{"id":91949,"date":"2015-11-13T15:51:44","date_gmt":"2015-11-13T20:51:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=91949"},"modified":"2016-01-06T11:13:15","modified_gmt":"2016-01-06T16:13:15","slug":"staff-picks-stray-dogs-stereographs-pepsi-sex-floats","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/11\/13\/staff-picks-stray-dogs-stereographs-pepsi-sex-floats\/","title":{"rendered":"Staff Picks: Stray Dogs, Stereographs, Pepsi Sex Floats"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

Detail from one of Jim Shaw\u2019s \u201cDream Objects,\u201d on display now at the New Museum.<\/p><\/div>\n

Sleep doesn\u2019t always come easy for me, so I was drawn to Linda Pastan\u2019s new collection of poems just from its title:\u00a0Insomnia<\/a><\/em>. Pastan muses on the daydreams the sleepless have at night, the small histories that emerge as each day wanes. Her narrators sit up wishing their gnarled skin was as beautiful as an apple tree\u2019s, or remembering the \u201cfascinated nightmares\u201d the woodcut novels of Lynd Ward inspired. They think about Lucas Cranach the Elder\u2019s Adam and Eve<\/em>\u00a0and the poet Roland Flint and the way asteroids resemble giant brains plucked from their skulls. Though the title suggests otherwise, Pastan writes oneirically, knitting gentle verse together with playful, if often somber, scenes. In \u201cCounting Sheep,\u201d Pastan\u00a0writes of how restless the sheep are, waiting to be added up: \u201cI notice a ram \/ pushing up against a soft and curly female \u2026 It\u2019s difficult \/ to keep so many sheep \/ in line for counting … \u201d In \u201cInsomnia:\u00a03 AM,\u201d\u00a0\u201cSleep has stepped out \/ for a smoke \/ and may not be back\u201d\u2014I just love that. \u2014Caitlin Youngquist<\/strong><\/p>\n

Jim Shaw\u2019s \u201cThe End Is Here<\/a>\u201d is up through January 10 at the New Museum: three floors chockablock with thrift-store paintings, extreme Christian ephemera, and Shaw\u2019s own distinctly outr\u00e9 drawings, paintings, and collages. J. Hoberman has written\u00a0that \u201calthough [Shaw\u2019s] obsessive faux na\u00efve work dares you to find it creepy, it is more often strangely cheerful, as well as enigmatic<\/a>.\u201d This holds true no matter how outrageous his images are: two aliens fucking on a UFO flight deck, Santa getting his dick bitten off. Shaw\u2019s is a world where even an exsanguinated penis is nothing more than a lark; Freudians need not apply. Then there\u2019s the artist\u2019s collected stuff\u2014from junk piles and yard sales, Shaw has compiled some significant American detritus, and his arrangements make it all more cohesive than you\u2019d expect. Stick around long enough and even the titles for his dream drawings start to make sense: \u201cI was drawing a Pepsi sex float \u2026 \u201d \u201cIn Reno there was a Titanic mockup where a girl \u2026 \u201d \u201cI\u00a0think I was half awake when I thought of this upright piano modeled after the cave monster from It Conquered the World\u00a0<\/em>\u2026 \u201d \u2014Dan Piepenbring\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

From the cover of Linda Pastan\u2019s Insomnia<\/i>.<\/p><\/div>\n

I\u2019ve been dipping into Bonnie Jo Campbell\u2019s new collection,\u00a0Mothers, Tell Your Daughters<\/a><\/em>\u2014reading her stories between other things\u2014and I\u2019m always excited to get back to it. All of Campbell\u2019s narrators are girls and women, and many exhibit a kind of grim humor. A husband leaves his dedicated wife for someone he met in his cancer-survivor meetings; a pregnant woman believes, during her baby shower, that her cheating ex has been reborn a stray dog. (\u201cAnd then we will eat,\u201d she thinks, \u201cand then, only then, will these people go home.\u201d) The stories aren\u2019t\u00a0funny<\/em>\u2014these are mothers and daughters, after all, so there\u2019s worry and paranoia and uncertainty and absurd love. There\u2019s a vulnerability that is particular to women\u2019s relationships, which are complicated at once by utter devotion and a million tiny betrayals. It\u2019s a contradiction that\u2019s tough to get right, and Campbell does it effortlessly. \u2014Nicole Rudick<\/strong><\/p>\n

