The first issue of the Maverick Artsletter, a review of the important exhibition of New England Photography at the DeCordova Museum, was posted on September 17, 2000. The most recent issue, number 24, was also a review of the DeCordova Museum offering coverage of its annual exhibition of New England artists. While not quite an anniversary issue, in fact some three months shy, issue number 25 seems like such a noteworthy big round number, having hit for the cycle so to speak, that it seems appropriate to pause and reflect. Qui sommes nous, d’ou vennons nous, ou allons nous.

What launched Maverick was then a combination of frustration, anger, rage and a sense of vast unlimited potential. Not much has changed, really, but the effort has offered insights and the opportunity to productively channel some of those strong and outrageous emotions.

Basically, I was fed up with dealing with editors, publishers, gallerists and the general cast of Lilliputians that constitute the art world. All of these forces seem to conspire to dumb down, censor or suppress critical thinking about the arts. There were shows and events that I wanted to cover but in the inevitable game of musical chairs somebody was always occupying my seat. Also one tired of hearing that because we are such and such publication, with a mandate to cover this or that, we are not inclined to publish what you really want to write about. Besides they don’t advertise with us. Or, that is indeed an interesting idea, but we have already committed to have so and so write about it.

So you are always spending much time and effort plea bargaining with editors and publishers, begging if you will, to get to write about what you really want to write about.

Then there are the occasions when you do get to write something that gets destroyed or sabotaged by editors or publishers. The last straw occurred when I wrote a nasty, but justified, review of a major artist at a major gallery. What finally got published, under my byline, was a generic descriptive review that was, "cut for space." Not surprisingly, all my best lines. Of course, I was furious, but instead of getting mad, I decided to get even.

The result was Maverick. And, by the second issue, it paid dividends as I found my voice and audience. The occasion was coverage of artist/mistress/yenta, Francoise Gilot, at the Boston College Art Museum. To say the least she behaved rudely. I decided to tell it like it is. No holds barred, Full tilt boogie. And nobody to stop me. Nobody to fire me. Nobody to censor or edit me. But, also no pay check.

I had great expectations that indeed I would change the art world. There were earth shaking expectations. Still are. But, truth be known the art world is small and seemingly jaded and indifferent. Nothing that I say or do is really going to make any difference. But I decided to charge ahead anyway.

Not that I was new to the internet. Not really. Actually, I blame it all on Linda Tischler, my great friend, mentor and former editor at Sidewalk. Back in the dark ages, several years ago, when I still typed manuscripts on an electric typewriter, Linda seduced me into working for Bill Gates and the Evil Empire. For a couple of years I sold my soul to the devil and got regular checks from Microsoft. That felt so weird. Me of all people working for Microsoft. In the beginning, I didn’t even own a computer. That went on for a year or so until Linda threatened to fire me. Then there was that terrible dark time when I started slashing and burning my way into semi computer literacy. But gradually I was hooked and surfing the net and e mailing and well, you know all about that.

Over our occasional, hilarious, dishy lunches Linda laughed as I gradually emerged as a computer geek. Those were glorious days and Sidewalk was a noble experiment. A gorgeous site and we put our hearts and souls into it. But the day came and it ended. It was sold to Citysearch. For a time I lumbered on but it was just not the same. The new editor was the pits. She put stupid lines into my copy to "perk it up." I was spending time on the phone apologizing to venues I wrote about.

That even happened on the two occasions I wrote for Walter Robinson and the internet site, Art Net. Writing from Canada, he inserted that the renowned artist, Betty Goodwin, worked in ceramics. Guess he never heard of one of Canada’s national treasures, a painter and sculptor, but certainly not a potter. And, my photograph of galleriest Rene Blouin was captioned, Alfred Hitchcock. It was a travesty. Then, despite repeated invoices and e mail reminders, Art Net never paid me. That was last fall, and the $500 check is still in the mail.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Art Net and check it out ever day. I would write for them again in a minute. But it is really stupid that the reason you stop writing for somebody is that they don’t pay you. And, you also conclude that the writers who continue with the site do get paid. So that means that Walter has decided that I am not worth paying while those other contributors are too important to mess with. Yeah, ok, but don’t mess with me. Don’t play the old check is in the mail game when you are just jerking me around. And, I would assume, other writers as well.

