A couple of weeks ago, I went to visit Chuck Close at his beach house on Long Island. It seemed lurid and garish, not at all to my taste, but it was, after all, an incomplete work, and he was Chuck Close. Advertisement Continue reading the main storyHe was Chuck Close. I found Close waiting at the top with a gentle smile. Close leaned back in his chair to let the light pour onto his face.

Source: New York Times July 13, 2016 09:00 UTC