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Channelizer
Walking in the city, my pace quickens as I’m directed into this construction that invariably makes me feel more vulnerable than I did on the unenclosed sidewalk. How strange to now pass through this structure on feet moving at museum pace.
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Stranger Fictions at “Rodney McMillian: The Black Show
The space at one moment is never the same as the space at the next, nor is your perception of it.
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Nora Chipaumire’s “Portrait of Myself as my Father”
Greeting us, blocking us, is The Champion.
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The Mischievous Guide
Appearing suddenly down the same path from which we entered: Otake swaddled in layers of fabric of differing weight–silk charmeuse with bamboo print and purple duvet majesty.
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Rest But Don’t Forget to Weep
The Colored Girls Museum contains harrowing levels of metaphoric entryways into once traumatized eyes of the black girl.
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The Sun is Just the Place Where the Sun Used to Be
The last weeks of summer carve out new space to be later filled with the anticipation of the next summer. The cycle continues.
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The Waves
We talked comfortably, I had a few beers, I was happy, she touched my arm. It was early. I felt buzzed, the day felt special.
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Thus Far
On a subjective level this often results in a true and deep sense of dread.
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Crumpling Skins
Antoni gave birth to me and ripped me to shreds. I was made of paper, a paper baby. I wanted her to eat me; instead, she left me in a pile in the corner of the gallery.
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“Paper Louise Tiny Fishman Rock” at the ICA
Exploring this exhibition meant looking at paintings done on carpet samples.