I grew up in the most far-flung neighborhood in Manhattan, roughly 10 1/2 miles north of where I now stand. The streets of Inwood—Vermilyea Avenue, Thayer Street, Seaman Avenue—are completely unknown to Downtowners. When I grew up there, Inwood was a quiet, largely Irish, working-class neighborhood. My best friend Bobby Marks and I would walk down to the Port Authority Bus Terminal on 178th St. to browse the bookstore.

Leila Seth


My name is Leila Seth. I am eighty-three years old. I have been in a long and happy marriage of more than sixty years with my husband Premo, and am the mother of three children. The eldest, Vikram, is a writer. The second, Shantum, is a Buddhist teacher. The third, Aradhana, is an artist and filmmaker. I love them all. My husband and I have brought them up with the values we were brought up with—honesty, courage, and sympathy for others. We know that they are hardworking and affectionate people who are trying to do some good in the world.

Arie Amaya-Akkermans

["Hacienda", oil on canvas, 180x200cm, 2013]

Giacomo Boitani

La Grande Bellezza

Italy (2013)

directed by Paolo Sorrentino

“Money is everywhere, but so is poetry.

What we lack are the poets.”

– Federico Fellini

Emmanuel Iduma

The Kiss (1935) by Man Ray


The first dream is of a dry kiss. Her lips touch mine but something does not pass in the process. It was a hesitant affair; we were waiting on the sidelines, waiting to be taught. I have failed to imagine how she looked at me afterwards. How dissatisfied were we?

I think now, we hadn’t been taught to kiss.


Shaun Randol
Shaun Randol
Shaun Randol

Palindrome #1 (2007) by Glenn Ligon; neon 8 x 105 inches (Gund Gallery)

Shaun Randol

Walking through the Museum of Modern Art I was stopped short by "The Tribulations of Saint Anthony," an 1887 oil on canvas by the Belgian painter James Ensor.

Arie Amaya-Akkermans

["Lost Objects of Desire", Basel Abbas & Ruanne Abou-Rahme, 2010, installation]

“War is no longer declared,

But rather continued. The courageous

Has become the everyday. The hero

Is absent from the battle. The weak

Are moved into the firing zone.

The uniform of the day is patience,

The order of the merit is the wretched star

Of hope over the heart.”

– “Every Day,” Ingeborg Bachmann