PARIS/ /ATLANTIC: Editors-in-Chief: Chanel Arif & Jennifer Victor Editors: Alena Mealy & Elisabeth Turner Copy Editors: Alena Mealy
A special thank you to JoJo Frey and Kevin Fore for standing with us all along the way. - The Paris/Atlantic Team
Founded in 1982, Paris/Atlantic has since remained as the creative arts journal of the American University of Paris, shedding light upon the talent of its community as well as motivating the students of AUP to engage in the production of its medium. Paris/Atlantic strives to promote and share its motivation and ambitions, to influence and branch-out into the public by networking and exhibiting contemporary, creative, and expressive work upon present mass media culture. In achieving our objectives, our creative team and contributors nurture concepts to evolve into sensitive and intro spective pieces , that are then organized and accessible through the publication of our journal. Paris/Atlantic continues to be published twice a year. In the success of our publication, we have established a cohesive connection between the artist and the viewer. It is through this alliance that Paris/Atlantic has found its purpose, to reflect and envelop the tones of spirit and thought, here in the American University of Paris. Chanel Arif Jennifer Victor Paris/Atlantic Editors-in-Chief AUP Student Media 31 Avenue Bosquet 75007 Paris firstname.lastname@example.org
//content 8: Madame Chung 9: Alena Mealy 11: Jennifer Victor 12: Lauren Bos 17: Madame Chung 18: Madame Chung (image), Jennifer Victor (text) 19: Andrew Paul Kerr 20: Elisabeth Turner (image), Phillip T. Egelston (text) 21: Maximiliane Donicht 22: Changming Yuan (text), Erin Katz (image) 23: Erin Katz (image), Changming Yuan (text) 24: Elisabeth Turner (left), Chanel Arif (center) 25: Elisabeth Turner (right) 26: Madame Chung 27: Phillip T. Egelston (text), Chanel Arif (image) 28: Madame Chung (image), Jennifer Victor (text) 30: Madame Chung 31: Andrew Paul Kerr 32: Alena Mealy 33: Chanel Arif
34: Lauren Bos 35: Mark Pieterson 36: Andrew Paaul Kerr (image), Changming Yuan (text) 37: Maximiliane Donicht 38-39: Andrew Paul Kerr 40: Maximiliane Donicht 42-43: Andrew Paul Kerr 44: Maximiliane Donicht 45: Andrew Paul Kerr 46: Maximiliane Donicht (image), Phillip T. Egelston (text) 47: Lauren Boss 48-49: Mark Pieterson (image), Changming Yuan (text) 50: Maximiliane Donicht 51-52: Lauren Bos 53: Changming Yuan (text), Andrew Paul Kerr (image) 54: Changming Yuan 55: Erin Katz 58: Riva Frydman 59: Changming Yuan
Il peut vider tous ses tubes sur son merveilleux visage, elle sera toujours là, invincible, insubmersible, vibrante et captivante...ma belle, ma cruelle, mon irréelle
-Martial Raysse, Peinture à haute tension, 1965
Memoirs of An Undead Girl //Alena Mealy May 4th, 2012. Day 7, 8:00 AM. Dear Diary, It’s been a week since my life went from simple to shit, and also a week since I’ve written in you. For that, I won’t even apologize because I’ve been trying to save my ass from being killed. I’ll fill you in on the week for starters: I’ve had four near-death experiences within the last couple days. 1. First Near-Death Experience: On day two of the virus, no one felt the need warn me about the current events, and as per usual I was just smoking a bowl and making myself a sandwich. I proceeded to find mustard, (because a life without mustard is unquestionable, or so I thought) and couldn’t find any. I decided to run to the 7/11 across the street. Keep in mind I was pretty high, so It’s not like I was concerned that there was no one walking around. I go into the dodgy quick mart and grab some orange juice, mustard, and Doritos. Ok, so as I am approaching the cash register, I see red smeared on the counter. I thought, “oh red slushie mishap”. I called out, “Hey, can I just get these man? And a pack of cigarettes?” At this point, I was ready to just leave the difference and bounce, but from under the counter sprang a hand that grabbed the edge, and a smell hit me. An ungodly, putrid smell of death and pure fecal matter. I’m pretty sure I threw up in my mouth a little at that moment. I decided it would be a good idea to look over the counter, only to discover a half-rotting man with white eyes looking straight at me. I asked him, “Are you okay sir?” and he continued to STARE at me. The man looked well dead but his eyes had a white cloud covering his pupils. It’s not like he sprang up and said, “ah just joking! Gotcha!” I guess I was tripping out a little bit, and maybe it was the weed, but I reached down to touch him and his entire body jolted and his mutilated arm reached and grabbed mine. Pulling me down, his mouth was dripping a black tar like substance and he was bringing my arm straight toward it. Call it survival instincts, but I literally grabbed my snacks and booked it. You know how they say you never run faster than when you’re running for you’re life? I can tell you, from that day, never were there words spoken more true. I didn’t think anything of it. I just went back to my sandwich, mustard in hand, and continued my planned 9
