There's a powerful new mural in New York City: at 22 East 2nd Street in Lower Manhattan, seven mothers are painted in front of bold, colorful stripes. These are all mothers whose sons have been killed by violence from the state.
For weeks, a flat panel screen in Minneapolis’ Third Place Gallery showed projections from Allison Bollah’s video project Tell Me About Your Mother. There is no speech, no music or sound, merely images of people responding to the phrase “tell me about your mother” and other personal questions. Every bite of the lip and glance sideways reveals each person’s intimate story.
Yesterday Gawker reported that Girls creator Lena Dunham would not be paying the opening acts on the tour for her book Not That Kind of Girl. This was a galling financial revelation given that this is not a typical book tour—an author with a miniscule travel budget hoping to fill seats at a few bookstores—but a 12-city extravaganza where tickets to see the author and opening local performers were going for $38 a pop. By the end of the day, Dunham had responded to the criticism with a pledge to pay the opening acts.
In early August, a team of six people fanned out across the New York City subway system, putting up sticky notices that look like the could be official city notices. But if subway riders stopped and read the small posters, they would see that they actually bore the image of a pair of hands and a message about abortion.
I associate the phrase “Live Through This” with Hole’s 1994 album of the same name—itself a nod to Vivien Leigh’s Gone With The Wind monologue, or perhaps Courtney Love’s own tumultuous coming of age. New York-based photographer Dese’Rae L. Stage (above) sees it instead as a mantra for those who have survived suicide attempts. In a way, “Live Through This” is a dare.
An Oregon Christmas tree farm worker, photographed as part of the Pineros project.
In 100 different homes across Portland this winter, Christmas trees were adorned with unusual ornaments: instead of tiny Santas and candycanes, the evergreen branches were also graced with glass ornaments etched with the name of a farmworker who helped grow and harvest the tree.
The scene is familiar to any fancy home design magazine reader: the perfectly appointed living space full of gleaming surfaces, fluffed up pillows, artfully arranged flowers next to tasteful objets d’art. But painted in to this pristine domestic landscape is the woman who is actually responsible for the polishing and dusting and cleaning of the space—Edith, a brown-skinned woman waiting for her check.