There’s a lovely lightness to the strips, a freedom, but as with all the best comic strips, (or all my favorite) underneath the lightness is a depth of honesty and humanity.
Quick and Flupke (and why I love Tintin)
Ozu’s Good Morning (why I love it)
The film is full of misunderstandings and half-spoken thoughts and desires….And yet, the real joy of the film is the moments of understanding between people.
Letter From the Editor: It might be our anniversary.
Thoughts on our first year. Our editorial calendar is serendipitous, and each month’s theme is make-the-road-by-walking.
Letter From the Editor July: Words and Silence
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 Harnessed Rage of Paula Rego
To elaborate on the metaphor of harnessed rage: I don’t mean to say that she tamed it. Rego permitted her rancour a life of its own, a force of creativity to be exploited in the studio.
James Guthrie’s A Hind’s Daughter at the National Gallery of Scotland
“You’d not want to mess with her. She’s got a knife. But you do wonder what her future will be.”
Pierrot by Watteau at the Louvre
I recklessly mentioned that Watteau’s Pierrot is my favourite painting in the Louvre. I have been invited to explain why, and it has to do with the ability of some great paintings to convey hidden messages and intrigue us with their meaning as well as beauty.
The Photography of Jack Delano
I feel I share a common interest in subject matter with Delano, and have traveled to many of the same places – just in very different times and circumstances.
Spirits and Demons
These phantasms are concocted from a little kernel of conscience, or guilt, or fear, or loneliness. Sometimes others see them, sometimes they don’t, they’re shifting and dreamlike, and they operate according to their own rules. They’re unreliable narrators. They’re wise or foolish, in turn; they speak in riddles, they speak a questionable truth, changing and suspect, like all truths.
On Birdwatching
It boggled my mind that all of these birds had been here, all along, so vivid, so loud. They weren’t new. I’d never bothered to look at them, I’d never taken the time to look up, and discover the colorful teeming world in the tangled branches of the trees.
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