Reflections on youth are often cast in amber, hold- ing in suspense golden hued memories of learning how to swim, cycle, run, and draw. The repetition of these sentimental images from which we hook our uniformed past form the production line of the graduation photo above the replace, the teddy bear that remains on the bed, and the winning sports medal hung on the back of the door. This all seems remarkably un-childlike. Rather than the comfort of uniformity, a sense of alienation, isolation, and the countless surreptitious glances at our peers better map the course of youth that feels singularly, often terrifyingly unique. Why haven’t I got pubic hair yet? Are my balls supposed to be hairy? Am I too hairy? Are my balls meant to be this shape? To a thousand questions, adolescence marches insatiably to the beat of sexual anxiety. New Yorker Jack Irv, who describes himself as a ‘cymbal clapping.
96 pages Edition of 200 6 X 9”