The first time I saw Ryan Adams perform I was working at a free concert on July 4, 2003, in Battery Park. My job was to stand backstage and get whatever anyone needed—food, water, sun block.
Salon 94 Freemans recently opened for the season with an exhibition of new black-and-white pictures by the artist Carter. The images, made large-scale by tiling laser printouts, variously depict elegant interiors, figures, and marble sculptures.
Printmaker Michael Wertz lays his large-scale lino print on the asphalt of Rhode Island Street. Arms crossed, he waits for the steamroller to come by.
The Adderall Diaries, a nonfiction work written by Stephen Elliott and out this month, is not a book about Adderall. And though Elliott’s intent was to focus on the murder trial of Hans Reiser, It really isn’t even a book
Emory Douglas joined the Black Panther Party soon after it was formed in 1966, and quickly began to work on the party’s newspaper, the Black Panther.
There’s a frustration I face with modern photography—glossy spreads in magazines and head shots and landscapes. With the advent of Photoshop, everything just looks too perfect.
Cheryl Dumesnil’s first book In Praise of Falling is the winner of the 2008 Agnes Lynch Starrett Poetry Prize. It begins with the Zen proverb, “Fall down seven times, get up eight.” This proverb could be a mantra for any aspiring writer.
On the occasion of Dread Scott’s public art project …Or Does it Explode? in Philadelphia, the artist exchanged emails with BOMB Managing Editor Nick Stillman. Scott’s provocative work challenges pedestrians in Philadelphia’s bustling Logan Square to consider the fate of local high schoolers will be on view through November.
What, at this point in time, can we make of a man,” the narrator of Jacques Jouet’s most recent novella, Savage, asks himself.