Essays

Tiny clouds of probability swirl around, going from left to right, up and down, with uniform speed. I do not know where they are going, but it must be somewhere important. They all look the same but they've told me to identify each of them, spot the ones that are different.

Edward Hopper, Soir Bleu, 1914

Carlos de Haes, A Wrecked Ship, 1883

It's so silly how they cling to their last spec of faith; their last dime of hope. Hope, like time, is a human construct, as fleeting and as insipid as themselves. And oh, how effortlessly they all go to waste. Sometimes, no matter how loud you scream and how many glasses you break, how many vocal chords you tear,...