Welmmann’s work is a direct descendent of Meret Oppenheim's and Elsa Schiaparelli’s. And just as Oppenheim and Schiaparelli, Wellmann is on the “right side” of representation of the female form. On a platform ridden with casual and blatant misogyny, there is repose in Wellmann’s posts.Read More
There's a comfort in discovering the assimilation of “stitching,” Carson's weaving toward reconciliation, her inclination (perhaps) toward mending the abstract mind over memory using two genres.Read More
In public libraries,
she took to draping
strands of hair
across her spines
only to come back
years later to find
the grey intact.
The street sparkled with ice and the remnants of midnight. Angela loved walking at night, especially in winter. The air so cold it singed the hair in her nostrils, the tree branches a broken calligraphy against the sky, the moon whitely grinning or opening its mouth wide to aaahhh, to sing. The silence of the empty empty streets.Read More
A huge thank you to everyone who joined us in celebrating the launch of our second issue. Check out these lovely photos + a recap of the event.Read More
It’s too late to rename NASA’s lunar program but never too late to wonder why it was called Apollo and not Diana
It’s too late to be the kind of boy who grows up to be an astronaut
It’s too late to be any kind of boy
(girls can be anything but first they should be quiet)
How would we know they were happy?
we might ask.
A row of cedars speak in tongues,
“Ah, what’s for dinner?
I am coming out of mourning”
Big, big thanks to everyone who joined us in celebrating the launch of our first issue and very special thank yous to the wonderful contributors who read their work.