The magazine of spatial storytelling by Tiny Cutlery—
Printed quarterly
StartersSeason 1
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The burden of disillusionment was never meant to fall on the public. What choice is there in the face of a sustained erosion of any social safety net? The failure lies not in the people’s inability to dream, but a system that punished them for doing so.
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That day I felt more like one of Benjamin’s streetwalkers than a member of the press: a uniquely urban creature protected in the covered space beneath shop windows where the public sphere becomes a semi-private one, as comfortable and enclosed as one’s own living room.
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At its core, the dinner party presents a type of cozy leisure. It grants permission to waste time, feast the eyes, and graze a table. The event is inefficient by design, and loved all the more for it.
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Each summer, I watched the forest behind our gated compound disappear as Skolkovo—Russia’s answer to Silicon Valley—rose up on its hill and expanded. Our walks grew shorter, the paths narrower, the trees retreating from spreading glass and steel. Now I track this architectural dissolution through Google Maps, dropping the little yellow person onto familiar streets, watching through pixels as the last of the park vanishes.
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In the wall were two very small shoes meant for a baby. They looked like they could have been made of satin. They had a light pink hue, and they scared the hell out of all of us.
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It is winter. It is cold. I do not have a body or head or limbs for that matter. I am a simpler entity lacking soft tissues, mushy organs, and blood. My physicality is moldable, pliable and composed entirely of plasticine—a soft, oily, non-drying clay. Unlike humans, I don’t walk upon the environment. Instead, I roll.
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“A little over a year ago, I encountered a handmade sterling silver olive fork that was as exquisite as it was delicate. ‘Can you eat from these?”’I asked the gallerist. The fork was part of an exhibition. ‘I mean, you can.’”
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When I was growing up, it was an entree & water only. I would find exactly the best main available that also, of course, wasn’t the most expensive and usually it wouldn’t be the least. And never could my family members order the same thing as me—because then we’d all have one less thing to try. It didn’t matter if this was a sushi restaurant or a Chipotle, the ethos was the same: I wanted to try it all.