Michael Madzo, photo by Anthony Scarlati
…Enter Michael Madzo, fiftyish, lean as a denim whippet, a little weathered from twenty-below and hundred-plus winds prevailing in the Dakota Badlands where he lives and rides horses and three-wheelers and tends his father’s cattle ranch—that is, when he’s not trotting the globe, tending his paintings, hundreds of them by now corralled in what is becoming a lengthening rosary of galleries, exhibits, and important collections (the Saatchis’, for instance) around the world. You see, Michael makes his living from his art, quite an accomplishment in a world where most artists have day jobs and deep resentments for having to do them. And so Michael Madzo, the Marlboro Man who’s never smoked a cigarette, “wanders with intent,” as he puts it.  “Wandering with intent” to do what? Well, to wage his art—passively, though, as a non-combatant in the war zone that is the art world…

 

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