* A w o s t i n g A l c h e m y * * Vol. I Issue 02 January 2011
A w o s t i n g
A l c h e m y
a w o s t i n g a l c h e m y A w o s t i n g A l c h e m y
* * A w o s t i n g A l c h e m y * * * * Vol. I Issue 02 January 2011 Hudson Valley Words & Art Established 2010
*Aw/Al*Issue02*Jan.2011* In This Issue… Editor’s Note
Claire McGuire, Tom Nash, Alexandria Wojcik James Sherwood, Samantha Tansey, Aaron Kravig Rand Gartman, Nicholas Wright, Brian Garritano Tim Sutton, Andrew Steiner, Howie Good Patricia Lowden, J. Sipowicz
Akemi Hiatt, Ustya Tarnawsky, Rand Gartman Anita Trombetta, Gülnar Babayeva Hester Keith, Joe Mastroianni, Kathryn Lucia
Contributor Bios Acknowledgements & Submission Guidelines
At the risk of getting too caught up in New Year’s amnesty and all that, I admit I still find a strong correlation between what we artists and writers seek— the blank canvas to transform how we see fit—and the new opportunities each January. Every time we press our fingers to the waxy, clean snow of a new slate, we shape the raw into the desired and make something of nothing. Readers, too, must lust for this changed existence each time they select a fresh volume and cast responsibilities and worries aside in lieu of another stolen page while the dishes and taxes sit, the dog goes unwalked. So here’s to January with its quiet snows, brief pardon from hard work and the hibernating spirit that feeds creativity that might otherwise have chores to do. Thanks for being here, dear readers. I hope you enjoy our second issue. See you around the Ides of March with those lions and lambs.
*LT Cover Artist:
Kathryn Lucia is an artist living and working in the Hudson Valley and the North Shore of Long Island, N.Y. She received her education from the University of The Arts in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and the State University of New York at New Paltz. Kathryn is inspired by the relationship between domestic and natural landscapes; she photographs ambiguous narratives in both settings, attributing motifs of loneliness, tension, bizarreness and wonder. Heavy Curtains Series: In her latest series “Heavy Curtains”, Kathryn photographed a single anonymous character, representative of the conflict in understanding her own place in the domestic sphere and beyond. The recurring themes of concealing and uncovering manifest themselves through her use of fabric and in-camera cropping. Kathryn is interested in finding the beauty of rather mundane and dark places, as her work results in the intimate search for beauty in the bleakness. Look for more information on Kathryn and her work at: http://heavycurtains.blogspot.com/
Honey is the Blood Honey is the blood of the sweet and the rotten With sugar-scabs on the back of their hands. Their hands, stained to the wrists with pulp, Waving to us from a roadside stand. The people that live on this small mountain
Eat fallen fruit and peel off the flies. His hands stick to the wheel as he drives, Upriver, where the air is wet and heavy. We swallow our words, thin like skim milk And I smell the thunderstorm fresh on his clothes It covers the stench of his sweet rotting bones -Claire McGuire
Image: Akemi Hiatt Tommy & Chrisso
Image: Akemi Hiatt
Julia & Sam
Westchester, Rockland, Orange, Ulster, Putnam, Greene, Columbia, Dutch.
tower and rustle. lush. lust. rust. burned. orange. ochre. it makes the mountains.
II. winter Someday we will find Orion's artillery in a church thrift shop.
the sun carves a path slowly across the carpet as the day slips by.
- Alexandria Wojcik -James Sherwood Geese a comma and an open ...parenthesis join slowly in the sky; a drunken angle bracket drifting south.