Saturday of lazy vegetation. 2. Second Near-Death Experience: On day four of the virus, the news began to spread of some kind of outbreak which was causing people to go mad. The news also said that it wasn’t a big deal, and to just remain as us “people” normally do. This was Fox News, keep in mind. It’s not like they were going to warn us of an impending apocalypse. I tried to reach my parents (whom are still currently vacationing in Jamaica), which failed. Then I tried to reach Ellen and Noah, the two people I considered worthy friends. Ellen answered immediately, to which she said we had to go help Noah. There was no time to ask questions, so I packed my backpack with everything I could and took the spare keys from my moms hiding place, and drove ten minutes to Ellen’s house. Now obviously I was in a bit of a hurry, so of course I was driving well over the speed limit, but I figured I had a good excuse. And there was literally no one on the road. Out of no where, a large man ran right in front of my car. I don’t really have the best reflexes, so after I hit him I kept driving until I looked in the rearview mirror to see the man slightly twitching on the road. I stopped the car and ran out to him, yelling sorry the entire time. It’s never too late for sorry right? As I got closer though, I realized I didn’t just hit the man, his body was twisted in half. His head decorated with gravel and shards of glass. I was struck between trying to help the man or fleeing the crime scene. Just as the cashier bloke from 7/11, the man jolted and was lifting himself off the ground. Covered in blood and asphalt, the mans mouth opened revealing the nasty black stuff, and took a step toward me. I told him, “ You shouldn’t get up, you need a hospital, I can call one right now, I didn’t see you in the road! What were you doing in the middle of the street anyways?!” Now my car was less than half a mile away, and in response to my plea, the mans steps turned into gradual walking towards me. I was backing up slowly, still facing him, until he let out a scream. It wasn’t the sound a man in pain, it was a mix between a war cry and the devil. He walked slowly, then out of nowhere he began to sprint towards me. I didn’t even think about why he was running towards me, I turned and ran as fast as I could towards the car. Looking back, the bastard was gaining speed, so I thought back to the movies I’d watched about how to get someone off your tail. I ran in zigg-zagg formation, which seemed to work a little, until I reached my car. Naturally I dropped the keys and though I closed the door, the force of the mans fist had penetrated through the driver window. Using my right hand (which was shaking), I tried to put the key in the ignition, and with my left I was fighting for my dear life. He was seconds from biting my arm, but I had pushed the gas as the car finally started. I drove even faster than I did before, and drove until the fat bastard was
out of sight. All to get to Ellen’s god dam house. After this experience, I started to get a clue about the current situation. 3. Third Near-Death Experience: After regrouping with Ellen and finding out that her parents had left her in the middle of the night, we picked up Noah. Noah is probably the most sensitive guy I’ve ever met, and though we were never close, I knew that he was someone to be trusted, someone good. When we got him from his house, he told us he couldn’t come with us. After the fat man incident on the road, I went straight into Ellen’s kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could. I told her about cashier man and fat man, and she thought I’d gone rogue and was overreacting, actually treating me like a crazy person about to snap. I guess it makes sense that she thought I was going crazy.. she hadn’t seen what I had. Anyway, Noah told us that he locked his thirteen year old sister in her room after she tried to bite him. I was never a fan of his