In his writings on cultural objects, Adorno self-consciously employed a prismatic and monadological method. The idea was to approach each cultural object as a monad, as a self-contained entity that, if viewed properly, could prismatically illuminate the character of the social totality. This essay seeks to apply a similar method to a work by Donald Judd: Untitled (1967).

“It is another day.”

“the best music always comes from somewhere else”

Ken Collins’s portrait of Richard Diebenkorn, used to promote the recent L.A. Louver show of his works on paper, is peculiar in its emphasis on the distance between the camera and its subject . . .

A vision of the grotesque, our morbid fascination with violence, and the aestheticization of war…

“…the triptych painfully reminds us that the form today signifies a broken totality that can only be unified, at best, by an act of artistic creation.”

And I wondered if I was awake or asleep, if it was the moon's paleness or Lucifer's, if it was midnight or dawn!

As if frozen in time, drone music has not developed as an art form since Young's Dream Houses, & has mostly been barbarized into a muddy ambience and cheap theatrics

It seems to have been forgotten, in recent years, that the basic relationship of the artist to the world in modernity is one of estrangement.

In memory of Brice Marden (1938-2023)

“She’s trying to paint me into a corner with her question mark army. She’s wanting to light my pants on fire. She seems super mad at me.“

The 17th series in the ongoing collaboration between George Quasha’s preverbs and Susan Quasha’s photographic work.

Adam, you were the one with brooding eyes and a Cheshire smile.

Ten poems translated from the Greek by Pria Louka.

Four poems from Émile Verhaeren’s Tentacular Cities (1895) translated from the French by Jacob Siefring.

Seven poems by Francisco Segovia translated by Katherine Silver, with artwork by Carolie Parker.

Excerpt from Ann Quin’s novel Tripticks, introduced by Austin Carder.

Eight poems with drawings from the chapbook Comes a Time.

Poems by Losarc Raal for Tamas Panitz’s Steak Phase

Is interactivity really the same freedom that art is supposed to help us access?