-James Sherwood Untitled Birds wander the smog Following the river north Their reflection guides. -Samantha Tansey
The Red Crescent Sun The red crescent sun Is pierced on a church steeple And sinking slowly -Claire McGuire Image: Ustya Tarnawsky
Yonkers Parking Authority The problem is I have been going wide. Looking at too much. Trying to write a novel when a thank you note would do. Riding in the train, I was trying to drink in the vast expanse of the Hudson River and the New Jersey Palisades and the clouded sky that covered over it all like a dome of robin’s egg blue and balls of cotton. Today I quit riding on the west side of the train. The east side is less expansive. There are no vistas. Only the trash by the track and the backsides of the apartment houses, tangled vines and fallen trees. The vandals have cracked open the communications boxes and the lunking cast junction boxes—they have stripped them bare of copper wire and solid copper bus details. Sold them for scrap and spent the money on junk. The empty iron panels stand useless on concrete poles. Girdered utility poles with cross arms line long stretches of track. They are similarly empty of wire. They look like machine age crucifixes with insulators and cut stubs of wires like fingers. Speeding through the ass-end of lower Westchester I saw a sign that got me thinking. It was a plain black and white sign in plain, block letters, posted over the maw of an industrial garage door entrance of an old brick building--It said “Yonkers Parking Authority”. Three little words. But the flood gates of thought opened. What is the “Yonkers Parking Authority”? Who is on the Yonkers Parking Authority? What do they do? What kind of an education is needed to be on it and at what point in one’s educational process does one realize they are headed for a career in the Yonkers Parking Authority? While training for the Yonkers Parking Authority does one learn to park? Most new drivers are afraid to parallel park. Do members of the Yonkers Parking Authority parallel park expertly? On what subjects
does an employee of the Yonkers Parking Authority feel confident enough to consider themselves authorities? I mean, do they consider themselves “authorities” in the sense that they are experts or in the sense that they are “in charge” of parking? Are the members of the Yonkers Parking Authority all from Yonkers? Do they have to be from Yonkers to be authorities on Yonkers parking? How many people are employed by the Yonkers Parking Authority ? What kind of money do they make? I am glad no one ever introduced themselves to me as Yonkers Parking Authority employees because I would have been embarrassed by my lack of knowledge about their activities-- in fact their very existence. What kind of things do these people do all day? Do they count parking spaces? No matter how big Yonkers is that could not take up enough time to make a career. Do they formulate plans to make more parking spaces? If so, where do they get the land? Do they take it from other “authorities”? Like from the Department of Criminal Justice? Or the Game and Fish Commission? Do these departments argue and fight over territory in fear that some day the Yonkers Department of Parking will take over all the outdoors and ingest the Game and Fish Commission? Once all the places that can be taken have been taken and turned into parking spaces what then? Is there a maintenance routine that will kick in so that members of the Yonkers Parking Authority will have something to do in perpetuity so they will not be on the street, unemployed, at the mercy of the Welfare Board? Will the Welfare Board then rule over all the parking spaces in Yonkers?
Tonight on the train I will be looking at the small things for my inspiration. I’m through with the beautiful vistas and scenic sunsets. I wonder how long the train will continue to function while the junkies rip-off the copper? Kind of like how long can you keep a cow alive while you slice steaks off its living body? There’s a lot of small stuff to look at. I may never look at a big thing again. -Rand Gartman
Image: Rand Gartman
I have visions of small fish being swallowed by bigger fish and them, in turn, being swallowed by bigger fish… I picture two men in light blue stretch, Sans-a-belt pants with wide-brimmed white hats and white golf shoes on a golf course somewhere in Florida. Introductions are being exchanged. “Hi, I’m Curdsley Froenbach. Used to be First Chair of the Onotomology Department—Florida State University School of Classic Design Criteria…” “Hey, glad to meet ‘cha! I’m Lorrenzo Gambinnattia. Used to be with the Yonkers Parking Authority.” “No kidding, Larry. May I call you Larry? That sounds really interesting!! You miss it now that you’re retired?” “Nah! How ‘bout you Curd? May I call you Curd? Miss what-cha-ma-call-it up there at F.S.U.?” “Nah! Why don’t you tee off first?” “O.K.”
Image: Anita Trombetta Memento Mori 36¨X 60¨ Oil on Canvas
If you were to ask him… If you were to ask him, the lover, about the Christmas they spent together, he would remember the preparation of it all. That the evening would start with a simple dinner of Apple and Tomato soup with pain complet, which would encourage—ever so—the conversation to stay as simple and real. A tangle of presents and parts would make for a climax and all too quick resolve.
And the other would soon say, “Oh, no, I just like having you around.” They had to agree on that.
