by Jane Devin on 09/12/2008
Then, in my childhood in the dawn Of a most stormy life was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still . . . –Edgar Allan Poe, Alone 1. The Meaning of Things I’ve never lost my childhood sense of mystification – my ability to be amazed by the [...]
by Jane Devin on 06/29/2008
Every night for several years, you’ve hopped onto a trampoline. You’ve jumped and jumped until your heart raced, your body felt weak, and you were exhausted. It’s this ritual, you believe, that allows you to sleep, and you have slept so brilliantly during these years that closing your eyes has become, in itself, a thing [...]
by Jane Devin on 04/27/2008
1. I see her through the clouded lens of decades past, the tiny girl with the weary smile, and the sure, square hands darkened with charcoal and chalk. At nine, she built her world of art on sidewalks and cement walls, springing dark-eyed figures out of marigold fields, and white rabbits out of wishing wells. [...]
by Jane Devin on 03/10/2008
Poverty is Poison was the headline of a February 18th editorial in the New York Times. Every time I read something like this – old news passed off as a new discovery – I want to scream a little bit. Massive amounts of research, some of it quite famously cruel and spectacular, has been done [...]
by Jane Devin on 01/28/2008
I didn’t know my Nana Hlatky very well. She lived in Conneticut, on the other side of the coast, and only came to visit every few years. Still, I felt a connection with her, far more than my sisters did. They couldn’t decipher her accent as well as I could, and none of them had [...]
by Jane Devin on 01/01/2008
Sure, it could be blamed on television or movies. It could also be about fast food, preservatives, and hormone-laden chickens. Maybe it’s violent rap music or video games. Overworked, stressed out adults. Over-scheduled or latchkey kids. The end of stickball and street hockey. Not enough vegetables and too many cans of Coca-Cola.It could be any [...]