We spent the day at a beach in Brooklyn. Skyscrapers floated in the distance and my toddler kept handing me cigarette filters she had dug out of the sand. When we got home, I checked my email. I had been sent a picture of a very different beach: deserted, framed by distant headlands with unsullied sands and clear waters. As it
Lo que nos dicen las pinturas de sus prisioneros sobre nuestra humanidad y la de ellos.
Por Erin Thompson