BOMB 4 Fall 1982
Painter Michael McClard talks with Betsy Sussler about his work, which focuses on mythology and the stars.
Novelist, translator and editor Paul Bowles tells David Seidner about his literary career and life, spanning the greater part of the 20th century: working with Tennessee Williams, moments with Gertrude Stein, and a distaste for Wagner.
Olivier Mosset’s monochrome paintings became figurative walls for graffiti artist Fred Brathwaite. The two artists discuss their work’s purposeful and inherent intersections in “Clinton Street.”
Finding pleasure in the color and order of the grid, painter Georgia Marsh speaks with Betsy Sussler about art as a means of description and finding rhythm in the world around us.
A girl sits in her room by the window, which is open to the evening. She is robed demurely in white.
The evening before the wedding I drove out to Eastern Long Island.
The following are abridged sections from a longer work of the same title which comprises Book 1 of the novel, At Night.
I was shopping for Kielbasa, but it was the end of the day for the butchers at the A and P, and they were breaking down the meat section, so I settled for a package of frozen Jones Breakfast Links.
I know he’s here somewhere. Somewhere he’s here. I sit and wait for him in a lonely place in a lonely town. Sometimes I go looking for him, but mostly I sit and wait. I’m sitting and waiting. Now. Here. Nowhere.
Principia Martindale often stood in at the foot of his grave and wondered what it must have been like to have lived in the presence of such an inspired man of God.
Oh Melissa stop it. Don’t be an evil bunny, Claude tells Melissa Dogg.
In much the same way that painting changed with the development of photography, writing has changed with the development of the tape recorder.
I have to sneak off soon with my camera, when it’s dark, to take those pictures of buildings I’ve been promising myself.
6. Sitting here I see through the glass restaurant door, a three-foot wide rivulet of black water, flowing, now stagnant, against cobblestones, each one slightly apart from the ones surrounding it.
Somewhere between goodnight and goodbye, you realize something that boils down to talk.
I. Everything was going wrong.
The Peeper was up early, right on schedule.
Bloodshot eyes scan the face reflected in the mirror on the medicine chest. “Oh, baby,” whispers a raspy voice, “what have you done now?”
It was the last day of filth grade, 1953.
Joseph Burke said there is something special between Lucy and me: as if we are brother and sister; the parents left us in the house once, never returned: and we are living on in the house doing clever things.
I was sorting out some things the other day and came across a plastic bag.
An exhibition of the work of Susan Rothenberg, one time proto-punk and current mistress of the iconography of angst, will occur at the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam this fall.
The stigma currently upon abstract painting is such that it must either be deserved, or, as some argue, proof that abstraction was a century-long anomaly in the course of modern art, and exhausted.
Twelve works (oil paintings and sculptures, including one of bread mold by Kristen Huntley) by provocative, then up-and-coming artists assembled by Elizabeth Murray.
Two acrylic paintings, Dresser Set and Sukio, by Robin Bruch.
Detail of Shitting and Laughing by Ross Bleckner.
Acrylic and wax painting by Shelley Kaplan.
Acrylic painting with raw pigment on canvas, Monk and Bedding by Stephen Mueller.
Untitled painting, oil on canvas, by Terry Winters.
Oil painting of a two car pile up, Moondance #2 by Abbott Burns.
Photograph by Tseng Kwong Chi of Keith Haring creating a subway drawing.
Oil on canvas portrait of Anya Phillips by Walter Steding.
Alf Young makes portraits by suspending, one at a time, several lengths of sheer fabric in front of his subject.
Working for Isamu Noguchi in the 1980s, Bobbie Oliver saw the time this artist took to study a stone before altering it in any way.