This is the record of the pilgrimage of one great artist, reflected in the experience of one small audience. When Sam Peckinpah died in 1984, I spent some time working out my responses to his work as a whole and, more generally, puzzling over the experience of following contemporary artists as their work takes shape. I ended up lamenting Peckinpah's death, pondering those wonderful movies, and reflecting on what all our watching, reading, and listening amounts to in our living.
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This is the record of the pilgrimage of one great artist, reflected in the experience of one small audience. When Sam Peckinpah died in 1984, I spent some time working out my responses to his work as a whole and, more generally, puzzling over the experience of following contemporary artists as their work takes shape. I ended up lamenting Peckinpah's death, pondering those wonderful movies, and reflecting on what all our watching, reading, and listening amounts to in our living.
Read Less