If you were to ask him, the beloved, about the Christmas they spent together, he would remember the insouciance of it all. Some novels by Aciman and Atwood, Hardy and Hollinghurst, Wharton and Winterson filled with “here’s to…” inscriptions would work well in his library; an Oh Gosh, Oh Wow! Invisible ink puzzle with “XO” written all over its insubstantial cardboard pieces that would be the focus of phatic expressions for others who would stop by; the t-shirt of fiery blue and pure red and deep white that would serve as marker that he, the lover, had heard his beloved remark about Iceland only twenty-five months ago—all these provided mirth. Or just fun. If you were to ask them both about the Christmas they spent together, they would not remember enough to make the disingenuous nature of it all, even though quite obvious, disappear. Did they not discern that liberty, fraternity, inequality cannot create love? Romantic friendships, instead, it creates. But, it was still the Christmas they spent together—even though one would eventually say, “You matter to me because my life before you was consistently neutral—that is, life never became as complex, as memorable, as passionate and profound as I feel right now on this Christmas.”
Willows While she weeps like a willow treeand her hair is sagging like the branches dragging across the wind-swept floor tracing sharp lines of grief like the ones you etched in her face-
The rain's singing softlyand the droplets are dripping or slipping silently through branches laden with weight, with wearisome water that fills those windswept lines, So she drowns-Brian Garritano
Image: Hester Keith
Blind Beverage Swapping While not the intended effect, the outcome was surprisingly satisfying. I never would have thought that I would come to enjoy blind beverage swapping. There was nothing that could have prepared me for what was about to happen. As far as I know, humans don't have a beverage "spidey sense". (If we did, I never would have guzzled that cigarette butt in my can of beer way back when.) Actually, I'm glad I wasn't prepared. After all, surprise was the defining factor in my adult discovery of blind beverage swapping. My first foray into B.B.S started when I went to drink some milk, but then quickly realized I drank orange juice instead. My intentions were more calcium, but the result was more vitamin C. Please don't tell me you don't know what that's like. We have all done it. It's not that hard to do. Here's the scene: It's late at night, you go to the fridge half awake, and of course it's dark. You open the fridge and trust that your hand knows the right handle. Well, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, the hand does you wrong. I mean, the handles are very similar on OJ and milk cartons. They're very traditional handles, as far as handles go. I reached in, grabbed the carton, and drank from it. I know drinking from the carton horrifies some people, but I view it as doing my part for the environment. No cups to throw away, and for those who say, "use a glass jerk" I say, "that's wasting waterâ€ŚJERK!" I raised the carton to my mouth and once the unintended liquid hit my taste buds, I was jolted into this sort of shock and awe on my senses. I, of course, continued drinking the orange juice. I was thirsty and it was quite enjoyable, but those first few seconds were truly amazing. I went right back to bed. My thirst was quenched, but I was all sorts of conflicted inside. At first, I did everything I could to keep this from ever happening again. I was really nervous that I might blind beverage swap
again. I made sure I turned on all the kitchen lights and reached in the fridge real slow-like. There was no way I was going to confuse cartons again. If anyone happened to walk in on me in the kitchen, I would probably look like that guy from the Flash Gordon movie, the one who has to reach his hand in a tree trunk and hopefully not get stung by the creature who lives inside! Weeks went by and I started to realize that the one incident was a fluke. Then I became depressed. What if it didn't happen again? Truth be told, I sort of wanted it to happen. Regular, old-fashioned, reach in and drink what you want, did not satisfy me anymore. I wanted to be surprised, I wanted to feel that "what the" vibe all over again. At first, I would try to fake it. I would pretend to open the fridge and just reach in, but I had Fridge Memory. I just intuitively knew where the OJ and the milk were. This Fridge Memory foiled all my plans. Blindfolds, mittens, blindfolded while wearing mittens, I tried it all. What would someone think if they walked in on me then? The Flash Gordon movie guy was not looking so bad, after all. Whatever I tried, it just did not work. I felt weird that normal, everyday, intended drinking was not satisfying me anymore. Someone suggested I see a therapist, so I did, but all she said was "ummâ€Śyup that's weird". Before I left though, I snuck into the little kitchen in her office. She had one of those mini-fridges, the kind with the little mini freezers in them. What are they supposed to hold anyway? It's not a freezer if you can't fit at least three Swanson* (see authorâ€™s note, next page) TV dinners in it. I reached into her fridge and just grabbed something and drank it. The result was soda, but still no fireworks. I realized then that I had to know what was in the fridge in order to be confused. Randomness did not have anything to do with it. I was on
Image: Joseph Mastroianni Exploding Creamsicle 11x14in, Pen and Ink on mat board
* Authors note: While typing this story, my spell check did not recognize the word â€œSwanson.â€? It suggested Swan Song. I don't think I am alone in the desire to hear Robert Plant sing about Salisbury steak.
