The dead are often visually absent from our cemeteries, buried below the ground with tombstones representing the invisible remains.
A new project is giving slave burial grounds in the United States something they’ve long been deprived of: visibility.
Art related to death in the United States evolved from European influences in the colonial era to a distinct language of mourning, guided by widespread grieving for public figures like the country’s presidents.
When you step into one of London’s iconic red telephone boxes, you’re entering the architecture of a tomb.
The sprawling 19th-century cemeteries whose monuments and mausoleums dot the United States are often short on hands to preserve their heritage.
For 13 years, volunteers at Brooklyn’s Green-Wood Cemetery scoured its archives for internments related to the US Civil War, whether soldier or civilian.
Cemeteries are like indexes of a city’s history, listing the names of its deceased from famous to forgotten in an endless litany.
With twisted, charred shapes distended in chaotic lines, clinker brick looks like the deranged work of a madman.
Supported by tax payers on a city-owned island, New York City’s potter’s field is one of the country’s most inaccessible publicly funded spaces.
In one of his last great performances, Harry Houdini escaped after 90 minutes from a coffin submerged in the swimming pool of New York’s Shelton Hotel (today the New York Marriott East Side).
Up in the Bronx, at the end of the line of the 4 train, is a “remarkable museum of American funerary art,” as the wall text for Sylvan Cemetery: Architecture, Art and Landscape at Woodlawn at Columbia University’s Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Art Gallery puts it.
How do you get people to see theater in a Bronx cemetery at three in the morning? Don’t tell them where they’re going.