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I write letters to my father, the riverbed, when I need answers that mother can’t give. Father empty stream, father arroyo, who houses the rattlesnake beneath his wind-smoothed stones. Father imminent danger, the flash flood, the whipping monsoon mud froth, father aftermath in ribbons of ruined earth.
The descent into the depths of the Museum of International Folk Art for the Once Within a Time exhibition involves immersion in paper. Paper forms forest creatures, funeral scenes, and walls, transforming the space into a newsprint cave.
Northern New Mexico is full of unexpected surprises, like a stunning vista around a bend in the highway, or a crumbling adobe building at a fork in the road. With history nestled in the valleys and tradition perched atop every mountain, the ties to this land stretch back through triumph, turmoil, and time.
By Zuyva Sevilla Energy moves through us and beyond us, slipping from form to form, never still. It stretches across steel, rises from bodies, and presses into the air. Heat is a material in its own right, sculpted by every touch and shaped by every presence.
The winter earth summons all to reflect. As birds move south, and with them their chats and songs, the cycle of hibernation and rejuvenation commences. A deep reflection on what has happened and how everything culminated in this moment commences.
In 2001, when I first arrived at the Roswell Artist-in-Residence program, a man followed me around the Farmer’s Country Market. Had he never seen an Asian in person? Throughout the year, I blocked out the constant stares.
At a sleepover when I was seven, my friend said the mountain was a volcano that would erupt at any moment, cracking the dam and flooding Abiquiú. I stayed up most of that night panicking over my impending death.
By Jacks McNamara What is love? What is holy? Inside ovals of radiance, two girls holding hands, nearly matching—white tank tops and jeans, narrow sliver of sun on their cheeks, their left arms.
By Julio Estevan Mendez ¿Quien lo cura? ¿Quien lo cura? I lost all sense of identity and gained a false sense of pride; what I got left with was a bunch of… duda.
BY BRANDON BROWN In late September, Tira Howard and I chased the light around Los Luceros Historic Site. Tira works on contract for the Department of Cultural Affairs and frequently takes gorgeous photos of our museums and historic sites.
