Featured Artists
Morgan Miller
Morgan Miller is a California based artist currently living and working in Brooklyn. She received her BA in History of Art and Visual Culture with an emphasis in Semiotics from University of California at Santa Cruz. Morgan began her art and curatorial production in 2004. From the start her work has revolved around portraiture and the nude figure. More recently her oeuvre has expanded into sculpture and site specific installation. Her work is currently featured in the film “Thank You More Please.”
Adam Henry Carriere
Told y'all not to take the Colts, or the over.
Notwithstanding the fact I now mostly live online (and have a dysfunctioning right extremity to attest to that) I cease to merely exist best when I travel. The photographs included in this latest excellent issue of Bicycle Review were taken on my second trip to Hesse; specifically, to the Frankfurt-am-Main Hauptfriedhof, or city cemetery. It is hard to overstate the impression this near forest of memoria made upon me. Whether it was the obelisk for the Hindenburg, the murmuring landscape straight out of von Weber, Marschner, and Wagner, or the single large stone family plots, wherein a father's inscription (and carved Iron Cross) will note his service in the 14th Hussars, 7th Bavarian Calkvary, 3rd Army, 1917 while a son's cross of iron will simply header 'Stalingrad'. Too, the poem graced among this issue's pages was written in the extremis of turbo Asiatic culture shock, during one of my myriad failed career moves. Both still ring lively in my mind, even as I stare out of the jail-like grey of my office louvers, toying with my mouse as if it had just scurried across my cell, er, desk.
Notwithstanding the fact I now mostly live online (and have a dysfunctioning right extremity to attest to that) I cease to merely exist best when I travel. The photographs included in this latest excellent issue of Bicycle Review were taken on my second trip to Hesse; specifically, to the Frankfurt-am-Main Hauptfriedhof, or city cemetery. It is hard to overstate the impression this near forest of memoria made upon me. Whether it was the obelisk for the Hindenburg, the murmuring landscape straight out of von Weber, Marschner, and Wagner, or the single large stone family plots, wherein a father's inscription (and carved Iron Cross) will note his service in the 14th Hussars, 7th Bavarian Calkvary, 3rd Army, 1917 while a son's cross of iron will simply header 'Stalingrad'. Too, the poem graced among this issue's pages was written in the extremis of turbo Asiatic culture shock, during one of my myriad failed career moves. Both still ring lively in my mind, even as I stare out of the jail-like grey of my office louvers, toying with my mouse as if it had just scurried across my cell, er, desk.