sister but I assumed that she had been inflicted and he was in denial. (Hey, I was in denial up until this day.) About ten minutes passed of Ellen and I trying to convince him to come with us, and he remained stubborn, not wanting to leave his sister. He told us his parents weren’t answering their phones but should be home soon to help her. He needed a reality check. Maybe I was feeling risky, but I knew the only way to prove to Noah that his sister was screwed, was to actually show him. I clutched the large knife in my right hand and told him to follow me. The three of us went to Mae’s door, and knocked. Immediately we heard a moaning screech, high pitched and desperate, following loud banging sounds on the door. As if she was thrusting her entire body weight on the door. This is exactly how it went down: “You’re not opening that door.”-Noah “Noes goes.”- Ellen “Noah open the door.”-Me “Did we not just go over the fact that she tried to bite me?!”-Noah “Doesn’t she bite you to annoy you anyways?”-Ellen “Yeah but this time it was like she was going to eat me!! She’s just sick”-Noah “Open the door.”-Me “No”-Noah “Open the door or I’ll tell Ellen what happened over spring break.”-Me “How dare you. Who do you think you are making deals at a time like this?!”-Noah “Open the – “ 13
As I was yelling at him to open the door, its hinges must have been loosened from all the pressure because it suddenly fell down. Mae, who was a purple color, with hair matted and pulled out, was standing with her head cocked to the right. She, or now I’d prefer to say, It , had blood around its mouth with accents of white fluffly matter around its body. Snuggles the bunny had been compromised. The cage looking as if it were attacked by a savage beast. (because it was).. The three of us were frozen in a staring contest with Mae, until Noah took a step forward and said, “Mae, Mom and Dad are going to be here soon to help you.” Black guck began to shoot from the mouth of the twitching corpse, and with a jolt, started to move towards us. Ellen had a frying pan she brought upstairs because she still refused to be violent, and Noah wasn’t about to bring a knife to his sister. In fact, my two awesome friends screamed like little girls and ran in opposite directions; leaving me upstairs with “it.” Running in the hallway, I began to chuck books and candles and portraits that decorated their walls. That failed. So I hid behind the corner of a wall, only to see Noah hiding on the other side. Like something out of a movie, we both stood there, looking at each other as if that would create more silence. We heard her before we saw her, and I took to make a run for it down stairs. I guess that was a bad Idea because she had been closer than I thought. Though her body was smaller than mine, she was brutally strong, and we wrestled on the floor, me for my life, her for what I later learned, my flesh. I screamed as loud as I could and knew Noah could here me. I tried stabbing her in the chest, in the heart, in her arm, but the bitch kept trying to eat me. I didn’t really want to die just then, to be honest, and I was losing strength. An even bigger knife than the one I had, had been plunged into the back of Mae’s head, and with that, the black tar flowed out of her mouth (onto me, might I add) and she laid motionless on top of me. I looked up to see Noah, his face shocked, looking into my eyes. He told me, “I just killed my sister with a butchers knife.” I hate being in debt to people, but I no doubt owed him for that one. Even though it was his fault. 4. Fourth Near-Death Experience: Day Five in the morning was when Ellen, Noah, and I had finally realized what was going on. The “Virus” was not mad-cow and causing a little rage. Apparently, a doctor from the next town over had a patient who had contracted influenza and was well aware of his little time. The Doctor, against the law, conducted an experiment in order to find a cure for certain sicknesses and cancers, injecting rabies into the patient, as well as other diseases that could latch onto the influenza and potentially create a new cure. Though the virus could potentially become airborne due to the influenza, the Doctor knew that the patient would die before anything could be transmitted, and sent the patient home
