It was time: my grades were posted, gear was assembled, and much coffee had been brewed. All that stood between me and a care-free week in Indian Creek was a seemingly endless drive across I 80, the kind I've been swearing off the last few years. With the help of an audiobook version of Satanic Verses and an able-bodied co-pilot, we set off for what will hopefully become a new spring ritual; a new tribal rite.
What exactly has become of public art in Utah?
Soaring windgate and the uber-classic 'Luxury Liner'
An arsenal fit for wide fetishists and weak-ankled youth alike
Big bros...of many kinds
Late light in the throne room of the gods
Bizarro architecture...what is holding up that flake?
Not to be deterred, Em jammed on, earning her red badge of courage
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