Dust: The Timeless Visitor, or How I Learned to Stop Sweeping and Start Accepting
NEW EAST VILLAGE TIMES - March 1, 1988 Ah, dust. Not a single day goes by that I don’t find myself staring at it, wondering if I should...
NEW EAST VILLAGE TIMES - March 1, 1988 Ah, dust. Not a single day goes by that I don’t find myself staring at it, wondering if I should...
LOWER EAST SIDE DAILY - April 13, 1987 Let’s begin, if we can, with the concept of “meaning.” It’s a small word, just two syllables, yet...
UPTOWN OBSERVER, August 11, 1982 Words, they say, are the building blocks of thought. They are how we communicate, how we express our...
WEST VILLAGE CENTENNIAL - November 23, 1985 Let’s consider, for a moment, the clock. There it is, hanging on your wall, sitting on your...
EAST VILLAGE STANDARD - July 8, 1989 What is art, indeed? This question has been tormenting critics, curators, and my Aunt Ruth for...
EAST VILLAGE WEEKLY - Oct 3, 1983 It’s strange how much can change in a decade. Ten years ago, the idea of burning bras felt like a...
Famed NYC Beatnik, Refusenik & Part-Time Art Critic
Born in 1938 as Leonard (later shortened to Lenn for easier pronunciation), Riemenschneider spent much of the 1980s capturing the world’s minutiae with an unmatched devotion to detail — and an equally unmatched disregard for its meaning. A literary figure of New York’s underground scene, Lenn established himself as a chronicler of the unnoticed and the unremarkable, choosing to ponder, often publicly, whether an object’s existence is inherently justified by the mere fact that it exists.
Best known for his published works on such lofty subjects as dust, public benches, and the apparent futility of clocks, Lenn managed to cultivate a reputation as a meticulous observer who rarely bothered to make observations. He developed a distinct voice, one that felt equal parts resigned and inquisitive, capturing what he called “life’s omnipresent sense of almost.” Critics at the time grappled with whether his work constituted a philosophical manifesto or an elaborate in-joke, but they largely agreed it was best to simply read on and decide later, if at all.
By 1986, Lenn had amassed what he referred to as a “mountain of evidence” proving the existence of absurdity in everyday life. Whether speaking at downtown bookshops or reflecting aloud in a cafe about the nature of toast, Lenn’s work questioned the very fabric of reality and whether anyone had bothered to mend it.
In his later years, Lenn would return to his own archive, insisting that the past itself required frequent editing. To this day, his collected writings continue to offer an experience that is both impossible to explain and difficult to forget — much like the man himself.
(IMAGE CREDIT: SY GOLDSTEIN)