Home of the Bill T. Jones / Arnie Zane Company
BOMB 137 Fall 2016
Open floor plans are less open than we think—and ripe for intervention. Oppenheimer’s latest effort is on view at the Pérez Art Museum Miami.
From Lagos to LA, a young painter’s images resonate with meaning, both personal and political.
The celebrated choreographer of Bronx Gothic explores the embodiment of psychic space, the nature of memory, and who gets to write history.
Through sewing, weaving, and embroidery, two artists probe the boundaries between texts and textiles.
The artist and composer stages her latest entanglement of bodies, spaces, and sounds at the Biennale de Montréal this October.
The author’s first novel is set in Mexico City, but its themes of violence, grief, and solitude are truly global.
She had brought herself up out of one of the more caustic religions of the middle counties, then ran away to that blocked-in, secondary city, the one summoning itself clumsily upwards downstate. I was down there temporarily from the tertiary one.
Cob was taking her to the steak place. It’s hit or miss, he always said, like maybe he didn’t know that wasn’t the best sort of endorsement. It’s hit or miss! Like it was an excitement. You could get the best meal of your life, or you could drive home in silence with a film of blood and grease and creamed spinach coating your teeth, dreaming of Colgate. Cob was like that.
Patty would slap stickers on her calf and ass cheeks to make herself stand out. Problem is, so would the other girls. I never did much of anything.
Frank O’Hara was asked by Gian Carlo Menotti to select the American poets for Settimana della Poesia at the Spoleto Festival of Two Worlds, June 26 through July 2, 1965.
Stop me if you’ve heard this one. / Two llamas poke their heads out of the small stone enclosure
Winner of BOMB’s 2016 Poetry Contest, selected by Bhanu Kapil.
I hope this note finds you feeling very comfortable. / I’m in the fourth antechamber on the right, / just trying something new on the picture.
New York, London, Berlin—all are familiar names on the global trade routes of contemporary art. Less so Moscow, which has only regained some of its avant-garde glory in the new century. In this short time, Olga Chernysheva has emerged as an acute observer of post-Soviet life.
Audra Wolowiec explores the materiality of language via text, sound, sculpture, and collaborative projects. Her recent solo exhibition at Studio 10, entitled ( ), presented both the immateriality and materiality of her subject matter as subtle and poetic experiences.
Everywhere you look in the first room, there are little directives, tucked into the art, to text various numbers for answers. I did as bidden, but because I was listening to Fiona Apple’s “I Know” on repeat too loudly over my headphones, I couldn’t hear the answers, which emanated God-like from the walls, and so I only have this one-sided record for you, dear reader.
While the art-world pendulum predictably swings back and forth between a taste for abstraction and an embrace of figuration, some artists remain steadfast in their pursuits. Such is the case with James Esber, whose work has long sought to merge these seemingly opposed tendencies.
The nth volume of interviews by curator Hans Ulrich Obrist gathers fourteen conversations with surviving luminaries of an era of Mexican culture that in hindsight is nothing short of magnificent, despite its under-recognized or somewhat forgotten status abroad.
We tend to forget that it was an artist, Nam June Paik, who coined the term “electronic superhighway.” It synthesizes some of the most intriguing aspects of how art, digital media, and language intersect in today’s global culture.
The art book has changed.
What would life be like if nature had selected the male body to gestate and deliver offspring? What if women had evolved to be on the more pleasurable side of procreation while men endured its discomforts (if not labor pain, then at least an average of 2,400 days of bleeding through adolescence and adulthood)?
Carmen Boullosa’s novel Before begins with the kind of grand existential problem so difficult to disentangle from the problems of consciousness itself: “Where were we before we got to this point?”