Prolific
Nicole Eisenman.
In Universes, Emet North
There are many universes in which we fuck and many more in which we don't. So Emet North claims in this springy novel that follows a group of queer people across the multiverse. Trauma castles, horses, mediocre sex, kind fathers, and the profundity of sand castles start to glitch as the reader reaches the halfway mark. The trauma novel is reborn--this time wondering if science can solve heartbreak. The answer? Time will tell.
“What Happened” Nicole Eisenman at the MCA
A feast. Eisenman paved the way for endless contemporary figurative painters, to witness her art is like a burst of ecstasy. From loners to women haggling for power to her evocative work about the failure of the artist, she’s a legend for a reason. Well-curated to boot with nice breadth, breasts, and colors. The fantastic and the satirical come alive in her depictions of Swamp Things and lonely Zoom calls. Accessible, poppy, and full of soul.
Cielo Félix-Hernández: “Sweet and Sour”
With neon-green paintings and bright chewy brush strokes, Cielo Félix-Hernández depicts her familial home in Puerto Rico. "Sweet and Sour," her solo debut at Sargent's Daughter in LA was a lush display of joy in shimmering green hues. Playing with the color of plantains and imagery of isolation and community, she considers the lone woman walking past chickens, mirrors, pools, and palm trees. It's a poignant look at loneliness and rest with vibrant, saturated hues. Sometimes a lone chicken walks across the canvas, as if in search of its other half.
Heroines Reissue, Kate Zambreno
I’ve been trying to wrap my head around a word that bothers me. “Prolific.” When considering the l’ecrit feminine of Kate Zambreno’s recently reissued Heroine, I was reminded of why I find this word so prickly. It feels linked to class and gender. Zambreno makes this argument in Heroine when discussing the wives of the modernists. She insists on the importance of marginalia. Let all frilly things become too much and expand to fill tomes, diaries, notebooks. This too much-ness is also something Jules Gill-Peterson tackles in A Short History of Transmisogyny, the idea that the most feminine may be utopian rather than ruinous.
When a woman is prolific, even if she is doing so in order to, let’s say, pay her bills, it is believed to be impossible that she’s doing it all well. She must be writing microplastics and regurgitating the same three trite arguments. Sometimes I worry I am. Sometimes I worry being prolific is a sin. But most of the time that is a private albatross. No one is saying this to me out loud. Yet.
If you know of a Non Substack alternative, I’m looking into it. Let me know your thoughts in a comment or elsewhere.
Turn your hymnal to:
On Taylor Swift’s new album and greige era for Paste.
Jane Schoenbrun’s I Saw the TV Glow for MUBI Notebook.
Candy Darling’s Legacy for Document Journal.
Kollwitz at the MOMA for frieze.
On Maggie Nelson’s Like Love for TLS.
On Some Strange Music for the Nation.
Vera Drew’s The People’s Joker, Marguerite Duras, and Theda Hammel’s Stress Positions for Screen Slate.