AG2026_1211969a or a continuity


Solvent transfer, graphite, colored pencil, ink, gouache, acrylic, and enamel paint on paper. 18 x 12 inches. 2026. Donated to Locust Projects’ Art Auction.


Melvin Edwards’s obituary. (Frieze)

“His travels to Ghana, Nigeria, Togo and Benin informed his understanding of sculpture as a form of cultural continuity, leading him to create public works that fused African traditions with contemporary abstraction?. “

032026


(The essay on modesty) (in application for) (bodily autonomy)

          (She lost that case) (on (wide is the gate))  (rhetorically memorable)

                        (Arbiter rise)

(Attracted to) (the most minor) (advantages) (adopting gendered props)

          (Assaying willingness)                       (I notice a certain scarlet letter)

(Dream of a house) (it can’t be mine) (vast roominess)

                        (Dream of a beach) (but it’s a beach with a                 problem)

          (In the smug of your (natural woman))               (I have had (a stain) (a conceit))

                                    (Despite appearances (allegedly))

          (A medical person) (declares the injury a                                     non-emergency)

(The essay on modesty), Krystal Languell


From the shores of oval oceans


Constance Debré was in conversation about her work with writer and critic Alice Blackhurst. (LRB, 2024)


Also, her website.


A flock of dreams
browse on Necropolis

From the shores
of oval oceans
in the oxidized Orient

Onyx-eyed Odalisques
and ornithologists
observe
the flight
of Eros obsolete

And “Immortality”
mildews …
in the museums of the moon

Lunar Baedeker, Mina Loy

And I reach out my hand and pluck a nectarine



Goaded and harassed in the factory
That tears our life up into bits of days
Ticked off upon a clock which never stays,
Shredding our portion of Eternity,
We break away at last, and steal the key
Which hides a world empty of hours; ways
Of space unroll, and Heaven overlays
The leafy, sun-lit earth of Fantasy.

Beyond the ilex shadow glares the sun,
Scorching against the blue flame of the sky.
Brown lily-pads lie heavy and supine
Within a granite basin, under one
The bronze-gold glimmer of a carp; and I
Reach out my hand and pluck a nectarine.


The Matrix, Amy Lowell