Kyle Thomas Hemingway: The ephemera edit

An ongoing digital archive proving that I read, I saw, and I actually paid attention.

  • Philadelphia Museum of Art

    Philadelphia, PA

    Cy Twombly, Fifty Days at Iliam, 1978

  • Bright Lights, Big City

    by Jay McInerney

    “But what you are left with is a premonition of the way your life will fade behind you, like a book you have read too quickly, leaving a dwindling trail of images and emotions, until all you can remember is a name.”

  • Limbo

    by Dan Fox

    “Limbo is at the apex of visual sophistication: an extra-dimensional loft done out in luxury-plain Jil Sander grey. Empty and placid, with not even a reproduction Eames chair to interrupt the anodyne tastefulness. No mess, no colour, no life. No hint of recidivist ornament – Adolf Loos would have loved limbo. In Harold Pinter’s words, a ‘No man’s land, which never moves, which never changes, which never grows older, which remains forever icy and silent.’”

  • Fun Home

    Book and lyrics by Lisa Kron / Music by Jeanine Tesori / Based on Alison Bechdel’s graphic memoir (Huntington Theater Company)

    Curtain call at Fun Home

  • The Edwardians

    by Vita Sackville-West

    “‘Since one cannot have truth,’ cried Sebastian, struggling into his evening shirt, ‘let us at least have good manners.’”

  • Scrooge: The Musical

    Book, music and lyrics by Leslie Bricusse (Curtain Call Theatre)

    “Christmas children peek through Christmas windows.”

  • Wicked: For Good

    Directed by Jon M. Chu

    “You see, back where I come from, we got a whole lot of people who believe all sorts of things that aren’t true. You know what we call it? History.”

  • Sasha Cooke, mezzo-soprano

    with Myra Huang, piano (Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum)

    Sasha Cooke and Myra Huang take a bow
  • Of Light and Air: Winslow Homer in Watercolor

    Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

    Winslow Homer, Long Branch, New Jersey, 1869

  • Reclaiming Art in the Age of Artifice

    by J.F. Martel

    “Any adequate response to the mystery of existence must be poetic, for only the poetic can take on the ‘why.’”