Recently my paintings have been based on objects that are lost in the human tendency to live for the future. These objects are everyday objects
The wooden fence has rickets; it marks the end of the universe. I live in a country where, as a woman, you have to be
*******Nadia repeats an old story to herself, hums a psalm. *********Every time she hears nail to wood she thinks coffin. I have always found myself
hands holding her up, hands holding me up, hands holding us up. When I was growing up, my mother had what I fondly call today
*******************that my bones swallowed her death It is not just a book by Helen Vendler on the brand of melancholic desire Wallace Stevens brings to
Dad is teaching beauty. Our mother, the hillside, how to survive it. “A woman writing thinks back through her mothers” -Virginia Woolf. My partner
I was born in the spring of ’82 in Tehran, Iran. At a very young age, I demonstrated artistic talent by making handcrafted gifts for
Maria, your whiteness to clay It surprises many people in my progressive town of Portland, Oregon that I am both a feminist and religious. Specifically,
It’s finally here, folks–So to Speak’s Fall 2011 Issue is printed, shipped, and ready to read. Click the “Subscribe” page to order your own copy,
