BOMB 141 Fall 2017
The filmmaker tracks the development of his research-based cinema from evocations of childhood memory to adaptations of Indian paintings and literature.
Ives discusses chasing false lures, testing the limits of relationships, and what’s been cut from her novel Impossible Views of the World.
Embracing boredom and creative constraints, Katchadourian tells of in-flight artwork and other conceptual projects.
A landscape painter explores the “bright, exuberant, plastic toxicity” oozing from the colors of our contemporary environment.
By casting actors to perform as herself, Bocanegra considers “the nature of presentation itself.” Lili Taylor stars in her Farmhouse/Whorehouse at BAM’s Next Wave Festival this December.
The German philosopher holds forth on love, diagrams, and his particular style of oration. His book Inconsistencies will appear in English this fall from MIT Press.
Two artists find a mutual fascination with both the aesthetic qualities of repetition and the mechanical means of reproduction.
Renee Gladman is the author of ten works of prose and poetry, most recently Calamities, a collection of essay-fictions. Her first monograph of drawings, Prose Architectures, was published by Wave Books in 2017. She lives in New England with the poet-ceremonialist Danielle Vogel.
When he could no longer stand her chatter—in France I made myself a dress of leaves stitched together with stems and I wore it by that river, the big one, the sludge, and that’s how I met many interesting boyfriends from the National Geographic Magazine—he left Nancy on the hotel roof with the chef from Mumbai.
Lee Lai is an artist from Melbourne, Australia, currently living in Tio’tia:ke (known as Montreal, Quebec). Her comics and illustrations are part fiction, part memoir, part emotional journalism.
They say that, for the longest time, Enrique didn’t know he was a superman. What he understood was that men liked his dick.
You might be an heir to the throne,
but I’ve abolished the monarchy
before the sun comes out
and washes away the DayGlo.
A boy is burying his sister.
They are playing at being dead.
(I cannot forget Breakneck Ridge.)
The canoe is covered in canvas, and something is trapped in the weave, deep under the shellac. A knot perhaps, or stitch.
Following loosely in the tradition of the book-length photo-essay yoking images to text in a documentary mode, Cole has gently torqued this form.
Comics have a good chance of surviving ecological disaster. Unlike, for example, blue-chip video art, there may be a place for hand-drawn sequential graphics after floodwaters recede.
It is both a memoir of Lindon’s literary friendships and a treatise on survival, a tribute to the friends whose care and love, in Lindon’s words, saved his life, even as they were themselves lost.
In the early 1960s, Eduardo Coutinho began shooting a film about the murder of Brazilian trade unionist João Pedro Teixeira.
The Wake—Paul Kingsnorth’s 2014 debut novel, which chronicles the life of an Anglo-Saxon during the Norman Conquest—has since gained a disturbing resonance with the recent surge and codification of nationalism that is Brexit.
I met Mark in 2012 on a two-week tour from Montreal to Kentucky. He had just released a set of home recordings from 1976 called Digging in the Dust on the Tompkins Square label, and we had a great time driving around and getting to know each other.
If you’re craving a larger dose of antihero than the typical binge watch can offer, you might turn your gaze back to Sondheim and Weidman’s Assassins.
Picture an area the size of Manhattan covered in sand. It rises and falls and disappears.