Sean Beaudoin

Enough excellent writing to fill a large tube sock

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Zero narcissism with this one, just an excuse to give Henry Cherry, the mad lensman of Hollywood, some props. I genuinely love this photograph, which looks like a lost Robert Frank. Or the second before something goes down at the Ambassador Hotel. On the other hand, you could put one of those black "cartel informant" rectangles over my eyes and suddenly it's Mapplethorpe's post-whip literary period. Either way, Hank's got the shutter finger nailed. I knew one day I'd end up in the Whitney, but I guess I always thought it'd be after buying a ticket.

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"There is no rock. Nothing rolls. There is only the big pile of money that no one is handing out any more."

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