Retrospective, Agnes Martin
painstaking grid of immanence appearing effortless as leaves or ice [...]
painstaking grid of immanence appearing effortless as leaves or ice [...]
The woman was going away for the summer, taking the [...]
I wept for days, and the tears I wiped became [...]
It was her saint’s day and it was a day [...]
I had never thought about the ethics of memoir for [...]
Eyes attuned to what moves at our sides in the [...]
Big Fred’s roughcut sawmill was built on a patch of [...]
We sit behind the wheel of her father’s red convertible, [...]
Around me, the bubble is June-light, is silence, a cat [...]
Michael Steffen, Boston-area poet, interviews DeWitt Henry about his most [...]