A beautiful meditation on personal and communal memory, art, and an unfathomable landscape from poet Michael Ladd.
Snake Journey
When I Go Back Home
“I came back because there are places that do not merely exist on maps; they exist inside the blood. I came back because no matter how far a person travels, there is a particular dust that remembers his feet. I came back because the village that raised us deserves more than nostalgia. It deserves attention. It deserves roads that do not punish the poor for being poor. It deserves schools where children can dream without apology. It deserves healthcare that does not force a family to choose between medicine and food.”
Thoughts on Photography: Walker Evans’ Polaroids
“People ask me what camera I used. It’s not the camera. Its—.” He tapped his temple with his index finger: it’s the eye and the brain.
How to Love an Owl
I felt like the owl mother to the whole family. I wanted to spread my wings and cover the whole nest, and the father in the neighboring tree as well. To keep them safe and protected, from predators and bad weather and falls, and from us.
The Legendary Iranian Poet Who Gives Me Hope
“Read Forugh’s poems and you’ll find the very forces that shape our moment: misogyny, censorship, nativism, consumerism, the annihilating violence of war. Read her poems and you’ll find that they, like all the best poems, don’t merely offer a reprieve from the abuses and terrors of the world, but a repudiation of the forces that make those abuses and terrors possible: ignorance and political regimes for which ignorance has been and will always be their life’s blood.”
A Box of Slides
A poem from Mike Ladd reflecting on time, memory, love and ephemerality
I Like Trees: Neal Rantoul on Harry Callahan
With a few stories spanning a few decades, photographer Neal Rantoul shares his affection and admiration for fellow photographer, teacher, and friend Harry Callahan.
Breakers
“In subsequent weeks, I might take time to look at it and see what I’ve done. Or in this case, listen to the waves.”
El Greco: View of Toledo
From the station we walk past panel beaters, La Rosa tile factory, then up the hill by the river — and there it is, El Greco’s view of Toledo, on first glance hardly changed in over four hundred years.
A Tale of Two Presidents
“The room was small, dim and a desiccated yellow colour but the handshake and welcome were warm and clearly genuine. The man who once held the most powerful job in the world was dressed in casual shades of black and grey.”
