Indigenous Peoples
Iñupiaq futures, language, and the spaces between performance and installation.
It’s rare that as a writer I am left speechless by a performance. Writing becomes like swimming for the first time: relearning how to breathe. What can abandonment by words afford a writer besides drowning? Perhaps a lesson in listening.
On August 16, the Hikianalia, a seventy-two-foot dual-hulled Polynesian voyaging canoe from Hawaii set out across the Pacific for California, powered by the winds, tides, two solar-charged propellers (for emergencies), and a thirteen-person crew.
Performance and community.
Films that combine documentary and poetics.
Resetting the narrative of contemporary indigenous culture in the Americas.
Wheatpasting portraits on the Navajo Nation.
“Literature is a way of establishing the humanness of others. It’s interested in the relationships between people, between authenticity and truth. That in itself has to make us better disposed to each other.”
A modestly sized but nonetheless ambitious blend of catalog, monograph, and artist’s project, the book accompanies a touring exhibition of the same name which opened at the Contemporary Arts Center, New Orleans, in March 2016.
“I won’t open my palm for those wanting to dominate.”
Blunt yet intoxicating, James Gray’s The Lost City of Z betrays its outsize ambitions and pained revisionism with every last scene
Tommy Pico’s IRL searches the catacombs of history and hashtags of today to create what can’t be salvaged.
“I’m a nontraditionalist being a traditionalist creating nontraditional art, which means that I’m just making art.”
“It was no longer important to be accurate. I came to understand that imagination and dreams were as important to them as any fact.”
Broken and accidental topographies in The Obituary, a new novel by Gail Scott.
Write this. We have burned all their
villages
This is for when you get here. You have to be prepared. Somebody has to warn you.
Essay by Ambar Past. Contributions by Mikaela Días Días, Xpetra Ernándes, Sluz Hernández, Manwela Kokoroch, Rosa López Kómes, Loxa Jiménes Lópes, Roselia Montoya, Xunka’ Utz’utz Ni’, Antel Péres Ok’il, Munda Tostón, María Tzu, and María Xila.
“In my novels, when two people finally get together, finally are able to declare a love for each other, finally able to live together, it’s because they have exhausted all negative possibilities.”
“The first level of risk is very private; most of the time I feel I’m writing against a silence, against a taboo, against what has not been written; and if it has been written, there’s no reason for me to write it.”
