"[Ed] Kienholz's last work was his burial, which took place
outside his hunting cabin on a mountaintop in Hope, Idaho.
A heart attack felled him at age sixty-seven, and now
his corpulent, embalmed body was wedged into the front
seat of a brown 1940 Packard coupe. There was a dollar
and a deck of cards in his pocket, a bottle of 1931 Chianti
beside him, and the ashes of his dog Smash in the trunk.
He was set for the Afterlife. To the whine of bagpipes
the Packard, steered by his widow Nancy Reddin Kienholz,
rolled like a funeral barge into the big hole: the most
Egyptian funeral ever held in the American West, a fitting
exequy for this profuse, energetic, sometimes brilliant,
and sometimes hopelessly vulgar artist." --Robert Hughes,
American Visions (1997)

Listening to: Tommy James & the Shondells.

The names of the moons.

"For I have left the three Christs of Ypsilanti" --Anne Sexton