When the artist Piet Mondrian died in the winter of 1944 at the age of 71, he was in the midst of working on a painting he had told people would be the definitive expression of his aesthetic ideals.
When I was a little girl, my family often visited antique shops.
In late March of 1997, while working as a receptionist at an alternative newspaper in Manhattan, I was asked to sign for a package from Henry Holt & Co.
Isaac Bashevis Singer’s first novel, Satan in Goray (published in English in 1955), tells the true story of a 17th century Jewish mystic, Sabbatai Zevi...
In SAFEWAY I heard a whining
Song. Dill filled the air with longing
Trapped in the fog of conscientious obscurantism, Twitter-wracked neurosis, blatant bungling, executive-order malfeasance, lurking corruption, lifeboat ethics, and neo-fascist quasi-ideology, we may well want to look for clues to the interior life of the Social Darwinist thug presently making a landfill fire of the federal government.
"I'm a spirit master," avant-garde jazz composer and bandleader Sun Ra once said in his own inimitable fashion. "I've been to a zone where there is no air, no light, no sound, no life, no death, nothing. There's five billion people on this planet, all out of tune. I've got to raise their consciousness, tell them about the wonderful potential to bypass death."
As a side-earner, the writer and artist Leonora Carrington painted fakes. At least, that’s what she once stated in an interview, daring her admirers to doubt her artistic authenticity.
A hand makes a motion of clench and release to mimic consonants expelling themselves during speech.
It has been decades now since one could snicker at someone caught out by the lack of loose connections. In the India in which I grew up, it was taken as a reasonable excuse for not being in touch to say you “couldn’t get through” on the phone.
Ronald Kuhler was born in Teaneck, New Jersey in 1931, the second child of an abusive Belgian mother and an often absent German father.
Death Will Set Your Day Right
There’s a video clip you can find online which was recorded in 1967 as part of NBC’s television special, "Moving With Nancy."
I do not lament the polemics that result from a clash of two extremes
I have three beautiful children and I love to look at them, but in terms of posting their pictures on social media, I have decided to opt out.
On my desktop (my laptop, not my actual desk) are .jpgs of paintings of women reading books. I dragged them there from the Internet, not quite knowing why I was doing it. But now I realize something in me relaxes when I look at them. The women are all in repose, sitting or lying down.
I’m watching a daughter film herself and her mother as they disintegrate side by side. The film is a series of small accumulations, low-level devastations, but I feel untouched until there’s a long shot of some desolate beige land (I’m not sure if it’s Israel or Nebraska).
What most immediately impresses me about Donald Breckenridge’s novel And Then is how remote his predecessors are from our contemporary moment, yet how immediate the book feels regardless.
Five days into the month-long process of Saint Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises, Jesuit novitiates are asked to meditate on hell.