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Pictures from a photojournalist embedded with a Free Syrian Army militia in Aleppo, the country’s largest city, now torn apart by war.
When an artist receives a heart transplant, his drawings of the procedure acquire all the gravity of a fever dream—intensely realistic, with hallucinations of the dead.
One woman powers herself with a solar panel. Another wears a neon sign in her Afro. In the future as in the past, identity is never one-dimensional.
Rough waters for Russia’s fabled Bolshoi Theatre have prompted soul-searching among the country’s dancers, officials, and fans.
Economic recession. Climate disaster. Chaos in the Middle East. The world cries out for leaders who will face our biggest dilemmas, and all we get are short-sighted narcissists. Where are the great leaders of today?
When a photographer reviews 35 years of unposed family pictures—unexpected moments, children growing older—a symphony appears.
This summer in Manhattan, it was important to wait in line for an hour to see light designed by James Turrell. Many bought the hype. Many were angry afterward.
Multi-layered photographs show people’s inner lives merging with their environments—suggesting that what we see of reality is less than what actually exists.
Ear cleaners, knife grinders, street-side barbers—portraits of Indian tradesmen who maintain caste-prescribed professions.
Modern-day totem poles constructed from Americans’ favorite consumer materials—cars, beer cans, even cheeseburgers.
Irresistible watercolors of mouthy cowboys, automobile wrecks, boxing matches, rodeo clowns, and rock bands.
Good old Earth was nearly destroyed, almost extinguished, and threatened with slaughter every hour in cinemas this summer. And yet, here we are. Our film critics pinpoint the collapse of the apocalypse genre.