Pairing haiku with medium format photography, artist Sean Miles Lotman interprets his experience in Asia. More
One of the challenges in editing a journal as diverse as Fogged Clarity is maintaining a unified aesthetic throughout each issue. In truth, we don’t always accomplish this, and there have been cases where we’ve attempted to create cohesion between pieces where none could or should exist. Other times, however, a natural synthesis emerges almost… More
Laura Bell, a painter based in NYC, and Ian Ganassi, a poet living in New Haven, met when both were artists-in-residence at the Millay Colony for the Arts. In 2005 they entered into the collaboration that resulted in the ongoing series “The Corpses,” a group of collages that began with a half-finished poem and several hand-scrawled phrases on a piece of printer paper stained with coffee rings that Ganassi mailed to Bell… More
Night Statement: The negative effects of time have often been addressed by artists and writers. However, I’m convinced that beauty isn’t necessarily diminished when something is “past its prime.” Indeed, I feel that effects of the “ravages of time” can be quite exquisite. Photography, by its very nature, is born of and lives in the… More
In a beautiful series of “light paintings” Harold Ross examines why “the ravages of time can be quite exquisite.” More
Winner of the 2009 American Photographic Artists’ Grand Prize, Ross Andersson’s Mezzanine series is as haunting as it is skilled. More
What happens when an instrument of restraint and repose is itself restrained? Kennedy James probes notions of freedom and space through this series of installations. More
As we leave 2010, I can’t help but reflect upon how my conception of art and the overall aesthetic of Fogged Clarity have shifted over the past two years. When we began this project, the unifying theme behind the journal was to publish work that was a response to, or expression of, hurt. I recognize… More
I Am War – It erupts again, possessing in full, that fury to survive and acquit without shame.
For some, mere lines in sand, for me, echoing horror ringing from stone to stone from stump to stump.
I am changed, mild to fierce… More