Grandma Prisbrey’s Bottle Village
On one level, Bottle Village was, literally, a constructive approach to transforming discard and sorrow into something more.
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Simple bread for the best toast
A recipe for simple bread for the best toast, and thoughts on toasting over the years.
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Featured Artist: Kent Ambler
“I find myself working from a combination of observation, memory, and intuition.”
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Sea Creatures Stared at Us and We Stared Back at Them
With its mix of musical styles, languages, accents, and voices, the album is a perfect tribute to the witty and self-deprecating, pretty and noisy, relatable and strange, hopefully despondent music of Jeffrey Lewis.
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Fiction: Every Valley Wide
Some things, when you didn’t understand them, you didn’t try to figure them out. Sometimes you just didn’t want to know.
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Piles of Time. Yasu Matsumoto
These works are the expression of such unusual phenomena that I think is created by the everlasting accumulation, or piles of time that are embedded in the process of forest growing.
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Eris and her Apples of Discord
If you ignore these apples, they’re small and harmless. But the more attention you pay them, the more you try to get rid of them, the larger they get, until they block your way entirely, or destroy you.
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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.
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American Mythologies: Get a Real Job
It strikes me as funny that many of the laborers in our workforce don’t actually get to call labor day a holiday. It’s part of our complicated history of attitudes about work, about people who work, and about the jobs they do.
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September Issue
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.
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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.
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You cannot see them anymore, They are not there
So I am content to draw, each drawing a provocation, another layer in an ongoing process of poking and prodding at notions of place and landscape and in that sense I am content to let things drift.
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Werner’s Nomenclature of Colors and Emily Dickinson’s Herbarium
There’s so much in life that we can’t capture in words or pictures: everything is shifting, changing, and with more hues, values and shades than our eyes can see, more notes than our ears can hear, more subtleties than our hearts can feel or our minds define. But I love that we still try.
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Tom Titanic, A Cautionary Tale
Both living on their nerves, growing thinner as Tom grew fatter, they refused follow-up visits from the authorities. She missed her post-natal check-up, and they did not attend the vaccination clinic. The authorities became concerned.
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Rag and Bone
He hasn’t lost the love or the language, he’s just brought them down to earth. He’s using them to make the ordinary beautiful–rags, bones, broken bottles. And things as extraordinarily ordinary as aging, as remembering.
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Germaine Dulac: Listen in Silence to Our Own Song
“The time has come, I believe, to listen in silence to our own song, to try to express our own personal vision, to define our own sensibility, to make our own way. Let us learn to look, let us learn to see, let us learn to feel.”
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An Interview with Liz Johnson
“I like to introduce something remarkable into ordinary, everyday circumstances because I think that there are always interesting things happening all around us––and sometimes some very surreal things.”
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The Valley of the Moon Main Stem Project
I want to capture the “ghosts” that inhabit this area and intertwine them with contemporary images.
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Everything fresh summer pizza with a cracker-thin crust, and Bicycle Thieves
The joy of sharing the fruits of our garden with my family in our wild and teeming summertime yard. Listening to music and talking, and feeling grateful for all of it.
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Fiction: The Fallen Fighter
All night long they clung to each other, bobbing on a sea of whisky and memories and dreams, lashed to a floating spar that sank and rose and sank and rose again.
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August Issue
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.
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Letter from the editor: August
Creation as an act of remembering and remembering as an act of creation is the unofficial theme of our August issue.
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Flash Fiction: How skinny the leash, how thin the arms that hold me.
“Maybe this meant something, maybe it didn’t.”
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Auto Anthropology
“I know that part of my attraction to a lone old car on some quiet urban street or sitting out in the desert is because it plays into a fantasy of a time after the car.”
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Linden Tea Madeleines
But this magical madeleine and tea, which he accepts while full of adult cares and woes, brings him such joy that he no longer feels mediocre, accidental, mortal, which is what being an adult feels like, on a bad day.
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The Irony of “Fever Dream”
We quickly find ourselves in hypnagogic territory, sorting real, unreal, and surreal at the edges of a dream.
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The Dowry: Federica Armstrong
The dowry becomes a cathartic process of mourning, remembrance and consolation.
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American mythologies: Everybody in Khakis
Of course the truth is that despite the fact that advertising agencies are shaming us into looking alike on the outside and conservative politicians are trying to make sure we’re all the same race and religion, despite the fact that we haven’t always had the highest tolerance for difference, America has a splendid history of eccentrics, some celebrated, some obscure and forgotten.
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Featured Artist: Lauren Mary Barnett
“Even if it’s just the way the light is hitting a glass or a strange assortment of items on a table or power lines swooped in front of a house. And really these moments of beauty can be fleeting so it feels nice to capture them somehow. “
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La Noire de…
She doesn’t have a voice in their presence. What we get instead is the rich, intelligent voice of her thoughts and her memories.
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Wormley Hughes
The man who dug Jefferson’s grave was named Wormley Hughes. He was the principal gardener at Monticello. The garden at Monticello is a true thing of wonder. Beautiful, useful, inspiring – a perfect spot to sit and ponder questions of liberty and independence. Wormley Hughes was informally (not legally) freed after Jefferson’s death (famously, on July 4th), and shortly thereafter, Hughes’ wife and 8 of his children were divided and sold away from each other.
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July Issue
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.
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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.
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Fiction: Profile
“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.
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Pennhurst: Abuse and Neglect
More and more, Pennhurst’s amazing true story is is becoming buried. I like to think my little film is helping keep it alive.
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