“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
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.”
In his latest film, Ama: The Memory of Time, Salvadoran poet and filmmaker Daniel Flores y Ascencio records the oral history of shaman Don Juan Ama, who witnessed the murder of his uncle, the leader of a 1932 indigenous revolt in El Salvador.
Miguel León-Portilla is a man smiled upon by the gods, or the muses—Clio, in particular.
Miguel León-Portilla teamed up with Earl Shorris to assemble this magnum opus of Mesoamerican literature, and in this task they achieve nothing less than the human and divine.
That far downtown, the Hudson can smell leaf green and has an oceanic glint. Overlooking freshets and container ships, the retired Explorer occupies steep rooms in a building where Thomas Edison invented the rotary telephone.
The stories our parents tell answer none of our questions.