to something and could not wait to start experimenting. Soon enough, my mouth would be confused once again. I called a maid service and asked them if they could help me out. Though I didn't need my house cleaned, their services were needed. I met with the manager and he agreed to help me out. They were left with my house key and one request: to periodically pour the milk into the orange juice container. This could not work the other way around, because I would see the OJ in the clear milk cartoon. I told them to come while I was at work, but never to tell me when they would be stopping by. Weeks went by. I had just started to adjust back to normal drinking, when BAM!!! I went to drink some OJ and it was milk. I felt whole again. The experience was just like the first time I blind beverage swapped. It was like poetry to my palette and I was just plain psyched. Over the years, the maid service has had to add various beverages to the mix to keep it going. Soda instead of lemonade, beer instead of juice. I'm not sure when this effect will wear off and frankly I'll be ready to move on when it does. This is not an addiction, just something that I really love. One day, I plan to join the ranks of the rest of the "I want orange juice, so I am going to go to the refrigerator and get the carton and drink it" general public. But until then, I will never know if I'm going to go to drink some lemonade and be surprised by pickle juice. In fact, I am thirsty right now. I wonder if I will be surprised. I wonder if tonight I will be satisfied. We shall see. Yup, we shall see!
To Build a Tree of Driftwood and Leave Within each new love Swims the loss of last year's leaves Their desiccated veins are all that remain and still, Chlorophyll would move within Technically it's not Fall, but it's fall. The light Leaves green and yellow It almost reached frost-point Last night, when her ex stalked her The death of leaves comes soon, variegated Chorales slipping through The dirge signals more or
less than loss only Life does crystallize It's blood of rushing longing Slowing to yellow, red, Brown, black slush. But hope! - still, for love's lily white flame, licking There's hope for the sway of lost dignity. Fall, lay, stand With tattered eagerness Dead veins ingested, the roots are strengthened, the fine grained wood.
Dooms of Love We go to the Museum of Broken Relationships when thereâ€™s nothing else to do. The security guard seated just inside the door dozes with his mouth open. Wounding comments play continuously in the background. Other couples seem to hurry from room to room, but we linger over the exhibit of old love letters, beautiful handwriting that is nearly illegible behind the fractured glass. Out front where a brother and sister cry for their missing parent, itâ€™s begun to get dark. Birds pause in their migration to listen, amazed that electricity passes through such slender and dented wires. -Howie Good
Image: Anita Trombetta
Empty Trains Stalled Between Cities Walk along the tracks picking wildflowers
painted plates and lampshades ghostly little boats
as if it were supposed to mean something -Howie Good
Image: Joseph Mastroianni
A Space Undetected 12x12in Pen and Ink on Wood Panel
Image: Kathryn Lucia
From Heavy Curtains Series
Urge for Going So much for the heartsick blunders of blindness Naming it summer or some sudden truth But I was straightened by the sun’s close proximity in the glare of river water north flowing and slow Take pennies for wishes Gold for the star that fell and hit you on the head and you multiplied
rippled out became illuminated Turn corn from this old bloody soil Dream driftwood Take your time then set yourself in south’s direction for a ride down the Hudson All along the ridge on the wind’s hand Out of here so the distant tower weeps -Patricia Lowden
Ten Thousand Flies Can’t Be Wrong Ten thousand flies can’t be wrong, was the store’s slogan Printed on cheap T’s, given away with purchase of a Granny bushel Dad got one when he was smoke thin and I was still chewing a pant leg He wore it in ‘til his belly bulge faded the colors and I started chewing tobacco
The crooked frames cracking, holding generations all the while Swung into place only after a point, a place and story The past glories contagious, the bear décor outrageous pumpkins perched upon hay, the toothy grins night trouble steals away
