Domestic Supply

I used to think smoking hadn’t been cool since the ’60s. It’s gross. It smells. I like nothing about it in reality, but in fashion, in print, in the movies? It’s chic again. I’ve noticed it trending for a while. I’m not sure when it started, but it speaks to…

The pandemic opened up an unexpected door for my brother. Quite literally, the front door of one of New York City’s quirkiest homes. Having been one of the few to brave the empty streets of Manhattan during the mass exodus of 2020, he found himself unexpectedly worthy of a reward…

I’ve been marinating in something I saw shared on Facebook in regard to the media coverage of Ukraine — or rather, the belief that we cannot know what is happening because our media isn’t real. Buckle up if you give a shit. I’m ready to be popped in the oven. It is incredibly dangerous to suggest our media isn’t real. …

The backdrop of a starry night competed with fireside cocktail fueled conversations. In the distance loomed a familiar constellation, one I never notice at home in Phoenix. I stopped what I was saying to point it out. The Big Dipper. My father moved to Sedona when I was eight. I…

Dear Random Commenters on Every Post About Covid, I keep seeing the same old tired argument: for most people, covid is like a bad cold or the flu. Since when did we want one of those? A friend of mine had the flu once, and she lost half her hair…

The Botticelli masterpiece, The Birth of Venus, uses a traditional composition of Christ’s Baptism for its basic structure. Venus stands in the place of Christ as a fully formed woman born from the castrated genitals of Uranus that were cast into the sea. She floats ashore on a shell and…

Some of you know what it’s like to be conned. Some are learning right now. Others are still under the conman’s spell. My mother’s 2nd husband was a conman. He stole from her. He stole from my grandparents. As an investment banker, he stole from lots of other people too. …

The despair of humanity. Goya’s black paintings have always been something I gravitated towards. I’m not claiming to be an expert, but to me, Goya was not a cynic, he fought cynicism. He took images of authority and made them disoriented. He took images of hope and made them hopeless…