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Art
What makes something art? Is it the intent of the creator? Is it the judgment of those experiencing it? Is it the location something is placed? Marcel Duchamp famously signed his name on a urinal he found and tried to enter it into an art show—he called it “Fountain.” It...
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As Americans exist in a world that isn't just at the whim of our needs, but also our wants, a world of not just enough, but a world of abundance. Here we begin to seek significance, to sift through the "abundance" in order to make meaning. In this search art...
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Art
Last week we heard the first sounds of the days to come. Some greet them with relief, and others are skeptical, wanting to see and hear more before they pass judgment. There may be those who feel they have heard this all before, saying it is nothing new, rather it...
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Book Review
Pat Peoples comes home from a neural health facility to discover that dysfunction continues to surround him. His emotionally absent father only engages during Eagles games. All the photos of him and his wife, Nikki, are mysteriously 'stolen' from the house, and no one will give him a straight answer...
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Book Review
In the early 1990's, Greg Mortenson failed in his attempt to climb K2, considered the most menacing and difficult mountain on the planet. As he stumbled back into civilization, he lost the trail and ended up in a poor and remote Pakistani village. Here, residents fought for survival, cut off...
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Fiction
It’s not often that you can pinpoint the exact month and year of a transient moment of ecstatic, even transcendent emotion in your life. In my experience, such feelings tend to be vagrant and never leave much trace, like instances of joy when you step outside and catch a glimpse...
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Magda’s hair, however, rustled and rushed like the sea in a tempest. Her hair read her thoughts. You may have seen mothers go to great lengths to save a child in danger, and Magda was no different. As her body stood statue still her hair took on all her...
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“Have no fear, friend. I have crossed this jungle many times at night.” The Old Hermit sensed his foreboding. He then started to sing the old Spanish song as they left the cave mouth and started into the forest. Alvaro followed a step behind. They walked at a tremendous pace,...
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He opened it, and it creaked. Bright light flooded out. Squinting, Alvaro saw the Old Hermit prancing about as if a wild dog were chasing him, and singing in a beautiful old voice, the kind that scratches like sandpaper as it rubs the air. Throughout the whole room, sand dollar...
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As Alvaro walked and hummed he grew confident. “The jungle is not such a scary place,” he thought. “I will be back by first light with the fermented sand dollar juice, and my little son will live.” By this time, he planned on traveling back at night...
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