I have absolutely nothing to say about Philip Johnson. This is a
good way to begin contemplating a man who has on various
occasions been called a genius, a buffoon, a dilettante, a visionary.
His architecture is both clunky and playful. Absurd and noble.
A great enigma.
      It's true. I know little about Johnson and have nothing to
say about his life and work.
      Nothing to say?
      If I close my eyes and think of the photographs I've seen
of him and the stories I've heard about him, and if I look back on
growing up in the shadow of the Houston skyline (which Johnson
had a hand in envisioning and building), then I might be inspired
enough to say something about Philip Cortelyou Johnson: genius,
buffoon, dilettante, visionary.

Brett Davidson is a Texan writer currently living in Zürich. This short book takes a narrative excursion through the hinterland of modern America, architectural dystopia, and the post-war European avant-garde as reflected in the author's reminiscences of his southern Texan upbringing. Utilizing the histrionics and problematics of American architect Philip Johnson, Davidson describes a part of America where Johnson's work, particularly his post-modern phase, received considerable patronage. Davidson's dislocated vantage point results in a moral uncertainty, an echoing of the multiplicity that fractured the certitude of the modernist project.

Brett Davidson has previously contributed to the dispersed version of Atopia Journal, Inset. His text was published in the magazine, Guest Room.

Twenty-five copies are released with an original photograph by Fraser Stables.