- Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Untitled (Prisoner) (2011) by Yvette Granata; inspired by the image of anonymous prisoner being transported, shackled, in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba
The three paintings in my “Untitled Guantanamo Bay Series” were an exercise on the representation of Guantanamo Bay.
- Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Night in the Ukraine (1871) by Ivan Aivazovsky. The artist was born (1817) and died (1900) in Feodosiya, Crimea.
- Tuesday, April 1, 2014
The Mantle is pleased to present the fourth in a series of important blog posts by Cæmeron Crain addressing critical concepts in contemporary political philosophy. Cæmeron's previous post explored the contours of life in what the philosopher Gilles Deleuze called a "Society of Control." In what follows, Cæmeron begins the difficult process of articulating a practice of resistance to the "diffuse matrix" of late-capitalist power.
- Monday, March 31, 2014
The world does not need another literary journal.
This might seem like an odd statement from someone who started a literary journal eighteen months ago. Perhaps I should add a “just” in that statement. The world does not need just another literary journal. It’s time for the literary journal to be more than just a book on a shelf or digital real estate on the Internet.
- Wednesday, January 29, 2014
The Kiss (1935) by Man Ray
The first dream is of a dry kiss. Her lips touch mine but something does not pass in the process. It was a hesitant affair; we were waiting on the sidelines, waiting to be taught. I have failed to imagine how she looked at me afterwards. How dissatisfied were we?
I think now, we hadn’t been taught to kiss.
- Tuesday, January 14, 2014
["Lost Objects of Desire", Basel Abbas & Ruanne Abou-Rahme, 2010, installation]
“War is no longer declared,
But rather continued. The courageous
Has become the everyday. The hero
Is absent from the battle. The weak
Are moved into the firing zone.
The uniform of the day is patience,
- Thursday, January 9, 2014
The Lonely Ones (1935) by Edvard Munch
“In traditional societies, everything that made sense of the world was real; the surrounding chaos existed and was threatening, but it was threatening because it was unreal. Without a home at the center of the real, one was not only shelterless, but also lost in non-being, in unreality. Without a home everything was fragmentation…