Biggie Smalls sculpture unveiled in Downtown Brooklyn’s Cadman Plaza
By Admin in Art World News
A new art festival is coming to our region this weekend August 4 through the 6. The brainchild of local gallery owner and artist, Christina Varga, Phoenicia Festival of the Arts will span the entirety of Main Street in Phoenicia, New York.
This free, three-day event features a Main Street Market for Artists and Artisans and plenty of family-friendly activities and happenings including an eclectic mix of musical, theatrical, and visual events.
The Main Street Market kicks off with a Night Market on Friday and Art Markets on Saturday and Sunday. Attendees will enjoy live outdoor music, poetry readings, open mics and artist demonstrations as well as artisan-made gifts, artwork, curated vintage collections, ceramics, sculpture and more.
Christina Varga joins us.
By Admin in Photography
Some people buy jewelry or pay down student debt with a book advance. Though I love Cartier as much as the next guy and Biden had yet to forgive my loans when I got my check, I bought a photograph instead. Or rather, I was the successful bidder at one of the always-anticipated sales held by Swann, the Manhattan firm whose 1952 auction was the first in America dedicated to the mysterious medium. The lot I badly wanted was a dark, evocative, and unidentified interior of a Harlem brownstone signed and dated in 1931, by James Van Der Zee. I had a feeling the photograph would help me write my next book.
For years in my introductory college survey, Toward a Rigorous Art History, I’ve shown images by this modernist photographer who should be a household name. I’ve read the reductive and bigoted take on his work in Roland Barthes’ Camera Lucida and assigned crucial later correctives by art historians Deborah Willis and Margaret Olin, among others. I’ve relished thoughtful seminar discussions about Van Der Zee’s open-casket funeral montages vis-à-vis American spiritualism, Black Lives Matter, and Gothic architecture. I remind students that Van Der Zee—whose pictures were enlisted for graphic murals and reportage—wasn’t acknowledged as a fine artist in the Met’s notorious Harlem on My Mind exhibition of 1969.
I came to think of the photograph as a sort of talisman for my in-progress novel.
All these years later, Van Der Zee—born in 1886 in Lenox, MA not far from the site of Edith Wharton’s Beaux Arts villa, The Mount—is still routinely pigeonholed as solely a portraitist or documentarian of Black life. And it’s true, from the Jazz Age through the second World War and beyond, nobody portrayed his myriad sitters more resourcefully and attentively than Van Der Zee. Whether or not, as Rembrandt often had, the artist upgraded your outfit with something from the studio trunk, you always looked sumptuously stylish and classily uptown in a Van Der Zee shot. Much of what we know about the look of living in Harlem in the first half of the last century we owe to Van Der Zee. A man about town, he was as likely to pose a person before a painted backdrop as he was to take a group portrait on someone’s stoop or capture a regimented procession on the avenue.
A good photograph, like a good novel, represents a series of artistic choices. In art, nothing has to be where it is. Our arguments about whether a made-up story set in a given historical period or place can be excused for being all, or nearly all, white and/or male are moot. Any story can be told in such a way as to represent the underrepresented. Sometimes that choice is the newest and boldest, the most modern. It’s therefore important to approach James Van Der Zee as one would approach other innovative artists of the period. Man Ray, Hannah Hoch, Claude Cahun, and Edward Weston were all Van Der Zee’s near contemporaries. Van Der Zee was not only technically virtuosic, he was idiosyncratic and experimental. Abstraction isn’t the only way to be avantgarde. Van Der Zee is an artist whose medium happened to be black and white photography and whose subject matter of choice was primarily Black people of almost every imaginable occupation and disposition and age and gender and class and hue.
Where photography is concerned, I am a fan of the weird digression, the one-off. The Van Der Zee for me was therefore a quietly elegant image containing no sitter at all. Much as I love the flirtatious young women in all their plumed twenties glory and the families with their flowers and cats, the teams and the clubs and even the funerals and the occasional naughty fireside nude, I wanted none of that. I couldn’t imagine living with people with whom I had no connection—other, of course, than our shared designation as Black under the traditional understanding of race and blood quanta in this country.
As far as I know, nobody has discovered whose living room Van Der Zee fixed for posterity in this gelatin silver print he made the same year the Empire State building opened its doors (the Studio Museum in Harlem owns a Van Der Zee image of this living room, dated the same year and cropped slightly differently). What I like about my photograph are all the subtle indications that it, too, is a kind of self-representation and identity-construction. That the designer of this interior’s personal style is proudly on view just as quirky, individual personalities come across in the artist’s canny human portraits.
