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Masha Tupitsyn
Masha Tupitsyn is a writer, critic, and multi-media artist. She is the author of the books Like Someone in Love: An Addendum to Love Dog, Love Dog, LACONIA: 1,200 Tweets on Film Beauty Talk & Monsters, the anthology Life As We Show It: Writing on Film. In 2015, she completed the film Love Sounds, a 24-hour audio-essay and history of love in English-speaking cinema. Her fiction and criticism have appeared in numerous anthologies and journals. She teaches film and gender studies at The New School. Her new film, Time Tells, is forthcoming in 2017.

Articles Available Online


The Rights Of Nerves

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September 2016

Masha Tupitsyn

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September 2016

‘I transform “Work” in its analytic meaning (the Work of Mourning, the Dream-Work) into the real “Work” — of writing.’ — Roland Barthes, Mourning...

Art

December 2013

When We Were Here: The 1990s in Film

Masha Tupitsyn

Art

December 2013

‘I remember touch. Pictures came with touch.’ -Daft Punk, ‘Touch’   In the 1990s, three important pre post-reality films...

At that time our experience with death was very limited Sometimes someone’s grandfather or grandmother would die, like a domino falling when its turn comes at last, but still we all had at least two or three grandparents living Some grandparents – in particular, some grandmothers – threw themselves off their balconies This happened with a certain frequency; I have since asked myself if it was something peculiar to that neighbourhood or period in time, a coincidence, or else some fault in my memory Whatever it was, it happened, or at least I remember that it happened We would be playing peacefully in the street when first the rumours and then, later, the cries reached us: the grandmother of we-didn’t-know-who had thrown herself from a fourth, a fifth, a tenth floor, always from enough of a height to kill her The apartments – council blocks of exposed brick – were high and had narrow balconies cluttered with junk: cleaning supplies, birdless birdcages, plantless plant pots, and old, dirty mattresses were visible Some were enclosed by a barrier of green glass, but this, evidently, didn’t stop the old women perching on the edge and throwing themselves off into the void It was like a plague Five or six flung themselves off in the space of just a couple of years; once we even saw, from afar, a body crumpled on the pavement, light as a rag, through the police cordon and the neighbours surrounding it There was nothing to stop us getting nearer, except perhaps fear and revulsion; nothing prevented us, either, from inventing perverse fantasies about the possibility of a murder – someone pushed her, said one; they did it to get the inheritance, another added, repeating ideas from TV movies; us, children of a neighbourhood where the grandmothers did not have nor ever had an inheritance   The grandparents died, but for us life had no limit What concept could a child have, after all, of death? Or, rather, what concept could a child have of death in a country free of war or conflict, in an average city in

Contributor

August 2014

Masha Tupitsyn

Contributor

August 2014

Masha Tupitsyn is a writer, critic, and multi-media artist. She is the author of the books Like Someone in Love:...

Love Dog

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July 2013

Masha Tupitsyn

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July 2013

11 22 2011 – LOVE DOG     For months Hamlet has been floating around. Its book covers popping up everywhere. Non sequitur references...
Famous Tombs: Love in the 90s

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February 2013

Masha Tupitsyn

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February 2013

‘However, somebody killed something: that’s clear, at any rate—’ Through The Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll   I. BEGINNING   I was a pre-teen when...

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Interview

March 2017

Interview with Lidija Dimkovska

Sara Nović

Interview

March 2017

I met Lidija Dimkovska at the Twin Cities Book Festival in October, fleetingly, and completely by accident. I had...

poetry

July 2011

Comfort Station

Medbh McGuckian

poetry

July 2011

A witness has said that you raped women And brought them to the barracks to be used by the...

poetry

Issue No. 3

On an NY Balcony

Adrian Dannatt

poetry

Issue No. 3

Too much of my life so far has depended upon dressing-gowns, Some sort of ‘string-theory’ tied by myself wax-thumbed...

 

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