“Although the river and its people share the past, on this afternoon, the burden seems unevenly placed. The man whose socks are drying on the concrete can rest in peace knowing that his story has ended.”
They breed in drains. A tinful of groundnuts. Fist in the honey pot. Can’t. Cultured, in a bad way. And bloom into quintillion coils. Theft at midnight, errors in the yard.
My summer vacation felt like a body. Mine felt like a river. It’s generally useful to build up a number of unreasonably applicable metaphors that seem to withdraw profundity from just about everything. It’s the only way you’ll produce what … Read More
To reach “Itinerant Languages of Photography”—one of the Art Museum’s two new temporary exhibits—one has to pass all that is not itinerant about the Museum. The entrance lies to the right of the Museum’s well-worn European mainstays. Each time I entered, I had to pass Washington’s confident gaze, his portrait serving as a reminder of what is permanent and perhaps most validated in the Museum, and what is not.
I, a frustrated child of this generation, nursed on, yet never quite weaned off of Technology’s teat, decry the current state of Digital Communication.
I. “Cézanne to Picasso: Ambroise Vollard, Patron of the Avant-Garde” at the Met Investing Vollard with the almost statesmanlike title, “Patron of the Avant-Garde” is pretty generous for someone Paul Gauguin once called “the worst kind of crocodile.” Maecenas he … Read More
