I am a filmmaker, illustrator, graphic designer and copy editor.
It seems more important now than ever to tell our stories and share our stories, and listen to the stories of others. To amplify the voices of anybody struggling to be heard, and to celebrate when the words or images or silences speak to us or bewilder us or transform us. To harness our anger or sadness or joy in a wild productive fury, resonating with the strange perfect words we make our own or the deafening silences we inhabit.
“The suburban kids are the worst.” Joe Bird stands with his hands on his hips, disconcertingly unperturbed by the repeated crashing behind him. “Kids” aged roughly 12 to 18 years, of both sexes, throw themselves violently into a chain link fence.
Poetry and photography by Cristina Finotto, of the Po delta.
From Philomela to Prymachenko: Because this work is beneath the notice of the powerful men, not seen in the same lofty light as their manly ambitions and achievements, women find the freedom to tell their story as thoroughly, beautifully, and strangely they need.
He wasn’t scared of them, but he had a feeling of powerful things and deep things. He said that we need to find a way to look at the cave paintings. Where would he start to search for this new way of looking? Everywhere.
“The images for these paintings weave and intermingle in my mind and present themselves as a mélange of overlapping histories.”
My proposal is to look back to the attitudes and methods people used during trying times in the past, and combine those with the epicurean skills and knowledge of the present, to plan our daily meals in a way that provides the most delicious food with the least amount of waste.
A collection of all the articles we’ve published over the past month, for those who like to savor their Magpies’ tidings as an issue.
Imagination is the dream of a house, familiar and yet entirely new. Behind every door is an unexpected room, or staircase, or garden, or folly.
When bells ring out the time, the time passes strangely. The space between tolls seems impossible, like it’s hanging, waiting for something. For me.
magpiesmagazine.com 