Poetry
Evel Knievel
Contributor
Jamey JonesJAMEY JONES is from Pensacola, FL where he has long been an active proponent of all things poetry. His works include the book Blue Rain Morning (Farfalla, 2011), and the chapbooks the notebook troubled the sleep door and Twelve Windows, both from brown boke Press.
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Hell is a Place on Earth. Heaven is a Place in Your Head.
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As COVID-19 continues to proliferate throughout New York City, forcing all art institutions to remain closed to the public, museums and galleries have been scrambling to convert their programming to an online-only format. A standout example of this adaptation is P.P.O.W.’s current presentation, Hell is a Place on Earth. Heaven is a Place in Your Head.
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Marble benches, Anatolian weavers, and Madonnas: Shannon Bool and Daisy Desrosiers
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If you work in a really involved way with materials, you inhabit this realm of translation, in a sense, because the preoccupation with material systems stays within these specific languages. You didn’t pick a broad topic that you could put things into. You picked one that has to become a process.
Walking: Foot as Conduit
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Is there a force coming up out of the earth that we absorb through our feet while walking? This question has been vapor, been a ghost, been there invisible throughout my walking life. We’d walked, following Richard Jefferies, the 19th-century nature-mystic who came here before, to White Horse Hill and standing above on a green hill that at that moment had been turned into an island, an ephemeral grey sea washing in around its base. Into the green turf carpeting White Horse Hill is cut the Uffington Horse. One hundred meters long, we walked slowly, mindfully from tail-tip to head, dropping between its ears, to stand in its table-like eye where for the first time real words condensed onto my tongue and I said them aloud. What Richard Jefferies knew he absorbed directly from the earth through the bottom of his feet as he walked.
