On a particular February 2011, afternoon, I spent part of the day in June Leaf’s studio, watching her work, and listening to her talk about her work. As I sat in a wooden office chair, I watched Leaf busily untangling some strands of stiff wire with her bare hands. The wire was pinched in a […]
The house felt like Christmas, at least that’s all young Louie Laszlo could think to compare it to. Mama made a special dinner, cleaned the house more thoroughly than her nurse’s job usually allowed, and lit the scented candles. All of this was unprecedented for a midsummer’s eve, but in his trusting youth Louie had […]
Itinerant Architectures is a series of sculpture, installations, architectural interventions and site-specific works. Drawing on ideas of the nomadic, the transient, opportunism and frontierism, it considers domestic civilization that springs up on the fringe of the wild. The sculpture series is constructed from junked mobile home trailers, taking what was architectural space and rendering it into abstract form.
Windows of deserted factories shimmer on a humid night in the parking lot lights as we stand absorbed in thought looking down the empty street. I am reluctant to break the long silence enclosing us. Sounds travel heavily through the thick moist air like the distant flapping of wings. Something invisible brushes against us. “Is […]
Only two days after Brian met her at a cocktail party, he walked out the front door of his home on Cape Cod, left it all behind: the ocean view, the bank account, the credit card, the mortgage, the car payments, the wife, the three kids, the kit, the caboodle. With nothing more than the […]
“Yearning for homeland!”, a poem by Marina Tsvetaeva, translated by Katherine Pisarro-Grant, as part of the 2106 Poetry Month special, with a photo by Philip Pocock.
Nowhere to Go A paw emerged threatening my conscience Your scent eludes me. A needle punctures a tire A bomb explodes Scoring the walls. Roof Dog, Ave. B, E. 4th & E. 5th St., 1981, photograph by Philip Pocock -Maria Lisella
MONKEYS ON CRESTON AVENUE The Bronx, 1985 B–short for Beatrice–was the last of the Irish living at 2208 Creston Avenue. When I moved there in ‘75 her older brother was staying with her after a stroke prevented him from walking without the aid of a wiry, wheeled contraption resembling a shopping cart. Across the street […]
As The Insurance Dwindles In this house made of wood mother formulates ancestry cleans the fish and makes the rooms habitable despite the incessant drilling. As the insurance dwindles in each room an ornament rejoices, a call girl smoothes the upholstery and a judgment curses high and low. Each closet is filled with white mice […]
Exiguity I never get mad, I get even — written in glitter on the broad back of a fat man’s blue jean jacket. Everything faded except the dust & grease. Grace being a monument not to survival, but to resignation of divinity. As words are yellow farts in the wind when rain is out to […]