with no luck of a breakthrough discovery. An experiment, no less. The man went home that day, and woke up several hours later in a rage. He killed his family, having “eaten the flesh” and left the house. We barricaded the windows and doors of my house, and went to the attic to discuss the situation when Noah finally broke. He had been shaking since the incident back at his house. Our Near death experience: “This is a zombie apocalypse. WE are in a zombie apocalypse.” –Ellen “ Don’t say that!”-Noah “say what?”-Ellen “The Z Word. They’re not real. Things like this don’t really happen”-Noah “yeah but what else do you call things that are walking around, dead might I add, and trying to eat human flesh?”-Me “Shut up!” - Noah “You shut up, you don’t know anything! - Me “I know I just stabbed my sister in the back of the head with a MACHETE!” -Noah “It’s a knife, not a machete, and you saved Jackie’s life.”- Ellen “What’s the point of living, if we are in a “zombie apocalypse” and the rest of our lives will be spent fighting to survive and living off little resources. We can’t stay inside the house and wait it out.”-Noah “Are you saying we should just kill ourselves?.....”-Ellen Ellen did a nervous chuckle and we all sat there in silence. In a movie, this would be the part where the hero would get up and triumphantly say, “ Follow me! I know a safe area free from disease! “ whips out their shotgun, does a little war cry, and saves the pack. I knew that. But, I also knew that I was no kind of hero. The three of us spent two hours discussing the past eighteen years of our lives, reviewing old memories, telling our deepest secrets, and prepared to kill ourselves. I know. Dramatic. But why don’t you throw yourself into our shoes and think straight. The only thing I had eaten in those past five days, were Doritos , a sandwich with mustard, and orange juice. It felt like I was going to combust out of both ends from the trauma I’d gone through. We sat with our knives, and considering it was the last time I’d get to, I rolled three joints. 15
Obviously after we smoked, we chickened out of killing ourselves and thought of a plan to stack up on food for the upcoming week. (typical) …Also we planned to find a way out of town. I had a feeling at the time that we’d probably die trying to live. I never, in a million years, thought I would be left to survive a zombie apocalypse, much less survive a week of it. I think I’ve watched enough movies about zombies to know the basic rules, but the three us wrote down a Survival Rule Book: 1.You are not safe. EVER. 2- Cardio- Be able to run for an extended period of time (i.e Zigg Zagg Formation) 3- Always carry a minimum of 2 reliable, lethal weapons (I can not stress "ALWAYS" enough) 4- Better safe than stupid (i.e use your head; cut off theirs!) 5- - Travel light- No dead weight (this goes for both objects you carry and people you're with. If someone can't pull their own, ditch them.. This rule applies to all three of us) 6- Save one bullet (First: Find Gun…) 7- Dress smart (Tight-fitting, comfortable clothing, with large, accessible pockets, and preferably velcro-sneakers) 8- Do(n't?) be a hero. (Really depends on the moment..) 9- Drive safe! (And by that of course I mean drive in a hummer or a large SUV with bars welded to all the windows, and if possible an escape hatch in the roof. First find that kinda car.) 10- If you can avoid it, then do. 11- Never, ever, ever, under any circumstances shall you EVER go anywhere alone (yes, this includes the bathroom)(void if everyone you've ever known/loved is a zombie) 12- Enjoy the little things. 13- Your mind is your most powerful weapon. Think, preferably outside the box. Makes things easier. 14- Leave no doubt- know your way out! 15- Know your environment, use it to your advantage. 16- Tread carefully (watch where you're going and NEVER walk backwards) 17- never give up 16
I think this was a long enough entry to redeem my week of abuse to you, and as you can tell, people have gone ape shit and Itâ€™s only been a week. I am hoping that, with the new week, there is a promise of some more answers, and a new direction. Perhaps some macaroni and cheese. Thatâ€™s right, more than anything I want some god dam Krafts Mac n Cheese. I deserve that shit. Sincerely, Jackie
pome路gran路ate //Jennifer Victor Yesterday, a pomegranate taught me patience. I cut it open to reveal the glowing rubies of fruit all too eager to see the light at the knifes slice. the vibrancy alive beneath the peel was strewn about the air of my kitchen, caressing the crisp white shirt on my back, leaving behind taints of lusciousness too poetic to aggravate. Yesterday, I lived a lesson in patience, one I anticipate will not be the last.
