Volume III, Issue 7

Julio Zadik’s story is equally as intriguing and complex as are his photographs. Zadik (1916 – 2002), a recently rediscovered genius of Guatemalan art was – in the first half of the last century – considered to be one of the most promising talents in Central America. In 1949 he was invited to exhibit… »

This story is only very loosely connected to the holiday season. It takes place in the middle of the summer, and there’s only one phrase in the piece that tangentially connects subject to theme. There’s neither eggnog nor mulled wine, and the only pines in sight were standing dead by the millions in the… »

I went to a Christmas piano recital in the States recently. This is not something I do regularly anymore, though between the years of eight and thirteen I struggled through more than a lifetime’s share of my own. I was there because a couple of kids I know are taking lessons, and their mother… »

It wouldn’t be fair to describe my upbringing as Pagan. Paganism implies that one worships something, be it the Sun God Ra, the trickster Pan, or Zeus, God of Thunder and Lightning. No, my formative years were largely devoid of religion. Specifically, my family aligned itself with a brand of Unitarianism that required no… »

Diddle: To insert ones fingers into a soft moist place and twirl rhythmically. To many this definition of ‘diddle’ may suggest a sexual connotation, but to me it simply says ‘Grandma’. Wait. Let me clarify. I’m talking about noodles here. Wait. Let me clarify further. I only diddle with Grandma on Christmas Eve. That… »

It was Christmas Eve in New York City, and Penn Station looked like a goddamn refugee camp. Outside, a freezing rain pelted busy streets awash in festive bunting and deadly ice patches. Inside, thousands of cold wet travelers jostled and shoved, swearing harder with each announcement of further train delays. I’d found a place… »