by James Grabill | Jul 11, 2014
A blue bowl will hold open for steaming soups, or the brush of tiniest ribs of a feather. Before evening, it reaches its surrounding lip of the horizon around emptiness. Without transference, without moving, it opens, is open, as shades of blue wash over it. But its...
by James Grabill | May 25, 2014
Hendrix jamming at the edge of volcanic expansion in the ‘60s skips ahead to 2039 night-swimming through the fossil-flamed continuum. As crow wings open and close over more than we know of loss or gain, the collaborative intensity of cells revolves around food enough...
