b. 1992, Providence, RI. Lives in MA.


Contextualizing Norman Rockwell in Newport. Newport Daily News, 2019. 
Rather than dismiss these artists as evidence that yesterday’s citizenry was more gullible, we might wonder which public creatives operate in the same register today.



Paint the meadows with delight. GLASS Quarterly, 2019. 
As in Eden, everything here is named. Together, the plants scribe an entire poem.




Audubon: Not so kind to his fine-feathered friends. Newport Daily News, 2019. 
Distant squawks and warbles begin to punctuate this pink opulence. A flamingo struts toward more contradictions: life and death, want and wealth.




Rough Point takes ‘honest look’ at Doris Duke’s life. Newport Daily News, also syndicated in Providence Journal, 2019. Duke predated our Kardashian epoch, in which the rich and famous have opened up their lives into vistas of pettiness. She was a private woman. What would she think of Rough Point’s annual show-and-tells of her stuff?



A new collage try at Jamestown Arts Center. Newport Daily News, also syndicated in Providence Journal, 2019.
The results might not evince something as expansive as the “today” of the subtitle, though the truth of “collage today” is arguably found on Instagram and Twitter, not in art galleries.



Arcade aesthetics on view at Hunter Gallery. Newport Daily News, 2019.
A Catholic upbringing had forced me into Sunday Mass many times, but the arcade felt more religious than church could ever hope to be.



Drag-as-art a many-layered exhibit at RISD Museum.  Providence Journal, 2019.
Museums obviously recognize the cultural value of drag, but keen observers might intuit that there’s something lost in any institutional translation of the underground.



Fear and Coding on view at Hunter Gallery. Newport Daily News, 2018.
The final, tender strain fears an ordinary and tragic state of emergency: being shot in public, gunned down, dying a random death.



Pair of Newport County artists ponder ecological threats at NYC gallery. Newport Daily News, 2018.
In mid-18th century Beijing, a Jesuit missionary mailed some seeds to France.



‘Mistress of Darkness’ Elvira making her R.I. Comic Con debut. Providence Journal, also syndicated in Newport Daily News, 2018.
The horror icon said she’s never visited the Ocean State, barring a few moments at T.F. Green: “I think I was in the airport once.”



Vivid for the moment. Mercury, also syndicated in Providence Journal, 2018.
A girl shouts into purgatory:  “Yo! How’d you guys get down there?” The response: You swim.



I am my beloved’s, my beloved is mine. Mercury, 2018.
Optimists like to assume that history obeys karma, that time and memory correct injustice. That Madame Bannister ended up poor and institutionalized, long footnoted to her husband’s fame, suggests otherwise.



Magical Boy Manifesto. untethered, Vol 4.1, Spring 2018.
The Magical Boy knows that the body knows things. Against a more typical model of duality, philosopher Elizabeth Grosz argues for a Möbius strip of mind-body. The Magical Boy rides its winding surface.



Impure thoughts. GLASS Quarterly, 2018.
Anjali Srinivasan asks me if I’ve ever seen Indian traffic lights. I shake my head, but later, away from Srinivasan’s desk and sitting at my own, YouTube educates me.



Cupid Halloween Costume. Lost Balloon. 2018.
Two pairs of golden tights, the first of which are too matte. Two pairs of angel wings. A bow and arrow which went unused beyond selfies.



Anna Kunz at PC-G. Big Red & Shiny, 2018.
The goddess’ sine qua non of sexuality emerges in the very architecture: paintings unfurl to the floor, a wall becomes a pool of light, and sheer canvases contort as they try a new position—this kinky thing called ‘sculpture.’



31st Newport Annual: Safety in numbers. Mercury, 2018.
The Newport Annual was one of the first events I reported first-person, thereby unraveling that j-school dictate: Don’t become the story.  This year, trying to think of an exciting frame for coverage of the Annual’s 31st iteration, I decided to enlist two people with a seeming abundance of opinions: My parents.



