In Which the Magpie Takes to the Field
De Maria’s field of lightning . . . Thoreau’s “botany boxes” . . . James Schuyler’s salute to the past
De Maria’s field of lightning . . . Thoreau’s “botany boxes” . . . James Schuyler’s salute to the past
The haunting of Rooney Mara . . . a delivery room turned walk-in closet . . . Ain Gordon’s “Radicals in Miniature”
The stuff we talk about after we finish with our weekly outrage.
Puppies . . . daffodils . . . surveillance-proof cloaks
A synthetic desert . . . a forest made of foam . . . the privilege of quiet
Fukushima’s radioactive boars . . . Ovidian transformations . . . Amy Sillman’s “After Metamorphoses”
A dog and her birthday pancake . . . the fate of Old Yeller et al . . . Thomas Roma’s dog shadow photographs
Mike Nichols’s films . . . Hannah Höch’s cut-outs . . . Wallace Stevens’s jar on a hill
Spacepeople perch in trees . . . prisoners in the desert read the stars . . . escalators lead the way to the Big Bang
An island receives an unexpected party . . . a prize is granted . . . a large problem is solved.
“My nearly weeping when I watch Lil Buck dance is because I’m not sure this is allowed anymore.”
In which the Magpie finds direction in the grids of Agnes Martin.
In which the Magpie tells Hillary: You can go home again.
Novels are also mirror rooms, in a way; we read them “to see our reflections transformed, to wear another’s face.”
Wherein a question is posed: Is the Magpie a locksmith?
Sunflowers, Beyoncé, Orlando, bodies in hot magenta light.