Category: Arts

Masks and Motherhood: Reflections on Simon Stone’s Medea

A consideration of a modern reimagining of an ancient play

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Refusal, Or: Three Cauliflower Ears

In which a Nass writer celebrates the work of prominent surrealist Leonara Carrington.

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He Watches Over Me

Artwork.

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Stephens Fitness Center

So it is cozy. You might say small. Or even absurdly tiny.
And it is busy. Teeming, if you prefer. Perhaps you stand a greater chance of being struck by lightning while clutching a winning lottery ticket and barebacking flying swine than eyeing an open elliptical machine during peak hours.

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Review: Neeta Patel’s “time is a floating point number.”

Patel’s senior thesis show […] is an intelligent meditation on text, handwriting, and the act of recording.

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June 15, 1936

Billy stands in the stern, chin tilted upward and twenty-gauge at his feet, dipping that pole into the night water like a gondolier and pulling us along in rhythm. My arm muscles are getting sore as I steady the sides so that the boat doesn’t tip us over into the swamp like it did last week; my legs stretch out and brace the gunwales, my feet lie in the caked mud that crumbles off Billy’s boots.

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The Adventuring

The dragon now is yawning With the sun’s new dawning And greedily is fawning O’er the gold of fallen fighters of yore. Meanwhile D & D dice are rolling To represent fearsome fighting While from a cloud with silver lining … Read More

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The Male Gaze

As I sat in the darkness of the Black Box theater, the words of Maude, Julianne Moore’s character in The Big Lebowski, echoed through my head. I did not know what to expect from these mysterious Vagina Monologues. As a man, I was prepared to be confronted, prepared to be unwelcome

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Naked

Monday evening at ten of seven, I finish my dinner at Rocky dining hall, walk down Witherspoon Street to the Arts Council of Princeton, and make my way to the theater on the second floor. Minutes later I stand in the center of the room on a podium, naked, with the eyes of a dozen middle-aged strangers trained on me.

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A Snap

A snap. Audible, no, probably not. But tenable, real. Crack. The sound that comes when you break. I know. I broke two days ago. It was afternoon, or evening, I’m not certain. Snapped from everything. I was a leaf, all … Read More

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Jargon of Inauthenticity

Academia is awash with fifty dollar words that few can buy. Those terms, spoken in a certain style, presented in papers, at conferences, 4:30 lectures, were once music to my ears. Now all I hear is the caustic evasion of … Read More

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Tadao Ando, ma and Me

“Walking through French Baroque palaces-turned-museums and pushing through crowds at the New York Met is a traditional, storied cultural method of viewing Great Masters hanging in gilded frames on the walls. Walking into the Monet room at the Chichu Art Museum in Naoshima, Japan, however, is more like visiting a shrine.”

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