Image courtesy of Swann Auction Galleries.
” data-image-caption=”
Image courtesy of Swann Auction Galleries.
” data-medium-file=”https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/James-Van-Der-Zee-Interior-300×241.jpg” data-large-file=”https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/James-Van-Der-Zee-Interior.jpg” decoding=”async” class=”wp-image-224200″ src=”https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/James-Van-Der-Zee-Interior.jpg” alt width=”1000″ height=”803″ srcset=”https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/James-Van-Der-Zee-Interior.jpg 1200w, https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/James-Van-Der-Zee-Interior-300×241.jpg 300w, https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/James-Van-Der-Zee-Interior-768×617.jpg 768w, https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/James-Van-Der-Zee-Interior-60×48.jpg 60w, https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/James-Van-Der-Zee-Interior-50×40.jpg 50w” sizes=”(max-width: 1000px) 100vw, 1000px”> Image courtesy of Swann Auction Galleries.
So, I bid on the photograph and after things got a little hotter than I’d hoped, I bit the bullet, and won. I’m a gambler by nature. Like the stock market, and casinos, and buying steak on sale, auctions are for people who enjoy risk. Although I claimed the image of a Harlem interior for myself, I offered it to the universe as an ex voto for rewarding me for taking some of the bigger professional risks of my adult life: deciding to try my hand at fiction when I’d just turned fifty. Deciding to concoct a steamy lesbian romance when my own relationship was on the rocks. Deciding to write about the queerness of inhabiting a racialized and gendered space between and amidst Black and white, a space American culture often seems not to want to understand or greet in good faith. And to give all of that a happy, if fictional, ending.
Life can be stilled in a photograph. Van Der Zee’s portraits from the 20s and 30s effectively pressed pause on someone’s existence. Those sitters will forever be the way they are in that particular moment, yet, paradoxically, they will never be that way again. An unpopulated image such as my Harlem interior has neither an ending nor a beginning. That doesn’t mean it couldn’t tell—or inspire me to tell—a story. By and by I came to think of the photograph as a sort of talisman for my in-progress novel.
An old photograph got my mind going in unforeseen directions.
Before I hung it on my wall, I was maybe a third of the way into a story that I knew would be anchored by a romantic relationship in the present between two ambitious young women, one Black and one white. Both becoming increasingly aware that the seemingly small everyday decisions they were making about work had started to affect their personal lives and the trajectory of their professional success, in important ways.
I wanted an inherited Harlem brownstone and all that came with it to serve as both setting and catalyst for the romance between Glory and Parkie. But I’m from Denver. I’d never lived in that kind of house and the photo was taken almost a century ago. So, in the beginning, I sat down each morning with the framed photograph close by, basically using it as a primary source—a literal example of late nineteenth-century architecture possibly inhabited in the early teens and updated in stages but never entirely redone. I wrote, then stared, then wrote. I started out close-looking for describable details—the living room has a period “Chinoiserie” vibe, note the Buddha lamp, lacquered fireplace screen, and porcelain figurines on the mantel—but soon realized all that materiality was getting me in a usefully imaginative mood where backstory and secondary characters were concerned.
I was writing a romance not a historical novel—I wanted there to be a sex scene on the sofa. But looking back, I think a story about the contemporary art and auction world came to invoke the Harlem Renaissance as a result of thinking and writing through this single, historical, artifact that is also a work of art. An old photograph got my mind going in unforeseen directions that had nothing to do, initially, with my characters or plot as I’d envisioned them. I do research by day, so at times it was impossible not to follow the breadcrumbs I found in the image until my curiosity was satisfied. Where was Van Der Zee’s studio? Next door to the 135th St. Public Library Branch that is today the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture. Could someone have read a Nella Larsen book in this room? Yes, Quicksand (1928) and Passing (1929) had both been recently published when the photo was taken.
As far as that goes, Van Der Zee’s vacant interior felt appealingly haunted. Which encouraged me to search for, and create, the spirits who were likely responsible. Unlike his more recognizable prints, the brownstone image isn’t superimposed with lithographs of angels or saints or discomfiting doppelganger negatives of the recently deceased themselves. Neither, because photographs ghost everyone, are we faced with people who are more than likely no longer with us. By contrast, our picture is a room made visible by the invisible presence of the artist. Or is it his visible absence? When my novel begins, Glory isn’t much of a romantic and she doesn’t believe in ghosts. “But she did respect the mysterious power of places and things to retain vestiges of the people who possessed them, to radiate the almost palpable charge of their previous owners’ feelings.” A good photograph can do this too.
