DAVID SMITH’S paintings depict vast, expansive spaces on a small, intimate scale. They use the chemical qualities of oil washes to disrupt, dissolve or decay the image surface. Light, space, time, weather, pollution and environmental decay play against natural elements. The works push noise against signal and create tension between the illusion of image and a […]
There are services these days where one can be cremated and grown alongside a bunch of seeds. I like the idea of becoming a tree. I’d like to be a tree somewhere where trees thrive. Where they won’t be chopped down and made into hospital pamphlets. Somewhere that won’t cost you much to fly in from San Francisco. For argument’s sake I didn’t go anywhere from here and it’ll be a grand old reunion.
It went something like this: Dear Ann: I recently married a mortician. Although I had previously participated in heavy petting, technically, I was still a virgin. On our wedding night my husband told me to soak in a cold bath until my body was frigid. He then instructed me to lie on the bed without […]
‘So, I hear that you won’t be shaving your head.’ The crack of the rusk broken into two unequal halves by hand may have awakened the dead. Spirally arranged like collapsed domino tiles on a chipped plate with blue daisies and their silver stems etched along the circumference—the finest china of the house—a varied selection […]
It was the year you woke up in ICU with all fifteen of us (against hospital protocol, but then everyone thought you were dying) staring at you and tubes wormed their way down your throat, and you sat up, lay back down, sat up again, waving arms, miming for a pen and when there was none, your fingers danced (Mozart? Picasso?) along the sheet that lay over your atrophied legs, writing questions in invisible ink.