A car wrote a book worth reading.
Rediscovering a “maverick” female artist from the ’70s
A superabundant life online, thinking through networks, and asking for more.
Cauleen Smith tangles the past with figures from African American histories, Afrofuturism, Radical Jazz, and alternative futures.
Sculptures that depict the body’s predicament.
Early Morning Opera brings the canonical essay to the stage.
What role does technology play in helping or hindering our wellbeing?
Sixty years of writing about language.
How do you discuss misogyny in a society saturated with it?
The choreographer presents a cascading index of form.
Stories that magnify what it means to be black in America through a satirical, uncanny lens.
Hidden passions made to be seen.
A novel about queer rage, the 1990s club scene, and the intricacies of healing.
Dialectics of mass and void.
Creating family and language through dance.
Recognizing a forgotten Argentinian writer.
The choreographer explodes memory and explores the multiple.
The citizen investigator as poet.
When I arrive in the lobby of Kalimpong’s famed Himalayan Hotel, I move around clumsily and with caution. I’m wary of touching objects left behind by long-gone visitors, and the pop-up ghosts of soldiers, businessmen, and mountaineers startle me.
I first encountered Sesshu Foster through his cotranslation of Juan Felipe Herrera’s masterpiece Akrilica and an anthology he coedited, Invocation L.A.: Urban Multicultural Poetry. It was 1990: I’d just returned from six years of intense political and cultural involvement outside the US. The Gulf War was right on the horizon, and in the hyper-stratified world of US poetry, where class and cosmos had taken backseats to an almost purely theoretical politics and poetics, I was in search of allies and kindred spirits. With Foster’s work, I felt I’d struck pay dirt.