Current Issue
3.15 / Bruno
(For Bruno Mauro: 1958–2012)
May 17, 2012. Forgive me this introduction, in which I divest myself of the voice of editor and dismiss the notion of this as a public forum. Let’s pretend instead that we are all friends in real life, that we know each other in words and in bodies. Let’s pretend that we’ll gather together this evening in the same bar and that we’ll share the same “aching tenderness” that Lia Wilson attributes to the absence of a central subject in Tammy Rae Carland’s photographs. The paradox of loss is that it can make a person's presence acutely felt in the very instance they become irretrievably out of reach. Only art has that same power. We can make things visible and real and unrepentant in their existence by placing lines and objects, gestures and words adjacent to each other. We can also conjure voids and fleeting gestures that are no less profound for their ephemerality or immateriality. Fuck transcendence; I will always prefer the presence of objects and the space in between them. —PM
