“Natural History Psychedelia”: Alexis Rockman’s “Great Lakes Cycle”
These works are about as subtle as a trainwreck, but they are surprisingly fun, despite their depressingly urgent call to take environmental responsibility.
These works are about as subtle as a trainwreck, but they are surprisingly fun, despite their depressingly urgent call to take environmental responsibility.
It’s a FFW live blog from your local friendly post calvin editor! This post will be updated throughout the weekend. Stay tuned for wise words and cheesy English major feelings.
Getting into the river was a comically tedious process. Everything was covered in a foot of snow, and the banks were mostly iced-over.
Local journalism can disappear without so much as a cry these days, and typically with only halfhearted protestation by the community.
Most people say that I shouldn’t let anything hold me back from doing great things. But I don’t have much desire to do great things. What are great things without the small things?
It was classy enough to rise above the dive bar ranks, but not so swanky that you couldn’t waltz in there with sweatpants and flip-flops.
My mom’s bread pudding is tried and true comfort food: warm, spongy mush flecked with cinnamon and sprinkled with raisins.
And for twenty-five minutes I am warm and more alive
than the seven hours and thirty-five minutes between walls and cabinets three floors above.
The light pooled on the horizon, stretching like taffy, growing and receding. When it faded away in one direction, we looked behind us to see it growing in another corner of the sky. It seemed to breathe.
In the middle of a freezing rain, we reached Dick’s Dome, a geodesic dome built to sleep four persons. There were eighteen people there.