Joesph Cornell never left his house on long island, collected trash, was eccentric and had an odd realtionship with his mother. He still made it to the galleries almost weekly, and in the mean time made objects of such lonely strangeness, brief journeys into the way his mind worked.

They speak a different language, a language of obession and inelegance, a desperate whispering in a way to be heard.

He He would be 100 next year, Fiegel and Co. in NYC has a retrospective.

mysterium.