The hospital was uptown on First Avenue, big, pale, and brand new, its atrium lobby with windows two stories high. Ivy held her son’s hand crossing bright squares on a white floor.
A camera mutes or sharpens various aspects of self, but it seems that the bigger behavioral nudge was not the time spent in front of the camera but rather the experience of watching their life flipped back upon them. Is there such a thing...
I didn’t recognize you when I saw you because you looked exactly the same as you did in 2017 and it was absurd that you wouldn’t have changed at all. I assumed you were someone from outside of my life until your forehead turned red like it...
With her essay “Social Distortions,” Laura Kolbe wraps up a brief but impressive run as a columnist for this magazine: six installments that brought more than three dozen works—from film to textiles to sculpture—to bear on essays that are...