A few years later our little store went under and used cars filled the lot The loose gutter missed the rain and a few soggy boxes held sale prices But I have not forgot the cornucopia spilling over festive gourds My mother’s love then a harvest cone, with sons she nursery rhymed home
Just outside the country store those clever tee shirts sold no more But the flies, ten thousand they come and sit on cars for no one
From the wood stove burning welcoming logs, smoking old mountain songs They hung bird feeders off scarecrows and things to buy for the wind to blow Tacked and pinned postings, pictures, even the crazy lady had room for scriptures Around lost dogs and cats you’d never get back, misguided mail, Dodge for sale There was cornhusk and stalk sweetly tied, a rusting Ice box, her puddle beside My toy tractor pushed over loose change and a poorly varnished terrain The civil draperies with that Southern pride, the bells anthem on top the door They kept the fireworks in the back and things for daddies to want more Barreled fruits near the Texaco sign, designed to have the feet follow eyes, to Maple syrup, Macintosh, hearty greens, a visitor’s far away coffee beans You’d leave smelling like apple pie. The cedar trim not leveled by a carpenter’s eye A local’s too-hot chili being pushed by the owner’s stuck smile
Image: Anita Trombetta Claire McGuire is currently a junior at SUNY New Paltz studying Art History, Drawing, and Painting. She loves 19th century landscapes, figure drawing, and taking creative writing classes. She wishes there was enough time to major in everything. Originally from Honoka'a, Hawaii, Akemi Hiatt works at the Center for Photography at Woodstock, where she assists with CPW’s year-round program offerings, including exhibitions, artists workspace residencies, workshops, lectures, publication, fellowships, and artist opportunities, and more. Akemi has reviewed portfolios on behalf of CPW and will curate two upcoming shows at CPW in 2011. She serves as co-
36”X60” Oil on Canvas Diptych
editor of CPW's quarterly publication, PQ, a journal on contemporary photography, and maintains a photography and music blog, Panopticon, at www.tumblr.akemihiatt.com. She graduated with a BA in Photography and Media Studies from the Gallatin School of Individualized Study at New York University in May of 2009. Her studies involved a four-month residency in the West African nation of Ghana, where she co-produced a documentary about the ongoing struggles of former child soldiers of the Liberian Civil War. Akemi has previously worked as a photographer for The Honolulu Advertiser, and interned as a gallery associate at Higher Pictures in New York City.
Tom Nash lights up rooms with his smile and houses with his business, Pan Eldi Electric. His poems and attitude represent the fun side of life and the art that already exists all around us. Tom lives in the Rondout area of Kingston, where he enjoys walking near the river and making the best cream puffs you've ever eaten. Alexandria Wojcik currently teaches Creative Writing at SUNY Ulster. Since graduating from SUNY New Paltz with her MA in English (Dec. 2009), she has cultivated a headful of blonde dreadlocks, shook things up with the Bard Center for Environmental Policy on a national campaign to stop global climate change, shown up fashionably late to present a paper about hair dye at the International Hemingway Conference in Lausanne, Switzerland, and taken back the disco. Her writing can be found on bathroom walls in Paris, France and in her zine The Pink Typewriter. James Sherwood earned an MA in English from SUNY New Paltz and is now pursuing a second Masters in teaching. He currently works for the New Paltz English Department as a Graduate Assistant, and freelances as a copyeditor. His poetry and essays have been published in Chronogram, Shawangunk Review, and WaterWrites, an anthology of Hudson Valley poetry and memoir. In his spare time, he hikes Mohonk and Minnewaska obsessively and restores antique and modern furniture. Samantha Tansey, a Yonkers-native, is a Creative Writing major at SUNY New Paltz. Aaron Kravig recently moved to the Hudson Valley from Atlanta, Georgia and will begin attending SUNY New Paltz in Spring 2011.