__________________________________

Lush Lives by J. Vanessa Lyon is available from Roxane Gay Books, an imprint of Grove Atlantic.
By Admin in Photography
STEVENSVILLE — Thursday evening, July 27, the Kent Island Federation of Art hosted their 27th annual photography show at their headquarters, located at 405 Main Street in historic downtown Stevensville. An Artist’s Reception was held that evening, and awards were presented.
Judge for the show was professional photographer Dale Hall. Hall has a distinguished background in photography, studying at the New England School of Photography in the late 1970s, and has worked in many facets of the field since, including camera stores, forensic engineering and commercial labs, as well as freelance work during weddings, family portraits and the like.
By Admin in Photography
By Admin in Art World News
India’s leading private museum of Modern and contemporary art, the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art (KNMA) in Delhi, has been embroiled in a controversy since early July following the termination of its manager of curatorial research and publications, Sandip K Luis.
Luis was terminated over a Facebook post in which he expressed critical views against a state-organised exhibition held in the National Gallery of Modern Art (NGMA) in New Delhi. Jan Shakti was organised by India’s Ministry of Culture in collaboration with the NGMA to celebrate the 100th episode of a radio show hosted by India’s prime minister, whose right-wing and Hindu nationalist policies have proved highly polarising.
Among other aspects of the show, Luis criticised the complicity of its participating artists, curators and the patron Kiran Nadar in instrumentalising contemporary art for government propaganda. Nadar, who served as an advisor to the exhibition, is India’s most prominent modern and contemporary art collector, and the founder and chairperson of the eponymous museum where Luis was an employee.
Since Luis’s termination, hundreds of people from the art and academic community around the world have expressed their support for him via social media platforms and a signature campaign demanding his reinstatement. Among the signatories are artists, scholars, curators, writers and students that include art historian and former dean of The School of Arts and Aesthetics in Jawaharlal Nehru University, Prof. Parul Dave Mukherjee, along with artist and former curator of the Kochi-Muziris Biennale, Anita Dube.
Luis’s termination also prompted the prominent Bangladeshi photojournalist Shahidul Alam to pull his solo show at the KNMA—which was planned to open on 17 July—at the last minute. Speaking to the Indian Express, Alam voiced concern for “the clear endorsement by Nadar of art events which are part of the propaganda machinery of the current Indian regime, and the censure of people who make legitimate critiques of such associations”.
A text by Luis detailing his version of the events can be read here.
The controversy has triggered a discussion in India that has been long overdue: a discussion on the accountability of private museums, and what it means for private entities running museums, foundations and institutions to be public. Is it merely about being open to the public? Or is it also about being answerable to the public? While Luis’s termination pertains to a Delhi museum, its ramifications bear relevance to private museums around the world.
While Luis’s termination has provoked outrage from across the cultural community, there has also been a groundswell of support in defence of Nadar and the museum, especially among India’s leading gallerists. Peter Nagy, the founder of Nature Morte gallery in Delhi, wrote in an Instagram post earlier this month that “no one has done more to support the progressive and serious art forms of India in the past decade” than Nadar.
While the extent of this superlative could be argued, it is undeniable that both Nadar and her institution have played a highly central role in the recent history of Indian art. Not only is the KNMA open to the public free of charge, it has supported a considerable number of cultural initiatives in India and overseas, commissioned artists to produce new works and supported the travel of exhibitions internationally. It also collects a great deal of work, financially supporting a contemporary art ecosystem in which there are few serious patrons and virtually no state support.
The emphasis on the importance of private museums has been systematically institutionalised in the last two decades in India, as well as other parts of the world. It has developed from a structural transformation of the field, where the art market has been positioned as the only system that can sustain art and artists. This logic dictates that without art collectors there would be no art market; without an art market there would be no galleries and art fairs; without galleries and fairs the artists could not create, show and sell their work. Effectively, without private collectors there would be no art.
Underlying the view that collectors and the art market are the key benefactors for the arts is that there is no other alternative. The cultural theorist Mark Fisher famously described this condition as ‘Capitalist Realism’, where people are persuaded to believe that there is no alternative to capitalism and neoliberalism. It is no coincidence that over the past two decades, commercial art galleries and art fairs have been pivotal for discourse, publications, curatorial opportunities, grants and art production.
