BPR 53 | 2026
On his 43rd birthday, Barnett Newman painted
over the masking tape, left the tape on the painting.
I can see the masking tape he used for the single
orange strip down the center, and the chunks of
paint he smoothed on with a palette knife. He said
that the purpose of art is not to represent beautiful
images and forms, but to present sublime
formlessness. In front of me, a door that opens
into a room with grammar but no words. My hand
is on the knob but I am still over here, taping things
down. How do I remember that I can’t take my
imagination with me? Remember to look at my life,
which is not ahead of me but below me. As if I am
on the 36th floor of a hotel, looking down at
the cars traveling to white-winged parking lots.
I used to think that the present has no form.
That the goal was to forget the past and rush
toward the future. Now the past is in the hallway,
locked behind the door. I am blocked from the
future by glass. Like the dead words watchman or
majuscule. Everything we see must travel through
our reflections. This is our curse. Newman died in
1970, the year I was born. Which is why I have
the feeling of my two halves being held together
by masking tape. Which must be why I have
the sensation of wanting to pull off my life. forthcoming
forthcoming from Tree of Knowledge, FSG, 2026