When Maverick came to the attention of Abraham Lubelski, publisher of Nyartsmagazine, he was much more out front. After stating that he was interested in publishing Maverick pieces in his monthly magazine, he added that, "We can’t afford to pay our writers." Well, ok, if that’s the way it is, cool. Maverick, it seems, is not about money. It is about ideas and communication. There is no price or value that you can put on that. And I believe in Abraham. He is providing me with a valuable audience and encourages what I am doing. We share a vision and mission. From the beginning he has been a comrade and we are old hippie, radical, peas in a pod. Next year Jerusalem.

Sure, we all would like to make some money. Microsoft tried. Art Net is trying. But art is about more than that. There is the whole idea of being somebody, being a player, being a contedah. What’s that worth. Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront. What did he get but beat to shit. Or Martin Sheen up the river to find Kurtz in Apocalypse Now. Maybe even George Washington in the winter at Valley Forge. You have to believe in something. Otherwise why be an artist and make all those sacrifices.

So Maverick, which means an unbranded steer, a maverick, a raging bull who doesn’t run with the herd, is about freedom and experimentation. That writing criticism can be outrageous and avant-garde. That, indeed there should be not one but many Mavericks. There should be many outrageous voices and newsletters and pissed off writers and artists ranting and raving all around the world. There should be platforms, networks, links and sites, conventions and organizations. That I should be connected to like minded people all over the world. And, if I travel to London or Paris or Shanghai a way to connect to the artists and shakers of that city or culture. To not have to depend for information on the corrupt art media. To find out what is really going on and not just who advertises. To get connected to the buzz. And to find our what people are doing and thinking and looking at.

Or, as John Cage put it, I have nothing to say and I am saying it. I always loved that idea. What a wonderful man and such a true and great artist.

Ok, so following the Cage idea, I have nothing to say, but the real dilemma is who can I say it to. For months I was scavenging and pirating e mail addresses. First I logged in everyone I knew personally. Friends, colleagues, then listings out of the gallery guide. The first to ask to "unsubcribe" was OK Harris Gallery. I was stunned and hurt. It was the anti Sally Fields thing. "They don’t like me. They really don’t like me." I am a fraud. They see through me. It hurt because I had always viewed Ivan Karp, of all people, as so open and receptive to artists. Always willing to look at work. It was the most unkind cut.

That was the first, but there have been others. Some really irate. Like, get out of my life, and stay out, now. That doesn’t happen when you write for the art magazines. The publishers get those calls. But with Maverick there is no buffer between me and the audience. That’s the down side. The pain, the rejection.

Then there is that other wonderful and supportive side. The folks, friends, strangers, literally, from all over the world: London, Montreal, Shanghai, LA, Paris, Berlin and of course, your closest friends, Boston. There are the folks who always respond. Over and over. And, most significantly, often and enthusiastically, young artists. As well as colleagues, like Abraham, and Frank Conte, who cleans up and archives Maverick at his site, East Boston.Com. They make it worthwhile and share the vision.

While nobody has figured how to make any money on the net, Amazon.Com is still bleeding cash, there is another less obvious side. That it is basically free. After 25 issues of Maverick I am not in debt. It hasn’t cost me anything beyond time, and effort, plus the give and take and a bit of abuse here and there. Back in the pre internet, fanzine days, to xerox, stuff and mail to my 800 or so global subscribers would have cost at least $2,000 an issue. So my debt by now would be something like $50,000 to $100,000.

What then is the equity of this "investment."

That, indeed, is intangible. For one thing, it has managed to hold your attention to these the last words. It has created an audience and initiated a dialogue. The challenge now is to keep it fresh and inventive. To not loose nerve and play safe. To take no prisoners and tell it like it is. Occasionally to be serious and say something important and most of all to have fun and provide a good read.

Now, as a final word, I turn to you. The readers. I ask you to contribute your thoughts and ideas. I have asked some friends and colleagues to send me reports, critiques and letters which I intend to publish. To help Maverick to continue to evolve not as a me thing, but indeed, as Cosa Nostra.