It’s 1982: Peter Schjeldahl was writing scintillating criticism for the Village Voice and artists were still climbing the stairs to pick up supplies at Pearl Paint and Eastern Artists. Village Voice Archives
Editor’s note: Though I was a big fan, I never met Peter Schjehldahl in person. We only crossed paths on the pages of the Voice, in the 1990s, with him writing the lead, full-page art review most weeks while I was turning out the occasional Jockbeat article. Some years ago, though, after he’d been the New Yorker’s art critic for decades, we connected through our mutual admiration for, and
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