The Artist’s Choice

The Wanderer looks ahead. The tails of his dusky green frock coat ruffle in the wind as he summits a hilltop, his left leg forward and his knee slightly bent, casually holding a walking stick in his right hand. The sharp, craggy edges of the cliff are wet and lustrous under his feet. One can only imagine the expression on the Wanderer’s face––his back is turned and so it is hidden from the viewer’s eye.

After Manet: The Wife, the Fish, and the Philosopher

She had fair and healthy skin, slightly red on the cheeks, and flawlessly taut around the eyes. Her aquiline nose was the most prominent feature of her face, protruding over shapely lips. Brown eyes, light like unripened almonds, were half-covered by sleepy eyelids, and framed subtly by modest brows.

A Bridge Between You and Everything: An Exhibition of Iranian Women Artists

In the group exhibition A Bridge Between You and Everything many artworks are slightly concealed. Sometimes the veil is a thin coat of blue paint, or a glaze of dirty water blurring the black ink, or fully opaque, jet-black brush strokes over pictures of famous landmarks.

A Man Who Dreams: Walton Ford’s “Barbary”

On a foggy, grim October evening in 1913, the famous Barnum’s Circus was transporting its animals and equipment through the cobblestone streets of Leipzig, Germany, when a streetcar collided with one of its carriages. Inside this particular carriage were eight Barbary lions from North Africa, all of whom escaped and disappeared into the mist. For four long hours, wild beasts haunted the city’s dark alleyways, before the lions were hunted down and killed by local police. […]

The End of Writing, or Ursula Monkton

This is a story about monsters. I met one on a hot summer day on the subway to Coney Island. While listening to an audiobook, ‘The Ocean at the End of the Lane’ (HarperCollins, 2013), read by its author Neil Gaiman, he gave a name to someone I already knew well: “The thing that called itself Ursula Monkton hung in the air, about twenty feet above me, and lightnings crawled and flickered in the air behind her.” […]