Bill Marx
Something emotional (perhaps even passionate) whirls underneath the well-worn modernist pieties of “Old-Fashioned Prostitutes,” though not to the point of disrupting the daffy routine.
Criticism is vital to our time because it is a form of witnessing, testimony to the possibility that the richness and joy of the arts can be articulated in ways that invite intellectual contentiousness in the midst of community.
Susanne M. Sklar’s study is the best exploration of William Blake’s miraculously bewildering masterpiece that I know of — thoughtful, scholarly, imaginative, and supremely sympathetic to the poet’s ornery complexity as well as his capacity to inspire wonder.
A system in which no one takes responsibility for editorial decisions works out great for the inside gamers, like Nathaniel Rich.
Nowhere do I say in the piece that The Arts Fuse is all good and everyone else is all bad.
Recent changes in Boston’s media landscape do not bode well for substantial coverage of the arts. What do those in the arts world think about what is happening?
Mr. Selfridge drives me nuts because the storyline, the rise of a mercantile empire, calls for edgy Darwinian conflict rather than paternal benevolence sprinkled with layers of powered soap opera.
If we are not diligent in maintaining high editorial standards, arts coverage will morph into misshapen forms of infotainment and advertising. Once those monstrosities are set in profitable stone, quality arts criticism and the arts will face a problematic future.
All is not well with the classical music scene in Boston. Boston’s Church of St. John the Evangelist has pulled funding from its Wednesday Concert Series.
Cultural Commentary: Why is Boston’s Arts Coverage So Bland?
According to our docile mainstream media, Boston enjoys a perpetual Renaissance — the merchandise in the cultural window is always worth buying. And that predictability makes for very boring journalism.
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