The specific intersection we find ourselves at in the private museum landscape of India, and the world over, is one in which neoliberal corporatisation meets with neo-feudalism—a “Feudo-Capitalism”. It is directly linked to individuals (and families) owning enormous assets, especially in real-estate and other kinds of property holdings that are purposed as infrastructure for the public.
At a global level, the political economist Michel Lub Bellemare has compiled 15 years of research on what he describes as a rise of “Techno-Feudalist-Capitalism”. More recently, the economist Yanis Varoufakis has written about “Techno-Feudalism”, identifying a new economic model where big-tech entrepreneurs own entire platforms and cloud servers that become “public squares”. It’s not what you consume, but where you consume, and whether you have any choice in the latter. In the context of private museums and foundations run by single individuals or a family, this offers a clue into what lies underneath the widespread consensus that there is no alternative to the private museum. What appears as the only realistic choice that the field has for sustaining, also becomes an altruistic act on the part of a benefactor.
What then does it mean for privately run museums, foundations and institutions to be open to the public? A majority of them imply that their doors are open to visitors, and the idea of a public is merely one of an audience. Open to accountability, whether to the public, to the staff, or to the art community is out of the question. And why would it be any other way, when the raison d’être for the private museum is a favour being done to society? In a Feudo-Capitalist fantasy, patronage can very quickly become patronising.
Where does such a belief come from, and how does it get legitimised? For one, a non-profit status in the arts seems automatically to morally elevate a person or entity away from the necessary evil that is the art market. According to Feudo-Capitalism, art operates along a two-dimensional graph where the art market is on one axis, and philanthropy on the other. Based on this diagram, art belongs somewhere along a vertical and horizontal axis (you decide which one is which), of being a luxury commodity and a charitable cause. We know that art markets are always finding ways to reduce complex practices into simplistic commodities, best exemplified in art fairs.
But since when did contemporary art also turn into a charitable cause that requires support without which it would die? In the 19th and 20th centuries, journalism, academia, activism, and the arts, have all been hallmarks of independent thought. They have tested new ideas, formed new vocabularies and offered new imaginations for social and political life.
The inception of non-government organisations (NGOs) and non-profits was a way to advance independent thought, protecting it from instrumentalisation in the hands of government as well as corporate interests. With policies that offer tax wavers and make Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) mandatory on large businesses, the non-profit becomes a fixed deposit.
In India, there are examples of private art museums that opened to the public, supported contemporary art, and closed down. Subsequently works from those collections return to the market, reified in their importance by virtue of having been connected to a museum. One is tempted then to regard the private museum as no different from an investment, except the returns are measured on an extended timeline as opposed to the immediate returns on short-term, high-risk investments.
This applies just as well to privately owned museums and foundations elsewhere in the world. The protracted return of investment (ROI) for private museums can be a couple of generations, but it is still a private asset accruing enormous value, that can be withdrawn from public view at will with no accountability.
We have not even touched on the symbolic capital that is accrued by patrons as they get invited on international museum boards and committees, with access to exclusive collector’s circles and so on. The art historian Santhosh Sadanandan observed the rise of this phenomena in the 2007 essay Perhaps (nothing is) Beyond Credos. Drawing from theories of the sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, he notes that art’s “transactions are defined by an aversion to the ‘commercial’; it conceals from itself and others the interest at stake in its practice and establishes the means of deriving profit from disinterestedness… its effectiveness is defined by its ability to conceal its capital interest (the profit) and converts it into the symbolic capital”.
When it comes to privately owned non-profits, there is a similar morality at work. A pattern of promotional exploitation becomes widespread on the pretext of limited funds. Artists are often asked to take less or no fee because of the promotion they will receive. The curator and researcher in turn become administrators of the enterprise, providing it critical legitimacy, at best with the promise to change the system from within, and at worst to be made to feel party to a system with no place for questioning as they have been coerced into it. Luis’s recent post short-circuited this loop. It opened the doors for the public, the staff, and the artistic community to lay a claim on the private museum, ask questions of it, and ask for accountability, as a museum truly open to the public.
Between 1970-1971, the magazine Vrishchik founded and edited by the artists Gulammohammed Sheikh and Bhupen Khakhar ran a series of issues dedicated to artists protesting against the Lalit Kala Akademi (The National Art Academy) and the India Triennale. The magazine became the forum for debates and letters, both for and against the public institution. Many of the protest meetings took place inside institution’s premise. Many artists voicing their thoughts are today among the most celebrated names and their works are in public and private collections around the world. For a moment, what if we were to imagine that the ongoing discussion around KNMA’s controversy could also take place inside the museum, as part of the museum’s ethos rather than a scandal that threatens the museum’s image?
