"Maurice Sendak drew his partner Eugene after he died, as he had drawn his family members when they were dying. The moment is one he was compelled to capture, pin down, understand, see. Where many— maybe most—people look away, he wanted to render. He was very wrapped up in the goodbye, the flight, the loss; it was almost Victorian, to be so deeply entranced with the moment of death, the instinct to preserve or document it. It’s also the artist’s impulse: to turn something terrible into art, to take something you are terrified of and heartbroken by and make it into something else. For the time it takes to draw what is in front of you, you are not helpless or a bystander or bereft: You are doing your job." On Maurice Sendak and the art of death.
"'Poetry, I feel," said Sylvia Plath in a radio interview in 1962, the year before her suicide, 'is a tyrannical discipline. You've got to go so far so fast in such a small space, you've got to burn away all the peripherals.'" Fifty years after her death, an argument for close reading.
"You don’t feel that most of the people in these incidents do not like black people, but simply are a product of their white supremacy and are exercising it on you without caution, care, or thought." Solange Knowles wrote an essay and you need to read it. See also: our review of Wild Hundreds.