Fire // Phillip T. Egelston Fire is the engine slamming our dark. Sparks fly, like eyes from the deep, flashing on waves. Our sibilant ashes burst into flame revving the night. Feel how the searing phosphorus glows in your thighs?
Vancouver Waltzing with Cherry Blossoms //Allen Qing Yuan Two rebels break from the formation during the finale, Desiring to demonstrate their own worth The other performers swirls and spins together, But the couple twirls all over Up & down a graceful, invisible rollercoaster Rising as high as divine entertainers Their pinkness is not utter embarrassment; But rather pure passion and devotion The pack would be proud If not for the ferocious metallic monster Who displayed the most Overwhelming performance of all
When He Stands //Phillip T. Egelston You avoid the gaze of his orange eye as the abscessed tooth of morning is pulled and cast down like a chip off the gray dawn. The silent token glitters on the green floor 'til it's picked up and cashed out by the high roller dressed in lavender and pink, and when he stands to call your name you want to stare into that piercing eye until you are a flame!
Sketchbook Anxiety //Jennifer Victor man, I have sketchbook anxiety when you feel like you have so much to say but the words, the images just donâ€™t make it onto the blank did those ideas not matter? are they not singular enough? left to ooze about in the slime of your mind betray the singularity, enhance the regularity because there is so much, too much pressure pressure to hold fast to one thought that one shot to express yourself donâ€™t draw a line in the mind unless you want to spend more minutes crossing it think about it, and just get closer to yourself
eliminate the fear that you instil and think your thoughts I’ve had enough with that mind ﬁlter nonsense don’t dilute originality, reﬁning your thoughts for others to ingest, leave that to the Brita Pitcher in your refrigerator to channel singular expression is only a waste of time. instead retreat, reroute, revert down, all the way down, that glass staircase that was supposed to take you upstairs to the bedroom of originality occupy the commonality of yourself spend time navigating it so that when - colors in hand, that courage pressing on your shoulder the yolk of you will seep through its shell, mind the cracks as it sunnies the whites of your sketchbook experience the coloring of memory with pure tinges so that when you rise you don’t forget to shine
The Secret of The Spirits //Alena Mealy The northern forest was where the red great giants had raised her. She learned the most essential secret to their existence; to stand tall regardless of your limitations. She gazed upon the spirits of the forest, wondering if she could ever be so high. Threading their roots through the soil as if to secure their history in the earth. They reminded her that they would always be there for her, and if anything, to plant a flower beside them for company. She knew she could not stay her entire life beside them, so she allowed herself to get drunk from the smell of bark. She traced the lines of a fallen giant that had rings like Saturn on its heart, to explain a record of its life. She could look to the sky and back to the giants and find her serenity. She promised that, like the trees, she would stand her tallest, though in comparison she was a mere flower. Should flames try to engulf her, it only meant to just grow stronger and higher. She revelled in the proud spirits that stood to see the flourish of green in their kingdom, never ceasing to exist in their glory. She planted a Pacific Bleeding Heart and departed from her friends. Upon one morning, years since returning to greet the spirits, she searched for familiarity and found the scent to be off. Passing through the brush of the forest, she came upon dozens of trees that had fallen in their defence from flame. The spirits did not cry like her, for they knew the plans that man had made for them. â€œHow could this happen?â€? she asked, and their reddish brown bark and giant sway only made it harder for her not to sink into the soft earth. Looking up, she saw the smallest pink flower beside a burned soul. The forest spirits thanked her and reminded her of the secret to their existence.
