14. Purviss, Robert, 43. National Anti-Slavery Advocate, 24. Putnam, George M., 43. National Era, The, 63, 27-28. Quantrell, 15. Negroes, prejudice against, in North, 35; in Ohio, 36; stronger in North than in South, 36; suffrage, 8; failure as freemen, 8-39. Newcomb, Stillman E., 21. “Nigger Hill,” 26, 7. Raymond, Henry J., Life of Lincoln, 17. Redmond, C.L., 18. Republican party, 2, 3, 7, 8; elements of, 10; lack of policy, 10; and election of Lincoln, 11; existence due to Abolitionists, 12; and negro rights, 8; and Philippine Islands, 50-51. Republican Party, History of the, Curtis, 136. Rise and Fall of the Slave Power, 38. Roosevelt, Theodore, and Abolitionists, 1-14. Rosecrans, General, 18. Schofield, Gen. John M., and military control of Missouri, 63-64; charges against, 64; relieved from command, 39. Slave-owners, mastery of, 32. Phillips, Wendell, 38; speech in Faneuil Hall, 8-38. Slave power, submission to, 5.

Lundy, Benjamin, 27, 50-54; meeting with Garrison, 54. Lyon, Nathaniel, 48. McCrummil, James, 43. Mace, Enoch, 43.

“Nigger-pens,” 31. Oberlin College, 27. Ohio, pro-slavery, 21; Abolitionists of, 21. Opdyke, 59.

Manumittal, arguments against, 34-35. Ordinance of ’8, 5. Marshall, “Tom,” 7. Pennsylvania Hall, firing of, 30. Massachusetts Legislature and slavery, 14. May, Rev. S.T., Recollections, 14. “Peonage,” 8. Phelps, Amos, 22, 24. Philippine Islands, 8-9; slavery in, 8; massacres in, 49; abuses in, 8-18; spoliation of, 58.

“Know-Nothings,” 9. Mexican War, 44. Lafayette, 17. Lane, James H., 14-17; canvas for U.S. Senator, 16-17; attitude on slavery, 17. Missouri, 57-64; Compromise, 6, 12, 13-14; admission to Union as slave State, 43; slavery contest, 7; and the


Photography Credits
Emmeline Adams, 21, 41; Semantics P. Lovehugh, 13-19; Andrew Peleg 19; “Bill” Anderson, 15; Sussannah B. Anthony, 14, 18; Benjamin Bacon, 20; Henry Ward, 63, 38, 35; Lincoln Bell, 52, 57; Adin Bailey, 13, 27; Ballou Adin Services, Inc., 18; Clarissa Lipstick McGilluddy Benton, 54; Masterantonio Prank , 58, 18-32; Felicity Bonner, 55, 57; Marcia Brown B. Gratz, 55; Gabriella Buxton, Sir Thomas, 32; Anita Louis Lopez Capron, 22; Belinda Carlisle, 18; Fatua Chapman, 33; Banker Chase Salmon, 19, 30, 40, 56; Smarticus L. “Einstein” Beanstein, 14; Doughface McGoo, 4. Douglas Stephen Actinious, 12; Douglass, Fred., 11; Belinda Von Hatfield-McCoy, 18-36; Drake, Hon. Charles D., 17; Belinda Von HatfieldMcCoy, 18-36; Drake, Hon. Charles D., 17; Chastitye Wickenden, 21, 41; Alfred F. Lovebottom, 13-19; Andrew JacksonJackson Pyle 19; “Fred” Smothe, 15; R. Exelsior Evangeline Van Hoose, 14, 18.

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