What struck me about the cards wasn’t their flagrant objectification of women; sadly, that’s not very striking. Rather, it was their cuteness.
There are more photographs of Marilyn Monroe reading than there are of her naked. Almost always, these images are captioned with a kind of perky can-you-believe-it paternalism. “Those books aren’t just for show!” “Despite her reputation as a blonde…”
Collage is a process of ingestion, in which media creates and presents and recycles images and we respond to these intoxicating images by hoarding and repurposing them. Magazines are called “digests” after all.
What I mean is that the narrative of the life of Nina Simone, up until 1976, had created a perfect moment in time and space for her to vanish. Walk off the stage while she sat at the piano. Dissociate.
Could a person loom at once so large and so small? Whole lives, immense feats and works pass in a matter of pages. Vast archival sources are whittled down to a sentence or two.
The Mourners. I don’t know exactly when I first discovered these 15th-century sculptures made to decorate the tomblike memorials of the Dukes of Burgundy. Carved in pale alabaster, nearly devoid of color, these diminutive monk-like figures fascinated me.
We urgently need contemporary, cross-generational stories, told by people without power, full of complex and complicated ecosystems, humans, and companion species.
In November 2016, a King Tide brought an octopus into a parking garage, where it lay, like a stemless flower, splayed on concrete as gray as its drying skin.
Instead of Studio he took me way over to the west side, the gayest part of the Village, to the Paradise Garage. If he wasn’t gay how did he even venture onto that block? It was the late ’70s, when the art of cruising had finally been perfected...
As a lightweight behind-the-scenes look at a critically acclaimed television series, Jill Soloway’s new memoir She Wants It: Desire, Power, and Toppling the Patriarchy is just south of worth purchasing at the airport.