Lucy Mitchell’s love of books takes her new work beyond words.
By Nancy Tutko
Sometimes the arc of the moral universe is long and slow, and sometimes it curves sharply, making up for wasted time. That was the case last month as scattered calls to remove the Confederate battle flag from the South Carolina capitol ignited a nationwide call to expel Confederate symbols from all parks and government buildings.
By Tom Dunlop
Forty years ago Jaws put the Vineyard (masquerading as an island called Amity) and white sharks on the same Hollywood map. The celluloid great white shark that terrorized beachgoers gave sharks a bad rap, and swimmers reason for pause, for years.
By Sara Brown
There was a friend of mine, early on, who said, ‘Paint what you love.’” Andrew Moore leaned against a corner table in his Harthaven gallery, surrounded by his own work on one of the first warm days of the season. Behind him hung a nearly life-sized oil portrait of his daughter, Hannah, a parasol perched lightly on one shoulder. “I’ve maybe done one or two commissions, but generally, I paint things that are integrated in my life or ignite my imagination.”
By Alexandra Bullen Coutts
“But then yesterday was a perfect Vineyard day, too..."
David McCullough discusses his new book with Matthew Stackpole.
Sunlight flies through outer space,Unstopped except when forced to faceThe Coppertone with which we’ve spreadOurselves like so much buttered bread.
By D.A.W.
The best thing about July, it sometimes seems to me, is that it is not yet August and all of those weeks of summer are stretched out ahead like a lazy line of turtles on a log. Usually, a negative compliment like “not yet August” would be some kind of slight, either to July or August. But it is not.
By Paul Schneider
Forget old Best of the Vineyard standbys. It's time to crown some new winners.
By Charlie Nadler
One thing is clear when you meet 42-year-old Dean Bragonier at State Beach beside Big Bridge: he’s up for a challenge.
By Alison L. Mead
I walked into the Portuguese-American Club in Oak Bluffs on a mild Monday evening with my mom in tow and was greeted by a blast of music and a mix of excited twenty-somethings. We were all there for one reason, and one reason only – to learn how to paint. Well, maybe two reasons: we could enjoy some refreshing alcoholic beverages as we channeled our hidden Caravaggio or, in mom’s case, awakened her previously undiscovered inner Dalí.
By Nicole Grace Mercier
