“Our understanding of the agency of non-human creatures, be they animals, plants, bacteria, fungi, whole organisms, or cells, needs to be stretched and nurtured. Rats laugh, bacteria can be happy. We need to consider our connections in so many ways.”
Throughout his career, Trevor Paglen has made artwork out of the “invisible.” An expert in clandestine military installations, Paglen has trained his eye on places and programs that, officially, do not exist—from military black sites to NSA headquarters, drone surveillance to the CIA’s abduction outfits.
These pictures remind us of society’s compartmentalization of madness, and the gendered “hysteria” prominent in the late 19th century yet employed even today, albeit under different names.
The opening of Nobuyoshi Araki’s latest exhibition, The Incomplete Araki, in February of 2018, welcomed a diverse mix of admirers, bondage enthusiasts, and blushing academics, decorated here and there by a column of kimono. Unable to see the art in such a swarm, I enjoyed watching visitors’ eyesespecially those of the more staiddilate between lust and analysis.
Having opened in London five years ago, this final presentation of David Bowie Is is the most comprehensive, and by far one of the Museum’s largest shows to date. From Brixton to Berlin to Blackstar, the ambitious exhibition—now an immersive eulogy—meticulously navigates the wild diversity of influences that shaped David Bowie, including David Robert Jones himself.
A view of a landscape opens with Kevin Beasleys relief, The Reunion (2018), a heavy slab of guinea fowl feathers, Virginia soil, and cotton built up and suspended in polyurethane resin.
As the wealthy move into higher apartments, put their generators on the roof and wait for the worst, our government tells the rest of the country, “What you’re seeing and what you’re reading is not what’s happening.” This America, as myopic as it is visionary, as destructive as it is boundlessly creative, leaves us in freefall.
Developing in parallel, visual art birthed our most beautiful writing systems. The Korean alphabet, Hangul, imitates the positions of the mouth when pronouncing each letters sound, while the Chinese character for rain falls.
The sixty-seven-year-old poet, singer, actor, artist, and “screaming philosopher,” Tomokawa Kazuki, made his American debut on a Thursday in early November.
Liz Pellys recent article for The Baffler, The Problem with Muzak, bemoans music journalisms embrace of Spotify. Algorithmically fueled, mood-based playlists such as Ambient Chill, she argues, are nothing more than emotional wallpaper for the distracted, disengaged masses.
Hosono has pioneered a plethora of genresfrom psychedelia to exotica, pop to ambientas both musician and producer. Yet despite a half century in music, this was his first solo tour in the US
On the year’s first honest spring day, I watched an old Honey Locust cleave the roof of a parked car in the West Village, just next to the home of famed composer Ryuichi Sakamoto.
Framed in phone booths, freeways and supermarkets, a Tsai Ming-liang film gazes with moist, unblinking eyes at everyday life—the slightest glint directing us towards the curiosities that line it.
Known intermittently as Stalker Sandor, Hayao Yamaneko, or Sergei Murasaki, filmmaker Chris Marker (19212012) was an elusive, shy, and decidedly feline individual.
Avant-garde cinema and modern poetry have long shared the same arable ground. Each measured by its own “feet,” they both move through montage—a technique as common to T.S. Eliot as to Eisenstein. Among the greatest of the kino-poets is Stan Brakhage. Despite his poor eyesight and poverty, the Missouri-born filmmaker pushed his art beyond the apparent, behind the eyelid and the shutter, and on into the “Impossibility of it all.” In a new edition of Brakhage’s philosophy of seeing, Metaphors on Vision, we are reminded of the artist’s seminal innovations—especially of his meter that set the very rhythm of American experimental film for future filmmakers.