There’s something special about the anonymous graffiti artist with his own cult following.
After my wedding, I began looking for a language for the partnership, both metaphorical and actual, I seemed to have contracted.
Transforming craft into an act of protest against indifference is something women have done for centuries.
The plight of Little Jamaica fits into a cycle of development that allows formerly thriving Black neighbourhoods to fall into neglect.
Bob Fosse’s current revival makes sense, but the wave of appreciation will also be a reckoning: moral immunity has been rescinded for geniuses.
Every time someone sees me as either white or black, I wonder, is passing an act of capitulation, or resistance? A rejection of identity, or of identification?
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