"Crow Mountain." Translated by Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping. Asymptote, July 2015. When you read Can Xue's story "Crow Mountain," you're reading about a young girl who wishes to investigate a place. It's called Crow Mountain, but it's really a derelict
With his Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji, Katsushika Hokusai, whose prints are currently on exhibit at Boston's Museum of Fine Arts, seems to reinvent the very idea of point of view over and over again. He must have traveled widely
Ammi Phillips (1788–1865) was an itinerant portrait painter working his way across Connecticut, Massachusetts, and the state of New York in those earliest days of colonial New England. Though his work spans five decades, not much is known about him.
"Your paintings remind me of the work of Franz Marc." I received this comment (and, I think, compliment) some months ago from a young visitor to my website. It immediately reminded me of a 1912 painting of Marc's entitled Deer
For those who don’t know, Black Elk Speaks was written in 1932 by the poet John Neihardt, based on his translated conversations with Black Elk, an Oglala Lakota medicine man. Black Elk, who died in 1950, was a witness not
Gauguin’s “Spirit of the Dead Watching” (1892) The spirit in this painting reminds me of some of Rufino Tamayo’s human creatures. Here’s a large white eye and white lips etched into a dark face. The body is a hooded, cowl shape.
Larry Rivers, “Self Figure” (1953) Fractured energy plays across the surface of this work in oil on canvas. Ostensibly, it’s a painting of a single figure moving through space. To my mind, what’s represented here is not a person but an
“A Dry Cry from the Desert” (sculpture 1970) A wooden box—smooth and unfinished—perhaps of pine and still retaining the resinous smell of pitch. At the rear of the box—a drawing of a skeletal hand. In front of this—a three-dimensional skeletal hand—lightly
Línia discontínua (Discontinued Line), 1967 Mixed media on canvas Link to image in the Fundación Juan March (scroll to middle of page) All parts of this picture are white—not white exactly though, not the same white as new-fallen snow, not a winter white,
In many of his figurative paintings, the Mexican painter Rufino Tamayo makes human beings look strange. We have to look at them as if we’ve never seen such creatures before. He portrays human beings—in Spanish, seres humanos—as creatures and as