This is an excerpt from a novel-in-progress. The narrator believes her son has died. As much as I need to understand the art of relationships and the love that strengthens them from within, I ...

Rod Moody-Corbett uncovers the archives of literary giant Mordecai Richler.

The real war hasn’t happened yet. But it just might.

As Kubrick reshot many scenes of his final film in the spring of 1998 (watch closely how Tom Cruise’s haircut changes, though what was shot…

What of memory then? Long car drives bring up connections between disparate phenomenon and breed constellations for me. Memory backtracks…

Rod Moody-Corbett reviews “Koh-i-Noor,” a book on globalization and the search for one’s values, by Michael Eddy.

When young I saw the spinning of the earth in the universe as something out of the gobs and globs of television funneled into my matrix…

By Greg Gerke

“Show” is the wrong term, maybe more of an unearthing as the color on these paintings, many held privately, don’t come out often — and one…

Yasujirō Ozu is from a different time and place in the sense that in the place where he is from, time does not behave the way our time does. Shigehiko Hasumi, the Japanese literary and film critic and...

Yasujirō Ozu is from a different time and place in the sense that in the place where he is from, time does not behave the way our time does. Shigehiko Hasumi, the Japanese literary and film critic and...

Is the sublime aesthetic experience still possible when over fifty? How could I ever doubt it? Just a few weeks ago, I spoke to a writer…

I read Richard Wollheim, philosopher and art historian, and continually placed his thought in Painting as an Art as going further on…

Recently a few events upset my thinking about art, which is my thinking about the world, emotion, love, friendship, everything. I’d pointed…

I read Richard Wollheim, philosopher and art historian, and continually placed his thought in Painting as an Art as going further on…

I planned to write a monograph of a friend of mine — though he is not an artist or a painter. I would write a little about what I saw, what…

Going to the Met Museum early is a treat. On a cold December Friday I arrived at the large monument of time past — in the future, I…

I went to the MOMA not for anything special, more to distance myself from a haywire internal monologue. Looking at art is good for that…

A visit to the Louvre — what could one say after, where could one go to higher imagination? Could one’s back hold up? Could there be…

Rod Moody-Corbett reviews “Days of Feasting and Rejoicing” by David Bergen, a Riplean novel about a murderer in Thailand.

I am watching the lonely goatherd—that is, the two garbage canisters at the end of the lawn. To the left in my window-sized view are two mini-cypresses (I don’t know their true names), then a small st...

A literary journal highlighting longer works of prose.

On Greg Gerke’s ‘In the Suavity of the Rock’

Moses Rescued from the Waters, 1638

In the absence of a thriving avant-garde, I Want Everything conjures an alternate history.

The Met on a cloudless Tuesday afternoon was not too crowded (the Vermeer room was empty for five minutes — a record, in my experience). We came to Rembrandt first. I entered his art with a helping of...

The microcosm is the macrocosm, or some such tiddlywinking crapola. It starts when it is already angst-filled, as it always is—so how can it truly start? When you are with someone for years nothing re...

I remember walking in Portland with a good friend of mine — a good writer friend — when suddenly he ejaculated, in proper Jamesian fashion…

I imagine there is a mildly correct way to be an art critic, to get caught up in dates and purchases to some degree and then throw that…