Initially it is the smoke rising from Helena Bonham Carter's cigarette, almost three dimensional within the confines of the overflowing magazine stand. My hands reach out immediately to touch it, the smoothest, taut paper, cool and metallic under my fingers. And then the magazine is in my hands and I'm paging through. And the only thing running through my mind:
I love this paper.
And then my eyes are engaged. White space framing clean, crisp text dressed in a simple, modern font. Photographs are expansive... they consume page after page, lulling me into a visual trance.
And then I realize it.
Very few advertisements. A few whole page ads of stylistic photos in the beginning and end. Nothing in-between.
Nothing.
Just art. And stories. And ideas.
No half page ads next to the articles. No stories continued on page 101, then page 246, then page... just so that they can fit in sprawling Tommy Hilfiger displays. Nothing that you would expect from a magazine. And instead, everything you've dreamed of.
But don't let the style and design mask Madison's underlying value. The contributors ground their pieces in interesting subjects and lyrical language. Mark Mordue's poetry of travel and literature (July/August's "A Sense of Place") showers me in rich textures and familiar thoughts. Luca Babini's interview with painter Francesco Clemente and the immediate photographs of his work (October's "Sailing Uncharted Seas") put large and overflowing ideas in my head. Even something as simple as olives, when painted with Mort Rosenblum's experience and narrative (November/December's "The Table: Olives"), heighten my senses and awareness.
I don't always remember the artists or the books or the places long afterward, but in the moment, Madison transforms the way I see the world around me. It gives me ideas and leaves me with cravings for all things intricate and beautiful and interesting. Anxious for the next offering. Hungry for more.