Pamela Phatsimo Sunstrum’s The Pavilion
As we move around The Pavilion, as we move around the Mithraeum, we consider the losses and gains involved in delivering us to this moment; we comprehend the sacrifices integral to our stories, to the myths of yore both reposited in and recounted around museological and archival spaces. And we contemplate our part in it all, our lot and vesseled contribution, the sacrifices we are willing to make and be part of in the telling of our tales.
Hannah Hutchings-Georgiou reviews The Pavilion exhibition by Pamela Phatsimo Sunstrum.
Q&A: Jared Pappas-Kelley, Stalking America
There’s this impulse of cutting to see what lies behind: carving windows as an excavation, exposing what remains or bleeds through, but not in a static way—seeking a sustained act of cutting-through in order to construct. Without that constructive aspect, it’s more of an autopsy of something gutted, or just a cluster of holes—that’s something else.
Jared Pappas-Kelley interviewed by 3:AM’s Fiction Editor, Daniel Davis Wood.
What you call clouds – I call smoke
That’s how I find the box of heads. Unlatching the lid, the case is long and rectangular, about a foot and a half by six inches. It is built especially for the heads, with each sequestered away in its own perfectly sized compartment, and the interior lined with gray velvet. Opening, they all gaze up in unison from their cubicles. It’s creepy. Their stare follows me where I move. Four little man heads, and the other three are women. Each alternate, so first it’s a boy, then a girl, and then another boy. It’s orderly, sort of voodoo or demented duck-duck-goose. Half matted, their hair feels real, like too real, cut away from a wig or from scalped dolls. The second from the left smiles vacantly, her teeth showing, and eyes too shiny. Dark eyes and skin pale luminous off-white.
Read an extract from Jared Pappas-Kelley‘s Stalking America.