My love was bound in red silk,/ Thrust out forcefully to claim long-forgotten aristocratic titles/ When the ships of old have/ Taken on the air for water/ And it is blood they inhabit, not the/ Sweat falling
The floor is sticky with stuff you can only hope is beer and everyone is standing in front of their seat, talking with friends or strangers and jiggling up and down to the music in a sort of awkward pseudo-dance.
In an awkward distance of just a few feet apart, the two Maison Gerards form a doubling that echoes Ovid’s story of Narcissus, which makes them utterly unforgettable, and even fascinating, to a curious stranger.
If Slavoj Žižek were to find out I was using his 2002 book, "Welcome to the Desert of the Real," to prove that aliens exist peacefully, he would view my efforts as my own passion for the Real.
When an audience is presented with narratives in which women acknowledge their individuality over their motherhood, or even choose not to have children, it becomes difficult to separate a protagonist’s character flaws from their attempt at achieving a greater happiness.
To those of us who lived in Europe at the time, photos of Independence Square were immediately recognizable. They represented shared wounds and terrifying possibilities for the near future.
The female characters in Shakespeare's "Othello" are unknowingly thrown into the center of Iago’s villainous plot and used as pawns. How do they combat their circumstances and find power?
What are the ethical implications of an artist’s choice to portray their own protagonist in film and television? A comparative analysis of Woody Allen’s portrayal of Isaac Davis in "Manhattan" and Lena Dunham’s portrayal of Hannah Horvath in "Girls."
To the plethora of objections "Salò" and "Lolita" multifaceted works of art have encountered, I add one more challenge: Is this artwork really that necessary?