Banana Blues //Allen Qing Yuan It is his spirit’s secrets That makes him bluer than blue A branch longer than the root A banana unlike any other fruit But my growth has been Bulged, blunted Like a scale unable to measure The weight of my quasi white soul Is melancholy, ever depressed Flapping against evening winds Confined behind black bars I’m blue, bluer than bold blue A composer without compositions A conductor without a baton To even guide himself The song beats away As I’m singing my blues 36
River Rocks We have rocks //Allen Qing Yuan There are life-changing ones Like the centre of the galaxy, An immense figure above others, It oversees the smaller ones Being swept away by Their own inadequacies The big ones resonate ripples into the river An act of defiance against the mainstream A change felt in the waters Then there are the small pebbles common and collected in the pits of the river drowned in silent buzz, they just hold up the big rocks now they are all Atlas holding up a big ambition But sometimes the big ones fair no better As they become stepping stones A foothold for an almighty foot.
Creating a Reality //Allen Qing Yuan A transcending wheel of regrets Sprouts forth wisps of choices. Which world shall you conquer? A directory of multiple screens, Different routes, the same ending, Where everything is really fake But the enjoyment is surreally real. An unhappy fairytale, an enchanted traveler Bestowed with the gears of the mind. A clockwork so extensive, It has gone digital
Like a boy at the toy store, He plays with what isnâ€™t his, A remote controller browsing fake realities. Films of futuristic memories Resurface on calm waters. A beautiful portrayal distorted by the ripples of time. One-time routines, impossible horrors, desired fantasies Forged in the darkness of Helios Shattered by glows of the god. A current future passing, A thought remaining unexplored What could tonightâ€™s dreams hold?
The Prodigal Stars //Phillip T. Egelston The stars of this world do not shine 'up'. They love 'expansion' and stretch out only to touch their own - their other hands: fingers of greed and pride and fame. So, the questioning heavens wonder: Will their star-studded nights stray onto the path of the Milky Way? Ride all the way up to those smiling homes that await in a welcoming sky?
Charm: For George Lai Yuan //Allen Qing Yuan Blood-red, blood-bound thread of life Passing through a shadowed pin point The lid, lukewarm, dulled and dusty Inside the glass of time A five year old grain of rice Remains odorless, almost invisible With it, a petite pretty purplish petal Flourishing without air, like amber Its potential limited by its surroundings. Inscribed on the smooth Yellow-tinged surface of the rice Are yuan qing, my Chinese name
Looking like two Taoist paintings It is a single small grain, But I never forget the wide fields Swaying back and forth without a swish It hangs high on my lamp head, like The memory of China sitting on a treetop Within my heart, a charming charm Restrained but living Living though not thriving
Snow/Crow: A Mind-scape //Changming Yuan Like billions of dark butterflies Beating their wings Against nightmares, rather Like myriads of Spirited coal-flakes Spread from the sky Of another world A heavy black snow Falls, falling, fallen Down towards the horizon Of my mind, where a little crow White as a lost patch Of autumn fog Is trying to fly, flapping From bough to bough
The Second Departing: A Parallel Poem For William Butler Yeats //Changming Yuan Going, going away in an ever retreating bay The ebb starts below a quickened sun setting People swarm here, watching, picking, fighting Over the fishes, shrimps, crabs, shells, weeds All left stranded, struggling for waters on the beach They do not care if darkness stalks right behind Their shadows, rolling like a tide upon their souls They care only about the benefits they can gather The sea produce they can trade with one another Surely some ignorance is still in proper place Surely the second departing is taking place The Second Departing! The very idea stirs in the minds A whole flock of crows beating their darkening wings Flapping into the narrow skies of the prolonged history Itâ€™s these crows, these very unidentifiable black birds That are driving the light beyond the horizon, inner or outer (Where they have found God as a redundant re-creation When they believe they are the right gods for themselves) 54
