Williamstown

Article

Williamstown is a recurring place in the Collected Agenda archive, appearing 2 times across 2 issues between November 26, 2024 and December 02, 2025. The archive places it in contexts such as “I will be in Williamstown, Massachusetts for Thanksgiving”; “we drove through Williamstown and the Purple Valley”. It most often appears alongside James Turrell, Los Angeles, MASS MoCA.

Metadata

  • Category: Places
  • Mention count: 2
  • Issue count: 2
  • First seen: November 26, 2024
  • Last seen: December 02, 2025

Appears In

Source Context

Recovered passages from the original issue text. When the raw archive preserved outbound links inside the source passage, they are listed directly under the quote.

November 26, 2024 · Original source
From 7pm — Come Confess in the Red Room. Lineup coming soon. OF FURTHER INTRIGUE For Mundane Mag, I wrote about the NYC Launch Party celebrating Christopher Zeischegg’s novel The Magician. It was a great party, and it’s a wonderful book (available for purchase) I will be in Williamstown, Massachusetts for Thanksgiving this weekend. The Berkshires remain one of the most special places in the world — I made a list of places I want to show my boyfriend while we are there, which I will put below for viewing pleasure and travel purposes: MASS MoCA: My favorite contemporary art museum in the world - putting aside the strength of programming (and the programming usually is pretty strong), the architectural space, lack of crowds, and integration with landscape and nature that Mass MoCA boasts is unparalleled. The museum is located in a converted Arnold Print Works factory building complex, and much of the art is site-specific to the bones and scale of this structure. The permanent (and/or very long term) exhibitions are worth a visit alone - Anslem Kiefer, James Turrell, Sol Lewitt, etc.
December 02, 2025 · Original source
After that, dad suggested that we drive to Florida, Massachusetts, and so we did. We got in the car and we drove through Williamstown and the Purple Valley where the skeletons of the trees were bare and bright and lovely and up towards Florida, Massachusetts.
In Florida, Ma, in 1982, there was a disappearance and perhaps a serial killer or at least girls vanishing into the forests like Shirley Jackson wrote about in 1960. My dad was getting very into investigating the true crime of it all. We drove past the Maple Terrace Motel and the Williamstown Motel and then onto a long stretch of road that shoots straight into the slant of the mountain and straight around the hairpin-turn. I had told my father about my story idea investigating the creepy sort of aura in the collective consciousness of places like these, and he had told me not to talk about it too much because it did freak everyone else out. And then he’d got to researching.