Angry protests flared up across the country last night as a grand jury decided not to indict Ferson cop Darren Wilson for shooting Michael Brown in August. Rage was the expected—and maybe appropriate—response to the killing of a black teenager, but the resulting photos of burning cars didn't do justice to the emotions the Ferguson community has been feeling for these past few months.
That's one of the reasons Freida L. Wheaton, founder of the Alliance of Black A Galleries in St. Louis, conceived of Hands Up, Don't Shoot: Artists Respond, a multi-site, multi-disciplinary exhibition
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With her debut feature-length film, The Babadook, director Jennifer Kent wants to show horror moves can explore serious themes, not just dismember teenagers and terrify idyllic families who move into haunted houses. Her movie tells the story of a single mother, Amelia, who struggles with the loss of her husband and hates her six-year-old son, Samuel. When they move into a new house, Samuel finds a pop-up book called Mr. Babadook, which contains a monster that goes by the same name. In its attempt to kill the family, Mr. Babadook brings Amelia and Samuel together. It's sweet, in a way.
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Occasionally, I’ve gotten so involved in a book that I’ve missed my subway stop because I was reading; Jandy Nelson’s I’ll Give You the Sun might be the first time where I saw my stop and skipped it anyway.
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The comedy takes aim at "pink princess culture" while telling a heartfelt story about a girl who enrolls in a boot camp–like school where princesses and knights learn to fight witches and dragons.
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A few years ago, Susan Sampliner, the company manager of the Broadway show Wicked, was given an unusual task by her boss, producer David Stone: Take the next 18 months, he told her, and consider what we could do to make the show more environmentally sustainable.
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As the real estate agent showed me what would eventually become my new apartment, I quietly slipped into the closet without even taking a step.
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Saints’ relics, the shirt off Justin Bieber’s back, lost tapes showing what really happened that day in Dallas—I couldn’t give two shits about those curios. I’m about to hold David Wojnarowicz’s final secret: the Magic Box.
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But teaching queer history – developing a canon of thought about ourselves, for presentation to the world at large – presents some conundrums: Which stories will we teach? Who will choose them? And how will they be told?
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