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Just in time for the World Cup, 1998: The Great Zidane by Mark Ulriksen is back in stock + ready to ship!

Mark Ulriksen writes:
American Illustration is a highly respected international competition and for their 25th anniversary the organization commissioned 25 illustrators to do a painting about a particular year. My assignment was the year 1998. For a major soccer fan like me, this immediately brought to mind the World Cup final, where France defeated Brazil 3-0, thanks in large part to the two first-half goals by the great Zinedine Zidane. I wanted to portray more than this moment however, in summing up some events from 1998. All of the fans that are visible outside of the goal made news that year. The fans across the top of the goal are the significant people who passed away that year, beginning with Frank Sinatra on the far right. To his left are entertainers Sonny Bono, Flip Wilson and Henny Youngman, followed by politicians Barry Goldwater and George Wallace. The other two notable deaths were to cowboy singers Roy Rogers and Gene Autry. Next, David Remnick is passed the buck as the new editor of the New Yorker magazine by former editor Tina Brown. Special prosecutor Ken Starr has his binoculars aimed towards President Bill Clinton, below, enjoying the action alongside Monica Lewinsky. 1998 was also a record-setting year for home runs in baseball, between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. The Unabomber Ted Kaczynski says his particular brand of a greeting, while below him the presidents of the two World Cup teams, Brazil and France, cheer. Finally, screen star Leonardo DiCaprio is the little figure in the first row.

Insects and Myriapods at The American Museum of Natural History by Jason Polan

This Week’s Paired: Jason Polan + Oliver Wendell Holmes

To an Insect

I love to hear thine earnest voice,
Wherever thou art hid,
Thou testy little dogmatist,
Thou pretty Katydid!
Thou mindest me of gentlefolks,—
Old gentlefolks are they,—
Thou say’st an undisputed thing
In such a solemn way.

Thou art a female, Katydid!
I know it by the trill
That quivers through thy piercing notes,
So petulant and shrill;
I think there is a knot of you
Beneath the hollow tree,—
A knot of spinster Katydids,—
Do Katydids drink tea?

Oh tell me where did Katy live,
And what did Katy do?
And was she very fair and young,
And yet so wicked, too?
Did Katy love a naughty man,
Or kiss more cheeks than one?
I warrant Katy did no more
Than many a Kate has done.

Dear me!  I’ll tell you all about
My fuss with little Jane,
And Ann, with whom I used to walk
So often down the lane,
And all that tore their locks of black,
Or wet their eyes of blue,—
Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid,
What did poor Katy do?

Ah no! the living oak shall crash,
That stood for ages still,
The rock shall rend its mossy base
And thunder down the hill,
Before the little Katydid
Shall add one word, to tell
The mystic story of the maid
Whose name she knows so well.

Peace to the ever-murmuring race!
And when the latest one
Shall fold in death her feeble wings
Beneath the autumn sun,
Then shall she raise her fainting voice,
And lift her drooping lid,
And then the child of future years
Shall hear what Katy did.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Setting Fire by Kathranne Knight

Paired: Kathranne Knight + Margaret Atwood

Backdrop addresses cowboy

Starspangled cowboy
sauntering out of the almost-
silly West, on your face
a porcelain grin,
tugging a papier-mâché cactus
on wheels behind you with a string,

you are innocent as a bathtub
full of bullets.

Your righteous eyes, your laconic
trigger-fingers
people the streets with villains:
as you move, the air in front of you
blossoms with targets

and you leave behind you a heroic
trail of desolation:
beer bottles
slaughtered by the side
of the road, bird-
skulls bleaching in the sunset.

I ought to be watching
from behind a cliff or a cardboard storefront
when the shooting starts, hands clasped
in admiration,
but I am elsewhere.

Then what about me

what about the I
confronting you on that border,
you are always trying to cross?

I am the horizon
you ride towards, the thing you can never lasso

I am also what surrounds you:
my brain
scattered with your
tincans, bones, empty shells,
the litter of your invasions.

I am the space you desecrate
as you pass through.

Margaret Atwood



In celebration of National Poetry Month, we’re introducing a new series called Paired, which will feature a 20x200 edition alongside a poem selected by a team member, friend, or collector each day in April.