Archive

Sophie Pinkham

23 February 2014

The camera lingers until the medic says, “Don’t stand here!” “A person is dying!” another man says angrily. The camera retreats, ashamed. Wanting to be helpful, it approaches a young, fair-haired man spread-eagled on the muddy ground. It leans in close to his face. His eyes are closed. “Are you alive, brother?” The blond man doesn’t answer. More…

17 December 2013

I work shifts in the Catholic cathedral where the medical emergency site is located. The wave of injuries is subsiding—now it’s just minor problems, small wounds. I take a break and think about finishing the bottle of alcohol we used to sterilize the camera—but then I simply wash my hands. I’m three weeks sober. It’s unreal, Lou Reed is dead, Mandela is dead, I am in an emergency medical station in my hometown. Is there God? And where is his helmet? More…

3 December 2013

The EU is not a metaphor; it is a vast bureaucracy that is facing serious difficulties itself. The EU alone can’t put an end to Ukraine’s rampant corruption, bring its decaying infrastructure, factories, and mines up to modern standards, or improve its health and education systems. As Greece, Spain, and Italy can attest, the EU won’t save Ukraine from economic crisis. More…

13 November 2013

In Stockholm, as in New York, life is full of banality; but it’s a different banality, without credit card debt or massive student loans. You spoiled Scandinavian! Do you have any idea how much it costs to have a child—even just one—in New York? But Knausgaard probably doesn’t. Politics are conspicuously absent from the first two volumes of My Struggle, despite its provocative title. More…

19 June 2013

“Pussy Riot is in the Gulag. It’s crazy! It’s a labor camp!” some guy said to me at a bar in Brooklyn a few months ago. To hear him talk, you’d think he’d never imagined prison, pre–Pussy Riot. “Labor camp” sounds so authoritarian, so retrograde and scary (and it is), but in truth almost all prisons are “labor camps.” More…

25 February 2013

Joe-1 stands forlornly on empty street corners and in green, empty parks, sometimes casting a shadow, sometimes not. He doesn’t seem like much of a threat. He is in Washington D.C.,—always alone, always in an empty frame. Sometimes he seems to be waiting for someone; but no one ever comes. According to the titles of the photos, he’s cruising. But how can you cruise in an empty city? More…