The Drugstore Notebook

By Doreen Ríos “It’s not the phrase, I don’t think, that I find intriguing (…) It’s the ellipsis I notice. You can hear those three dots.” (Stone, 1991) If we had to determine what encompasses the body of a poem, what would that be? Ana María Caballero’s Echo Graph refuses static answers, instead unfolding as a living interrogation of poetry’s boundaries. This exhibition—part requiem, part…

20.02. – 04.04.2025 Opening: Thursday 20.02., 6 – 9 pm CET at OFFICE IMPART; Waldenserstr. 2-4, 10551 Berlin Introduction Echo Graph, is the first solo exhibition by Ana Maria Caballero with the gallery and also her first solo show in Germany. Ana María Caballero is a multiple award-winning, transdisciplinary artist. Her work explores how biology delimits societal and cultural rites, ripping the…

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You were a sort of blood mother to me: first you held me close, for eighteen years, and then you let me go. Sharon Olds, Ode to my Hymen   Was I ever, am I ever, comfortably outside my mother? Languishing, always. A thin layer swathed around the truth of our non-resemblance, our non-penetration. Me, her daughter, a synopsis of her motherhood, tally of her attendance, packaging of her…

Artificial intelligence is conquering image production – and with it museums and the market   [pdf-embedder url=”https://anamariacaballero.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/01/Weltkunst_223_Digital_compressed.pdf”%5D

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time and small children time to think too much of it the child plays you squat and ruminate time disbursed as mother apart from yourself the child wants park with you only you you travel to park here child scrambles you ponder only me me but also them only them the other mothers who smile or do not it does not matter now now the minor face gapes down the major slide does not ask to be caught does not beckon you climb but you must

They say our planet is ending + I believe them—belief not in the manner religion is bred—but, simply—I see the end. Drive from Barranquilla to Santa Marta along Colombia’s Caribbean coast + it waits there already—Ciénaga—Ciénaga is our plastic-wrapped end. A fishing village whose entire topsoil is monochrome plastic decay.

I drive past Ciénaga each year to visit my parents in Santa Marta, a…

Secret obsessions, private mad endeavors, finally, unintentionally, revealed are so fragile they break the beholder’s heart. Which beckons the ask: why is heartbreak so beautiful?

From “Letters from Max,” by Sarah Ruhl and Max Ritvo.

I finally got it, got Zen, thanks to Matsuo Basho, Haiku master of and for all time. Zen is the eternal captured in the moment. The simple conveyed by the complex. It is the power by which haiku, that uninterruptible conscientious brief burst of words, implies all forms, all poems.

Basho was a wonderer and a teacher in 17th-century Japan. He wrote the quiet, contemplative words below, my…

World on a Page

What I love, so much, about Anne Carson is how much world she packs onto a paper page. Below is page 2.5 from “Autobiography of Red” an orbit-altering read.