Until dashing into Katelyn Eichwald’s solo show Talisman at Fortnight Institute to avoid standing in a downpour like an asshole outside of the opening of La MaMa Galleria’s Every Woman Biennial, I would have firmly declared myself anti-poetry in galleries (apart from readings or performances, of course). The poetry creep has been a long time … Continue reading
I am always living between two realities. There is the reality of presence, of now and of exteriority. And then, there is the reality of distance, of timelessness and of interiority. These two realities–the reality of me here now typing on my computer and the reality inside my fantasy space of memory and dreams–feel no … Continue reading
“Often, he runs his hands over the work, tempted as to whether it is flesh or ivory, not admitting it to be ivory. he kisses it and thinks his kisses are returned; and speaks to it; and holds it, and imagines that his fingers press into the limbs, and is afraid lest bruises appear from … Continue reading