Each stroke of my rosined-up bow across the strings sounded, in my ears, akin to an injured animal. But my family seemed to enjoy my musical masochism.
The luck of a red-eye makes you wonder if it is a delusion you’re experiencing from a lack of sleep, or if this is that “God” that they speak of, entertaining himself at the expense of your confusion and misery.
There are a number of different narratives about the climate crisis. Some provoke hope or despair, others instill fear, and others still provoke apathy or outright denial. Perhaps neither of these portrayals are correct. Perhaps both of them are.
Although the internet has always depended on circulation, particularly since the visual turn, it is when those aesthetics begin to originate online that the source of our reality begins to falter.
Through photography, Chambi found himself in conversation with the two cultural identities of Peru—Spanish and indigenous Peruvians. His photographic legacy is somehow still potent and representative of communities of people born out of tension.
The summer I turned twenty-one was also the summer I spent readying myself to leave California. Perhaps most difficult was leaving the Pacific Ocean, the body of water I felt so certain I belonged to.
