A Brutalist Wonderland in the South | Chris Kasper

A Brutalist Wonderland in the South Chris Kasper The Lake Anne Village Center of Reston, Virginia was the first town center in the early 1960s around which several others were planned and developed in coming decades. Named with its developer’s initials, Robert E. Simon, Reston was the first post-war, planned community in the United States. In 1960, Simon, who had owned Carnegie Hall, sold it to New York City. He used the funds to purchase… [read more »]

Photo Essay #11

“The recent events and board resignations at MOCA have prompted a number of critical articles about the museum.” — Jeffrey Deitch, July 20, 2012


Krabbesholm Højskole, founded in 1885, is located on the Jutland peninsula of Denmark; about four and a half hours by train northwest of Copenhagen, or about an hour by train northwest of Åarhus, in the Skive Kommune, on the banks of the Skive Fjord. Introducing it this way, as being situated so elegantly, in a pastoral proximity to the larger cities, I can almost hear my friends who teach there, or have been visiting teachers… [read more »]

Photo Essay #10
Slavoj Žižek & the Gestures of an Occupation

Slavoj Žižek, philosopher behind many a spittle-laced cultural/political/social rant, gives a lesson in the body language of his—and our—occupation.

Updating the Status Quo: An #OWS Timeline 9/17–11/16

September 17–23, 2011 September 24–October 5, 2011 October 5–19, 2011 October 20–November 16, 2011

Photo Essay #9
Photo Essay #8
Open Letter to Labor Servicing the Culture Industry

I’ve worked as an art handler in New York, both as a freelancer and on the payroll with benefits. The two modes of handling art both share the constant threat of losing one’s job if any mistakes are made or if any hesitation to accommodate what is requested—or more often expected—is revealed. Freelancing is less and more stressful. Freelancing allows for a lifestyle where literally 10–14 hour days (like many others, I’ve done 16ers, some… [read more »]


I was struck by how the air everywhere, miles from the stadium, smelled like a thick mixture of pot, BBQ, patchouli oil, body odors, and beer. Back then, the first time I smelled “that smell” that every Deadhead knows intimately, I liked it.