Nobody Reads Anymore.
A magazine throws a festival in Lower Manhattan and hands out signs that say nobody reads. A photo essay in type, cups and coffee.
A magazine founded in 1857 threw a festival in Lower Manhattan, and the first thing it handed out was a sign that said nobody reads anymore. It was a joke with a point. Everything on the plaza was type: the banners, the barriers, the cups, the subjects of the day lettered on boards like the headings of a broadsheet.
Literature, Art, Politics, Technology. Set out on boards in the old manner, with a shell here and a trident there, the subjects looked less like a programme and more like a promise: that there is still a place where these things are argued about at length, in sentences.
And, as at every gathering of people who read, there was coffee. The machine, the grinder, the gauge, the cups printed with the masthead. Small things made with care, which was the argument of the whole day.
Photographed at The Atlantic Festival, New York, by Will Fullerton.