In her book Museums and Wealth: The Politics of Contemporary Art Collections (2022), Nizan Shaked offers insights into the fault-lines of the public-private museum. She points out that several museums around the world are private from a legal perspective, but can be regarded as public because they are subsidised by the government and can therefore be made publicly accountable, as it is the tax payers money enabling their subsidy.
Private museums, trusts and organisations in India established under Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) laws are essentially running on the profits of companies that would have been taxable, but are channelled towards public benefit. Here too, the public can claim a right. The controversy surrounding the KNMA started from such a claim, to talk about a public exhibition hosted by a public institution—the National Gallery of Modern Art. The ensuing debate is a testament to the public life of all museums. It is also a testament to the public life of art, which is not based on loyalty to benefactors, but to keep alive the difficult question of what is valuable to society.
It can be argued that the public discourse of contemporary art in India has gradually narrowed in recent years, despite the boom in the art market, the rise of galleries, fairs, museums and biennials. The wider public perception regards art as a luxury industry, accounting for why most newspaper coverage on art is about auction records. Universities tend to bracket the diversity of the art field within the homogeneity of the art market, maintaining a critical distance from both.
The art market tries to maintain that art belongs to a niche section of society. Despite all its good intentions, the KNMA seems to have fallen victim to this fallow understanding of the narrowing perception of art, while the art field on the other hand, is churning as a site for production, experimentation, discussion and refuge. The present unrest in the past month seems to be asking, what is the public life of art that the artworld aspires to have? And, what is idea of ‘public’ that we wish to keep alive when we think of an institution open to public?
Museums are public institutions that emerge from a long history of social and political convulsions. Debates about what is of value to society go hand in hand with who gets to decide. This includes public discourse in the press about what should or should not be collected and shown in public museums. When something is done for the public good, expect there to be a public debate about whether the public finds it in its interest or not.
For museums receiving public subsidy, that question becomes all the more pressing as it is the tax payer’s money. For any private collector or organisation that wants to become a museum, they are not entering a history of becoming glorious. They are entering a history of becoming public, and the upheavals that come with it. A museum is a site of convulsions.
In writing a critical text about Jan Shakti, Sandip and subsequently the signatories of the campaign have in fact conferred upon the private museum a recognition of a public institution. This recognition comes because of the hard work and the intellectual and affective labour of several people who have built the museum since its inception.
Imagine if a commercial gallery in Delhi suddenly rebranded itself as a museum, would the field take it seriously? No. It takes years of hard work for a private entity to be regarded as a museum, and this in turn brings with it a set of responsibilities. The question now is, can the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art, or any private museum and foundation for that matter, stand up to what it claims to be: open to the public? While we should expect a private museum that claims to be open to the public to also be answerable to its public, I do not consider them as a solution to all the problems outlined in this text. A space for independent, critical and exploratory thinking is the least that the field expects from art spaces. A public private institution has that potential, to nurture the public life of art.
By Admin in Photography
Where can our children safely play?
In big cities, dense with buildings and people, bustling with traffic, this question has beleaguered generations of parents. And it was one I asked myself when I moved back with my four children in 2017 to Philadelphia after two decades away.
I was happy to return to the city to start a new job teaching poetry at Bryn Mawr College, but my children — especially the two oldest, who were high schoolers — were not. The grief of being pulled away from their friends and the pressure of learning new routines in a strange place weighed on them.
Toward the end of that first year, an old friend, also a Philadelphia native, reminded me of a valuable resource that might ease my children’s isolation — recreation centers. I immediately scoured the Philadelphia Parks and Recreation website for camps, anything that might help recreate their lost communal magic. I quickly found a teen adventures camp for my two eldest and an ecological camp and visual camp for my two youngest.

Through these programs my kids found friends with whom they could talk through the grief of moving, while figuring out new techniques in watercolor or filmmaking. “The rec” — as these centers are affectionately known in the city — helped my children tenderly carry their loss and move forward in community.
I was reminded of my family’s experience when I saw the work of Adrian Eli René — a young Haitian American photographer who moved to Philadelphia in 2020 and soon set out to get to know his city through the lens of his camera. His images capture young people at play and at ease with one another in and around Philadelphia’s recs.
In her book “All About Love,” bell hooks writes that “friendship is the place in which a great majority of us have our first glimpse of redemptive love and caring community.” Mr. René’s photos are mirrors of this idea. Two children clad in white T-shirts, standing back-to-back on a playing field, each seemingly measuring the shape of their respective horizons. A boy mid-daydream, leaning against a chain-link fence. A child reversing time as he jumps off the lip of a public pool.
