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Lasting Art: A Review of Cole Swensen’s Art in Time
Art in Time is a book that resists the idea of it ever becoming a “timeless work of art.” For poet,
translator, and academic Cole Swensen, the very notion of a “timeless work of art” not only implies a
refusal to engage with the present moment, but also exposes a fundamental problem in our viewership:
our tendency of looking at rather than from within. In this collection of lyric essays, Swensen studies
the work of twenty artists, all of whom have “found ways through landscape to become an active
element in the view and its viewing.”The book itself remains neatly tied to its own present moment.
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Milen Neykov
Neykov’s photography captures vast scenes where the archetypes are at large.
Margarita Serafimova
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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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Five Poems from “In the morning we are glass” by Andra Schwarz (translated from the German by Caroline Wilcox Reul) Artwork by Hannu Töyrylä
In the morning we are glass
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Am morgen sind wir aus glas
My hands reach into emptiness what is left under earth
I walk to the black mill at its edge the spring
nothing moves I still hear the grinding of wheels
the spray of water and how they revolve decades
in the millworks the building the dismantling the change
finally the child from then no one knows what might have been
every year another ring grows wolves prowl in the
forest now that I’m gone everything is large & -
Four Poems by Bronka Nowicka from “To Feed the Stone” (translated from the Polish by Katarzyna Szuster) Drawings by Lula Bajek
Box
Mother doesn’t know that heaven exists. She’s getting a double chin from looking down. Her head, as heavy as an iron, presses that fold down.
Father keeps getting in mother’s way. He’s short. To reach grown-up things, he needs to stand on his tippy-toes or get a chair. He just moved it by pressing his belly against the seat. Now he points to the cushions. He needs them stacked to reach the table. He clambers up, props his elbows on the counter covered with an oilcloth, next to a spoon,