Being Bunny Harvey. Mercury, 2017.
Harvey somewhat reluctantly reconsidered these aesthetic priorities when her New York gallery advised that Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle or Schrödinger’s cat were not the most readily accessible topics for paintings.



Dreamers documented. Mercury, 2017.
Pink and orange conspire to grab our attention. Look at these lights, this life fast expiring. The four lonesome matchsticks left behind.



Caleb Cole at the Newport Art Museum. Big Red & Shiny, 2017.
Cole’s characters feel safe enough to whisper, asking to be seen and remembered. The importance of this plea is not in its content, but its volume, its almost begrudging delivery. It is a desire spoken so softly as to be breakable.



Thread Count(ess). GLASS quarterly, No. 148. (Cover story), 2017.
Toots Zynsky’s studio in Providence, Rhode Island, is a minute’s walk from a gay bar, a medical school, and an art gallery. In some admittedly circuitous but unexpectedly accurate way, the symbolic energy of those places is echoed in Zynsky, who hoped to be a dancer, considered becoming a doctor, and is now, totally and devotedly, a sculptor.



Private eye. Mercury, 2017.
Macaroni penguins joined the zoo. A man mistook a body in a pond for someone drowning and jumped in to save it. A castle is scheduled for $6 million in renovations. A dog named Nike went missing. These are a few headlines to recently come out of Central Park, where there is always life, action, something happening.



Magical Boy with Bleeding Guts. Glass Mountain, Volume 18, Spring 2017.
My first smell memory wafted out of the procedure room, where my young body was drugged to sleep and a snaking camera shoved up my intestinal tract.



Hit reset. Mercury, 2017.
A Russian robustness emerged, as did Mondrian’s beat — particularly in the zigzagging motion of “White Sands.07,” its central line undulating like the hottest, brightest song of a Friday night out.



Cabell & Foster at GRIN. Big Red & Shiny, 2017.
The ‘work-life balance’ is prized in neoliberal feminism as a chance for women to ‘have it all’—and yet having it all doesn’t imply any enjoyment of the spoils earned. As the emotional content of work and home life merge, women are asked to do more, perform more, be more. It’s hardly a schematic for contentment, much less liberation.



The Harvest. 20pg zine sold at Van Vessem Gallery, Nov . 2016. Edition of 25.
(Email me for a PDF.)
Summer departs. Darkness lengthens. We don the faces and garb of the demons who would decimate our numbers.



Reunited and it felt so good. Mercury, 2016.
“The drunker you are, the better we sound!'” Bassist Gail Greenwood reminded the audience that a little Bacchanalia is song’s eternal twin. At one point I followed her advice, and choked down a few ghastly sips of the bar’s cheapest whiskey.



 A prince among the angels. Mercury, 2016.
His falsetto pierced the firmament, a cascading shimmer of light and flesh unfolded as bodies moved through time. My phone quietly pinged with texts about his death.



The kids are all confused. Mercury, 2016.
Nothing screams ‘uncool’ like a room full of legislators discussing the ‘monetization’ or ‘cost-benefit analysis’ of a psychoactive herb. As I surveyed a sea of navy blazers and tucked shirts, my imagination failed to visualize any of these suits smoking a joint. But bureaucrats and burnouts share something: an ability to discuss cannabis at length.


Besides at GRIN Providence. Big Red & Shiny, 2016.
I approach Villanueva’s guitar and hesitantly feed it a coin. With the plop of a quarter, my attention shrinks to the rumbling motion of the kiddie ride as it lacerates the air with music.



Fugitive Blues. Written for Blauww at Van Vessem Gallery, 2015.
There are many blues, each one with a distinct temperament. Looking at the work here, I see blue as an omen, a scarcity, a rendezvous, an impending storm, a remembered abode, military garb, Promethean flame, poetic decay.



Judith Klausner at New Bedford Art Museum. Big Red & Shiny, 2015.
There’s a persistent social delusion that using a drug to achieve health is ‘faking it.’ A market ruled by blockbuster proprietary drugs means that, authentic or not, feeling good will cost you.