BOMB 138 Winter 2017
Two interdisciplinary artists tackle the analogies between artistic, moral, and monetary value.
Two films tell the tragic story of reporter Christine Chubbuck’s on-air suicide in 1974.
Surrealism meets fantasy in The Last Days of New Paris, a recent novel by a British author of New Weird Fiction.
An epistolary exchange about the poetics of silence, geography, and history.
The actors chat about performing masculinity, transitioning, and Blackwell’s one-person show They, Themself and Schmerm.
The eminent artist discusses her materials, “frozen gestures,” and the illusion of form.
Kassab Bachi, one of the most prolific Arab painters, has never exhibited in the Arts Club of Chicago. Yet three of his drawings were found on the backs of three framed artworks in the club’s storage.
One afternoon during the Holy Month, I have that indistinct but unmistakable sensation that I am being followed.
It was with the printing press and Enlightenment science that history first demarcated itself from literature as a field of knowledge founded on scientific principles and archival methods.
“What brings you here,” he asked.
“What do you seek in this high tower,
Phaëthon—you, an heir no parent would
Right now, they (they being a company, unnamed) are at work on a new operating system. It will be completely intuitive, they say, so much so that it does away with the need for thought or reference.
Singing is prohibited in this café. / Torture is permitted in this café.
“I was afraid, for awhile, that I might kill someone. Everyone
does, at a distance. But I never killed anyone, though that was only
personally.” (Alice Notley, “In the Pines,” 2007)
One must think of, but finally, I had to agree, not walk around naked, not in body or spirit. Not write about, when what is a word, at the risk of disconnection, no longer ask. What it would take. Acknowledge the dark, though with dreams in color and. If still possible. Moist skin against the page.
Around certain clusters of the dead, almost magnetically, a vortex of opacity gathers in the record.
I’m a Swede. I want you to be aware of this from the start because this fact is responsible for the strangest episode of my life, which I want to tell you about now.
There was once a tremor with no knowledge of itself, or of why it moved through the mantle in the way it did.
Often translated as “Family Constellation,” Familienaufstellung is a form of therapy developed in the 1990s by the German psychotherapist Bert Hellinger with roots in existential psychology, Gestalt psychology, and psychodynamic therapy.
With charmingly deadpan humor, Aki Sasamoto’s performances and installations tease out just how small human existence is; despite our more evolved intellect, advanced motor skills, and ability to read and appreciate Proust, we’re all basically rats at heart, just with the added bonus of self-reflection and a love for rosé.
In Killer of Sheep, Charles Burnett’s 1977 film set in LA after the Watts riots, there is a scene you may recall: a group of friends sit in a car outside a liquor store; on the hood rests a can of beer, and the man in the passenger seat reaches through the empty windshield to sip from it.
Ellen Cantor (1961–2013) was a prolific artist with an ardent vision that was personal, communal, and political. In the years before her untimely death, she had produced a complex body of work spanning painting, sculpture, drawing, and especially film and video. Her work—an open expression of her own sexuality—faced censorship battles in both the UK and Switzerland in the 1990s.
If you’ve ever taken a course about modern and contemporary art history, chances are you know that Minimalist sculptor Donald Judd wrote the lively essay “Specific Objects” in 1965. But you may not know that Judd wrote throughout his thirty-five-year career.
I forgot what it’s like to read erotica on the subway, how the steamier, hard-hitting scenes can really make the morning commute, well, awkward.
Reissued several times with different track listings and sequencing since its initial release, Third has finally been given the deluxe box-set treatment it has long deserved in the three-disc Complete Third, which gathers all known demos, rough and final mixes, and outtakes into one lovingly produced package.
A Quiet Passion, Terence Davies’s biopic about the poet Emily Dickinson, faces a problem typical of movies seeking to recreate the life of a literary figure: how to accommodate film to language, and, in particular, to Dickinson’s dense, elliptical, and unconventionally punctuated and often abstract poetry.
The basic conceit of Warm Equations is that a book can abstract the space of conversation typically delimited in front of paintings, that the thematics of a painter’s practice, in this case Alan Reid’s, can be constellated through a chorus of related texts.
Set in what translator Valerie Miles calls a “space of the imagination,” Edmundo Paz-Soldán’s new novel, Norte, uncovers its characters’ complicated relationships to expression and the trappings of readymade discourses. While some search for their norte, or direction, others are directionless and detached.
These two slim volumes, which are somehow stories, memoirs, meditations, diaries, and novels all in one, operate as much at the level of the sentence as that of the story.