Art and Photography
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Black Is Over (Or, Special Black) by Tressie McMillan Cottom with Artwork by Merav Kamel
Above: from the Sketchbook of Merav Kamel
I’m looking for a mixed girl Asian, Jamaican
I’m looking for a mixed girl Puerto Rican, Haitian
I’m looking for a mixed girl
Cuban and White
I’m trying to get mixed up tonight like
Excuse me miss, what’s your name, where ya
from, can I come—T-Pain, “Mix’d Girl”
“Black people are over.” That is how it was said to me once.
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“26 Letters Refuse to Whisper” by Lynne Jensen Lampe with Artwork by Carrie Wilmarth
Above: “UNTITLED,” 2020. Oil on Wood Panel, 9 x 12″
As for saying goodbye, we don’t know how.
Shoulder to shoulder we keep on walking.—Anna Akhmatova
_As for saying goodbye, I know howbut don’t want to surrender to thesechanged lives & cautious moments. COVID-19,death-o-matic, that’s what I call you. A period jabbed into the heart of a sentence.Each day I look out my window & -
Lula Bajek
“Lula’s work is tender and predatory. This predacity is an ability to open a wound by means of a picture. This wound is a gate to sensitive seeing.”
Bronka Nowicka
Girl
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Box
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Agnes
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“Diana the Thoroughbred” with Artwork by Rebecca Pyle
Above: “The Carousel and the Racehorse”
Pen, ink, and watercolor.They were headed for the track, one of the ones the Queen liked to enter her horses in. Gavin in his college days with friends had once gone to a track, but he had sworn then he would never bother again: it seemed a habit like smoking, sure to leave you wishing you had never begun, or like the habit of continually trying to meet girls, which would backfire, leave you apologizing or making excuses to half of them, not a spot you should want to find yourself in if you valued simplicity.
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Five poems from “Nomad” by João Luís Barreto Guimarães (translated from the Portuguese by António Ladeira and Calvin Olsen) Artwork by Anthony Ulinski
In the photographs of others
I am present in the past of lives I
have no knowledge of (men who saunter to the north
women who are headed south) in
photos
that tied me to several foreign cities
where my face remained retained
by mere chance. A photo is memory
(like a map
is voyage)
in them I’m anonymous at the corner of
a scene
just because I crossed that square
at that time.