✼ news:
Bernadette Mayer passed away on November 22, 2022. We share our sorrow with her family and friends, with her devoted students, and with the many writers and readers who knew a truth-teller, a risk-taker, a shaman of daily life when they saw one.
[...]excerpts
MEMORy — by Bernadette Mayer: July 15, 1971: “what century & in what city do you see & do you see a faster way, find a faster way to get to the line that goes in all directions flame no continuing space a space to live in flame
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excerpts
MEMORY — “My name is Bernadette Mayer, sometimes / I am at the head of my class,” —Mayer quoted in the biography written by daughter Marie Warsh
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✼ news:
Use code BODYTOBODY until Monday, December 5 for 30% off almost everything (including limited editions but not Siglio Advocate subscriptions).
[...]books
THE HOTEL by Sophie Calle | You do not read The Hotel: you step into it, lie down, feel and smell the personal items of the unwitting guests Calle, posing as a maid … documented with her camera and daily writing. —Frieze
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reviews
Photo-Eye | THE HOTEL by SOPHIE CALLE: “Calle proves that few if any spaces are ours and ours alone” —Odette England
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reviews
New Yorker | THE HOTEL BY SOPHIE CALLE: “What interests her most is the seduction and projection involved in knowing another person” —Lili Owen Rowlands
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✼ elsewhere:
“How do you know where the boundaries of a life are? How do you know where to stop? Or when something doesn’t apply?” —Nicole Rudick in conversation with Sam Stephenson at AIR/LIGHT
[...]books
What Is Now Known Was Once Only Imagined: An (Auto)biography of Niki de Saint Phalle by Nicole Rudick | Saint Phalle wrote nothing for this book, and yet this book is written by her. Embracing that contradiction, Rudick enables the artist to speak for herself. —Bookforum
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reviews
BOMB | What Is Now Known … Niki de Saint Phalle: “The narrative that Rudick presents is frank and unsparing” —Bruce LaBruce
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✼ news:
“Hybrids of art and text that don’t respect boundaries but deal in the frisson created when collage cross-pollinates with fiction, poetry speaks through photographs, graphics accesses emotion the memoir can’t, and paintings remember what history forgets.” —Elissa Schappell writing about Siglio for Lithub.
[...]books
Rock of Eye by Troy Montes-Michie | Rooted in opacity and seek[ing] to evade a kind of visual capture—the need for Black men to be pinned down or stripped bare … it revels in contradiction, ambivalence, beauty, queerness, time, and place. —Alta Journal
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excerpts
ROCK OF EYE — Brent Hayes Edwards talks with Troy Montes-Michie: “I’ve come to think of [El Paso] as my first experience with the language of collage … two very separate cultures colliding on every level”
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books
“It Is What It Is”: ALL THE CARDS ISSUED TO DONALD TRUMP… by Richard Kraft
“A real-time diary that’s a dazzling testament to its subject’s basic incomprehensibility.” —The Brooklyn Rail
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excerpts
“It Is What It Is” — Introduction by author Richard Kraft: “I made a drawing of a yellow card and a red card … a talisman through which I sought to exercise a silent — and completely ineffective — retribution”
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✼ not stones, not stale bread:
“Not an object or a text but a name, a spirit: Jean Brown … The name ‘Jean Brown’ itself was, for me, the conduit of Howe’s “mystic, documentary telepathy.” When her name appeared on a citation, I sensed that this object or book had been carefully selected, cared for, considered, held.”
[...]features
Tupelo Quarterly (Forum) | Danielle Dutton, Lucy Ives & Lisa Pearson participate Feminist Poetics of the Archive, curated and moderated by Karla Kelsey
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the improbable
No. 2 Time Is Elastic — J. MAE BARIZO: “This mode of translation, one that is enacted in the colonizer’s language, is not enough; we need to think about the violation this blur of identity entails, how it can also ruin and obscure.”
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✼ natalie’s upstate weather report:
November 20, 2022 — Suddenly, winter. The inbox has 487 unread promotional emails. And our dear publisher has just sent another. 488, alas! This relationship between book, gift, commodity is a bit like a faulty, flickering lightbulb, or is the metaphor not quite right? Which is light? Which is dark? Which is electricity? Which is the leap of faith when one does not know how a light bulb actually works? Contemplating instead: desert, dessert. Where is my hat? My ears are cold!
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