In the 2010 documentary Over Your Cities Grass Will Grow<\/a><\/em>, Sophie Fiennes\u2014known for making the Zizek film The Pervert\u2019s Guide to the Cinema<\/em>\u2014journeys to Barjac, in the south of France, to witness Anselm Kiefer at work on his Gesamtkunstwerk, his attempt at total art. On thirty-five hectares of a defunct silk factory, an industrial wasteland, Kiefer pummels, hacks, burns, saws, and smashes his way to artworks that are both brutal and beautiful. Their simultaneous quality of vulnerability and violence is aptly captured in a scene where he shatters large panes of glass on the floor. His pallid, sandal-clad toes remain exposed; just after one pane shatters, he describes the jarring sound as \u201cbeautiful music.\u201d Through an unobtrusive lens\u2014there\u2019s no narrative voice, and we only hear a voice (Kiefer\u2019s) around twenty minutes into the film\u2014Fiennes invites us to observe Kiefer at work and to reflect on the array of paintings, installations, bunkers, tunnels, and towers he created on the grounds of the abandoned factory. With a palette of tar, acid, liquefied lead, soot, and cement, and a repertory of artistic techniques involving a blowtorch, a forklift, and a drill, Kiefer makes this film worth watching. \u2014Joshua Maserow<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

A still from Over Your Cities Grass Will Grow<\/i>.<\/p><\/div>\n

A fact-checking assignment took me to the NYPL this week, so before I left the Schwarzman building, I took a peek at \u201cPublic Eye<\/a>,\u201d a survey of the library\u2019s collection that tracks photo-sharing technology from the age of the daguerreotype to the era of Instagram. There\u2019s a lot to look at\u2014the exhibition covers ground from Matthew Brady\u2019s Civil War photography to modern photojournalism\u2014but I found I was less interested in thinking about the history of documentary photography than I was in examining the displays of more intimate, ephemeral images: the cartes de visite, the scrapbooks, the stereographs. I eavesdropped on a docent explaining to a tour group how stereographs work. \u201cDid you ever have a View-Master?\u201d she asked them. I remembered putting those flat little disks with slides on them into the slot and peering through the binoculars to find a small, private vision of a 3-D landscape. You\u2019d think, given the way we\u2019re inundated with images in this day and age, that photographs and photographic tricks like that would have lost some of their power, but they\u2019re just as magnetic as they were a hundred or a hundred and fifty years ago. \u2014Hannah LeClair<\/strong><\/p>\n

You can\u2019t fault Ta-Nehisi Coates for bristling when his admirers cast him as a sort of Twitter-era James Baldwin. As Coates told The New Yorker<\/em>\u2019s David Remnick, \u201cBaldwin is my generation\u2019s James Baldwin.\u201d He\u2019s right. I encourage anyone with a pulse and a decent Internet connection to retire immediately to that sometimes-great repository of ideas, YouTube, where are thankfully housed hours of footage of a man who, in speeches, debates, and interviews, said some of the most lucid and affecting words ever spoken on camera. Baldwin brims not with righteous indignation but with a desperate expressiveness that even at its most cutting sounds like love. \u201cI\u2019m both glad and sorry you asked me that question<\/a>,\u201d he says, in 1963, when asked by Kenneth Clark about the future of this country. It is impossible to understand how Baldwin must have felt to be asked a question like this, knowing for how many he spoke. \u201cI can\u2019t be a pessimist,\u201d he says, \u201cbecause I am alive.\u201d \u2014Henri Lipton<\/strong><\/p>\n

I watched too much TV in the early nineties, but I look back with fondness at the hours I wasted with a janitor-cum-spaceman and two robots while they mocked old B-movies in a darkened cinema from outer space. Surely you, too, remember Mystery Science Theater 3000<\/a><\/em>\u2014whose creator Joel Hodgson is crowdfunding for a series reboot on Kickstarter<\/a>\u2014in all its quasi-experimental, fourth-wall-shattering silliness. The premise\u2014you watch three characters while they watch bad movies\u2014anticipated a lot of stoner comedies and successful YouTube channels, and like them, it owes its success to approachability: it\u2019s exactly like something you\u2019d do with a friend on a slow Saturday night. I\u2019d forgotten, until I revisited it, how smart the show was in critiquing dumb cinematic tropes. If you, like me, miss it, fear not: it looks like the Kickstarter\u2019s going to meet its goal. \u2014Jeffery Gleaves<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Sleep doesn\u2019t always come easy for me, so I was drawn to Linda Pastan\u2019s new collection of poems just from its title:\u00a0Insomnia. Pastan muses on the daydreams the sleepless have at night, the small histories that emerge as each day wanes. Her narrators sit up wishing their gnarled skin was as beautiful as an apple […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[438],"tags":[20202,20200,881,19956,9331,20203,2237,20201,883,683,20199],"class_list":["post-91949","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-this-weeks-reading","tag-anselm-kiefer","tag-bonnie-jo-campbell","tag-james-baldwin","tag-jim-shaw","tag-linda-pastan","tag-mystery-science-theater-3000","tag-new-york-public-library","tag-sophie-fiennes","tag-staff-picks","tag-ta-nehisi-coates","tag-the-new-museum"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nStaff Picks: Stray Dogs, Stereographs, Pepsi Sex Floats by The Paris Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"November 13, 2015 \u2013 Sleep doesn\u2019t always come easy for me, so I was drawn to Linda Pastan\u2019s new collection of poems just from its title:\u00a0Insomnia. 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