Introduction

What is The New Yorker? I know it’s a great magazine and that it’s a tremendous source of pleasure in my life. But what exactly is it? This blog’s premise is that The New Yorker is a work of art, as worthy of comment and analysis as, say, Keats’s “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” Each week I review one or more aspects of the magazine’s latest issue. I suppose it’s possible to describe and analyze an entire issue, but I prefer to keep my reviews brief, and so I usually focus on just one or two pieces, to explore in each the signature style of its author. A piece by Nick Paumgarten is not like a piece by Jill Lepore, and neither is like a piece by Ian Frazier. One could not mistake Collins for Seabrook, or Bilger for Galchen, or Mogelson for Kolbert. Each has found a style, and it is that style that I respond to as I read, and want to understand and describe.

Monday, March 30, 2026

Acts of Seeing: Fuseta

Photo by John MacDougall










I love graffiti. I’m always on the lookout for it when I’m cycling. A few weeks ago, when I was in Portugal, I saw this work on the side of an old garage near the town of Fuseta. It stopped me in my tracks. I love the images of the horse and cacti. It’s like a scene from a spaghetti western. The colors are ravishing: marsala, ochre, lavender, orange, tan, hints of pale blue. That old armchair with the deep russet cushion is part of it, as are the other mysterious objects. The brick pattern, the flecked paint. It’s an amazing assemblage! My eyes devoured it. 

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