In case anyone interested might have missed it, my piece on cursed images during a pandemic:
Never outright violent. Never depraved. Cursed images insinuate uncanny squalor. They suggest a decaying world in which your favorite mascots have all transformed into filthy, menacing, off-brand versions of themselves. Imagine a Polaroid-quality picture of someone lying seductively on a hotel bed while wearing a green Elmo costume. Mannequins floating facedown in a pond choked with scum. A dog’s face that looks almost human. A dirty toilet filled with frogs and cigarettes. Imagine Ralph Eugene Meatyard photos that look perfectly unstaged. Displaced objects thrum with an off-putting vitality and living things calcify into art objects.
Writer - Critic - Poet - Editor