Forty-one False Starts | The New Yorker
archive.today archivo de páginas web Guardado desde historia←anteriorsiguiente→ 27 Ene. 2025 19:01:28 UTC Todas las instantáneas del host www.newyorker.com PáginaCaptura de pantalla compartirdescargar .zipreportar error o abusoInvítame un café Skip to main content Give the gift of The New Yorker. Newsletter Sign In Give a gift Search The Latest News Books & Culture Fiction & Poetry Humor & Cartoons Magazine Puzzles & Games Video Podcasts Goings On Shop Profile Forty-One False Starts How does the painter David Salle know when to stop? How does the author know where to start? It’s all a question of process. By Janet Malcolm July 21, 2014 Self-portrait by David Salle, 1994. There are places in New York where the city’s anarchic, unaccommodating spirit, its fundamental, irrepressible aimlessness and heedlessness have found especially firm footholds. Certain transfers between subway lines, passageways of almost transcendent sordidness; certain sites of torn-down buildings where parking