Philadelphia has a long history of commitment to community space. In the 1880s, during the second Industrial revolution, the first public baths — which would become public swimming pools — opened to provide working-class families access to bathing. By the early 20th century, Philadelphia’s philanthropic leaders partnered with the municipal government to create playgrounds and, later, recreation centers that housed any number of activities.
These new centers proved to be critical developments in the cultural life of poor urban neighborhoods. Equipped with an array of otherwise scarce facilities — basketball courts, fields, art studios — these spaces enshrined play as a means of not only strengthening communal ties but also affirming the community’s collective humanity. They powerfully disrupted the unjust socioeconomic logic that recreation is a luxury that poor people couldn’t afford and didn’t deserve. Subtly, recreation pointed toward a rising awareness that communal health begins with public spaces, particularly those devoted to inclusion and wellness.
We are now in the fifth Industrial Revolution, and the needs of working families remain unchanged. Philadelphia, despite limited funding, is still committed to meeting those needs. According to the Parks and Recreation Department, the city has about 150 staffed centers and more the 300 unstaffed neighborhood parks. Parks consist of some 10,000 acres, roughly 10 percent of the city’s land mass. The demand still exists for public gathering spaces where children are not in danger, and that’s the work of the rec.
These places of refuge, and the people who run them, do work beyond the obvious social good. At the rec, children can exercise creative agency, often deciding on their own how to use the space. The centers exist outside the prescriptive obligations, duties and expectations of schools or churches. They give children a place to work through, as my own children did, their triumphs and losses; innocence, immaturity and growth are valued. There, the children know they are free.
Adrian Eli René is a photographer based in Philadelphia. Airea D. Matthews is the poet laureate of Philadelphia. Her most recent book is “Bread and Circus.”
≈
The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.
Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion) and Instagram.
article#story div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) p:nth-of-type(1),
article.nytapp-hybrid-article div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) p:nth-of-type(1){
text-transform: uppercase;
font-size: 18px;
font-weight: 600;
letter-spacing: 0.5px;
line-height: 26px;
letter-spacing: 0.05em;
}
article#story div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) p:nth-of-type(1):after,
article.nytapp-hybrid-article div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) p:nth-of-type(1):after{
content: “Guest Essay”;
display: block;
color: white;
}
@media screen and (min-width: 1024px){
article#story div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) div > h1:before,
article.nytapp-hybrid-article div#fullBleedHeaderContent header > div:nth-of-type(2) h1:before{
content: ” “;
width: 72px;
unicode-bidi: normal;
display: block;
margin: 15px auto 20px 0;
height: 1px;
background-color: #fff;
}
}
@media screen and (max-width: 1024px){
article#story div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) p a:link, article#story div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) p a:visited {
color: #D0021B;
letter-spacing: 0.07em;
font-size: 15px;
}
article#story div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) p,
article.nytapp-hybrid-article div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) p{
font-size:15px;
color: #D0021B;
}
article#story div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) p:nth-of-type(1):after, article.nytapp-hybrid-article div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) p:nth-of-type(1):after {
color: #000000;
font-size:15px;
margin-top: -5px;
}
article#story div#fullBleedHeaderContent header div:nth-of-type(2) div > h1:before,
article.nytapp-hybrid-article div#fullBleedHeaderContent header > div:nth-of-type(2) h1:before{
content: ” “;
width: 72px;
unicode-bidi: normal;
display: block;
margin: -5px 0px 22px;
height: 1px;
background-color: #e2e2e2;
}
}
Milwaukee Art Museum announces new Herzfeld Center for Photography show
Wondering what’s the importance of PDF editing software for photographers? Hop inside this guide to find out!
The loon traveled from Los Angeles to its permanent home in the Twin Cities.
A new beetle species has been named to honor a fellow Husker, bridging the worlds of academia and wildlife conservation.
Silversea, a premier brand in experiential luxury and expedition travel, recently concluded the inaugural season of its first Nova-class ship, Silver Nova,
Silversea, a premier brand in experiential luxury and expedition travel, recently concluded the inaugural season of its first Nova-class ship, Silver Nova,
The Desert Foothills Land Trust (DFLT) is proud to announce a special presentation event featuring acclaimed botanical photographer Jimmy Fike on Saturday, Oct. 12 at 6:30 p.m. at the Sanderson