Bucky Miller

Bucky Miller writes about the pleasure of used bookstores and reviews three books about art and photography.

Bucky Miller writes about photo books by artists Thomas Locke Hobbs and Matt Price.

Bucky Miller reviews three recently published photography books by Texas artists Barry Stone, Jason Reed, and Colby Deal.

Bucky Miller interviews artist Sallie Scheufler about her practice and her current exhibition at Art League Houston.

Bucky Miller reviews Ursula Schulz-Dornburg's book "Huts, Temples, Castles," which documents a diminutive utopia of junk constructed by a group of Amsterdam youths.

Bucky Miller writes about Homer, his neighborhood cat companion that he met during the pandemic lockdown in Houston.

Bucky Miller reviews four photography books published in 2021 and 2022, including a tome on Diane Arbus, a curious book by Michael Yuan, and others.

Bucky Miller reviews Michael Lundgren’s photobook "Geomancy," published in 2019 by Stanley/Barker Books.

Bucky Miller takes us on a Halloween-themed road trip from New York to Austin, and opines about how the former Whitney Museum building in New York City would make a perfect temporary Spirit Halloween location.

Bucky Miller revisits photo reviews he wrote for his Instagram followers during the height of the COVID pandemic.

Bucky Miller recalls his first few weeks of the pandemic, including a visit to Pie Town, New Mexico.

Rediscovering pictures of Houston's Galleria sent me spiraling back over the madness of the past two years. This, in turn, made me wonder what other lost photographs I could unearth from the depths of our first quarantine.

I can recall a skeleton Elvis I once saw. The scary pompadour works.

I was worried about the bears. Had they been phased out in my short time away? Had my last essay been an unwitting elegy?

I am transfixed, and must immediately spend some time with these bears.

In reviewing the pictures, now, I question the amount of chaotic energy my memory has ascribed to the cat.

I have assets: I collect snowman art.

They rise round and smooth from fields of concrete as if gently nudged upward by a giant underground fingertip. 

Bone theater. It is probably art. It is thrilling, impractical, odd, a little vulnerable.