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Three times in twenty-four years, my mother’s Buddha statues have been pummeled into debris under the cover of night. The first time it happened, someone knocked Buddha’s head clean from his shoulders, which we found lying in the grass a few feet from the front porch and defiantly glued back on. A few days later, the vandal returned to finish the job, smashing the hollow statue to pieces that could not be reconstituted Humpty-Dumpty style. That was in the early 2000s. And aga

A review of Yoko Ono: Music of the Mind at MCA Chicago

Husks, Michael Laurito, at Grove Gallery