Unlike the majority of photographers, Cindy Sherman seldom captures; she creates. Rarely does she not appear in her work, and as such she invents for herself a new use and purpose in each piece, a new role.
“The Voyage” ends with Jon and José seated in the lobby of the border post, José in his orange, oversized sunglasses – “stunner shades” – awaiting their sentence for carrying a firearm across the Canadian Border.
If the Knitting Ladies serve as any indication, the author of White Teeth, On Beauty, and, most recently, NW, could have blown raspberries into the microphone and still enraptured her audience.
Writers have a weakness for trivial details. It’s how you carry out the old show, don’t tell dictum. Off the cuff I can’t differentiate an oak from an ash, but with some research I can show you the whole forest.
By definition, anarchists technically don’t believe in government, class, or money, and are acutely aware of any and all repression. In a country that sings the word “patriotic” like a top ten hit and whose only true faith is capitalism, their alienation is a given.
In 1974, when Díaz was six years old and had just emigrated from the Dominican Republic to New Jersey, the library opened up his world. “The idea that I could access all of those books, that they were so freely available, felt like magic.”
On Saturday night, 600 locals packed themselves into NE Minneapolis’s Uppercut Boxing Gym to drink, show off their greyscale outfits, support local literature, and watch writers beat the shit out of each other.