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Schmutz and stuff, and schmutz on stuff, Tompkins' practice endeared to the goo, the stuff, like all those edges of Jasper Johns, or encaustics, the stroke into hyperbole, like its own totem. Like painters who manifesto'd their unneeding to hide brushstrokes, a literalness conflated with honesty, we find schmutz to be authentic, anti to the glitz and glam of the advertorial and mass, instead its the personal we trust, the good neighbor, the mom-n-pop, the trustworthy crust of the rustic intentional.