In Expansion //Changming Yuan A fragile front page Of last yearâ€™s newspaper Falling down from nowhere Begins to drift around As if to cover the entire city With its faded words Some broken into small Fragmented lights, some burned With frantic ambitions, others glistening Like the stars beyond the horizon Where the headlines run parallel To the midnight, leaving the content of The same old story, yes, the same Old story partly saved Partly crashed Somewhere within the web Still expanding
Directory of Destinies //Changming Yuan Believe it or not, the ancient Chinese 5-Agent Principle accounts for us all. 1/ Water (born in a year ending in 2 or 3) -helps wood but hinders fire; helped by metal but hindered by earth with her transparent tenderness coded with colorless violence she is always ready to support or sink the powerful boat sailing south 2/ Wood (born in a year ending 4 or 5) -helps fire but hinders earth; helped by water but hindered by metal rings in rings have been opened or broken like echoes that roll from home to home each containing fragments of green trying to tell their tales from the forestâ€™s depths
3/ Fire (born in a year ending 6 or 7) -helps earth but hinders metal; helped by wood but hindered by water your soft power bursting from your ribcage as enthusiastic as a phoenix is supposed to be when you fly your lipless kisses you reach out your hearts until they are all broken 4/ Earth (born in a year ending in 8 or 9) -helps metal but hinders water; helped by fire but hindered by wood i think not; therefore, I am not what I am, but I have a color the skin my heart wears inside out tattooed intricately with footprints of history 5/ Metal (born in a year ending in 0 or 1) -helps water but hinders wood; helped by earth but hindered by fire he used to be totally dull-colored because he came from the earthâ€™s inside now he has become a super-conductor for cold words, hot pictures and light itself all being transmitted through his throat 60
Biographies// Lauren Bos - Raised in a small beach town in Florida, Lauren Bos moved to Paris the Fall of 2010 to study art history at the American University of Paris. Having never had any formal photography training, she is just equipped with an old Nikon ﬁlm camera and a passion for images. Madame Chung - shrouded galaxy traveler, space ship nomad, orange juice sipping astral vagabond, http://houseofchung.tumblr.com. Maximiliane Donicht - “I have always enjoyed writing, from the very moment I learned how to do it, and had been storytelling long before that. I have no choice but to spend the rest of my life telling these stories, other- wise my head will burst. One day, I want to be able to make a living despite it.” Phillip T. Egelston - the poetry of Phillip Egelston has appeared in Folio, Limestone, The Cresset, Homewood Review, The Saturday Evening Post, Skylark, Paris/Atlantic, and many other publications. New poems will soon appear in Oklahoma Review and RiverSedge. He writes both poetry and short ﬁction and is an artist who has been featured in public collections and juried exhibits in various parts of the United States. Riva Frydman - “I don't think I'm easy to talk about. I've got a very irregular head. And I'm not anything that you think I am anyway." The wise words of Syd Barett probably explain it all. Born and raised a New Yorker, the city and its eclectic crowd became my muse. In turn, I was evolved. 62
I was always particularly intrigued by the various ‘Faces’ of my fabulous city and the life-story they secretly told. ‘Faces’ embodies the power of expression, and captures these ordinary people’s lives though portraiture. Erin Katz - Is an art student here in lovely Paris with too much going on in my head... see my collages for more information. Andrew Paul Kerr - Inspired by street art, DADA, and German expressionism, Andrew Paul Kerr‘s digital collages explore the juxtaposition of the tangible physical world - it’s struggles, death, beauty, and wonder - with that of the spiritual and what happens when these two worlds collide. Mark Pieterson - Born in Accra, Ghana in the moon's year of 1990. Currently a student at the University of North Texas residing in Denton. Elisabeth Turner - Should have grown up in the late 60’s. Big, bad mama jama in a past life. Worst habit: romanticizing everything. Aspiring art therapist. Probably psychoanalyzing you right now. Can you dig it? I knew you could. Changming Yuan - 3-time Pushcart nominee and (co-)author of Chansons of a Chinaman (2009) and Three Poets (2011), grew up in rural China and published several monographs before immigrating to Canada. Currently Yuan teaches in Vancouver and has poetry appearing in Barrow Street, Best Canadian Poetry, BestNewPoemsOn-line, Exquisite Corpse, London Magazine and nearly 390 other literary journals/anthologies in 17 countries.