"The Wine of Genius, a life of Maurice Utrillo", by Rober Coughlan, will likely delight most Bukowski enthusiasts. Though a bit sterilized by the biographical nature, there is a great amount of grit, grumble, passion and artistic proliferation celebrated there-in. How do others feel about the separating of artistic genres, related hierarchies and which "medium" best suits the human experience as it becomes TRULY creative? Is it alphabets and sentences or something else? Hmmmm.