Ustya Tarnawskyâ€™s work deals primarily with two intertwined subjects: weeds and birds. She has recently shown at the r.a.t gallery of Gardenville, PA, SUNY Dutchess, Water Street Market and Unison of New Paltz. Rand Gartman lives near Peekskill, NY in a home he and his wife and three sons built twenty years ago. He grew up near Miami but has spent significant time in Tallahassee, Florida, Mountaindale, NY, and Philadelphia, PA. He has worked most of his life as a carpenter and construction superintendent. His other activities include sculpting, carving, motorcycling and working in his garden. "I love the Hudson Valley and the sense of history I feel when I am in the woods and motorcycling on the beautiful winding roads." Rand has been writing short stories, poems and a journal for his own enjoyment for most of his life. He also adds to his blog (http://camerabanger.blogspot.com/ ) from time to time. Anita Trombetta has studied at SUNY New Paltz three, going on four years. She is pursuing a double major in BFA painting and Spanish. Native to the Hudson Valley, she is enchanted by its natural beauty. Fascinated by repetitive forms like corn kernels and banana rot, she spends many hours pondering their structure and coloration. Recently she has been exhibited at The Honors Center at SUNY New Paltz and will have her thesis show in December 2011. Nicholas Wright studied at SUNY Potsdam and New Paltz. Teaching literature, grammar, and writing have been life-long dreams that he has recently begun to fulfill. This is his first fiction piece.
Gulnar Babayeva is an emerging artist, born in Azerbaijan Republic. She is a sophomore at SUNY Ulster earning her AA in Fine Arts. She is a graduate of Azerbaijan University of Languages ’09. She lives with her ‘American family’ in Cottekill, NY. Her appreciation of art grew into the aspirations of learning and practicing visual arts proficiently. Brian Garritano is a junior at SUNY New Paltz currently studying in Secondary Education with a focus in English. He fancies himself a poet, although this is rather debatable, and for the time being, most of his work can be found primarily on his laptop. Hester Keith grew up in Central New York, and now works and resides in Gardiner, New York. She earned her BFA in Ceramics from SUNY New Paltz in 2003. Hester’s work explores human emotion through sculptural forms. The resulting figurative creations document and mirror human experiences and precious fleeting moments. Her work has been shown in local galleries throughout the Hudson Valley and can be found online at hesterkeith.blogspot.com and hesterkeith.etsy.com Tim Sutton has been teaching and developing video production, media literacy, music, and writing workshops for over 10 years. He is currently Director of Media Education at the Woodstock Day School. Tim is also a filmmaker, his latest short film won 2nd place in the Spirit of New Paltz film contest. As a musician, Tim has won the first and only talent contest at a Phish show, toured with the Ramones, and has sung back-up vocals on a Pete Seeger album. His current music projects are Ratboy and Ratboy Jr. Joseph Mastroianni is working towards an MFA in Drawing/Painting at SUNY New
Paltz. His work combines floating, chaotic, tranquil, and unstable forms drawn and painted in overlapping layers creating a memory search for the viewer to deduce a farcical world. The drawings exist in an exterior space or landscape, and consist of speckled patterns, unconventional indistinct formations, and controlled statics of color. He approaches each drawing with no prior image or shape, eschewing sketches, research, and source material. Instead, he works the material until a form emerges. These psycho-geographical compositions are consciously and unconsciously created, forcing unpredictable paths and jolting the viewer into following a groove that may come to a cohesive conclusion or a stalemate.
Andrew Steiner is a student at SUNY New Paltz, studying Jazz and Creative Writing. He believes in practicing music, prose, and poetry as an integrated discipline and a way of life. Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of the fulllength poetry collections Lovesick (Press Americana, 2009), Heart With a Dirty Windshield (BeWrite Books, 2010), and Everything Reminds Me of Me (Desperanto, 2011), as well as 24 print and digital poetry chapbooks. Kathryn Lucia (See Cover Artist) Patricia Lowden is from New Paltz, NY, but when she isn't running around the Gunks, you can find her traveling anywhere she can get to. Her work has been published in Hunger Magazine, Chronogram, and Thin Air Magazine. J. Sipowicz has lived in NYC for seven years and will be moving out when the spring shouts. He’s looking to find a quaint little mountain home somewhere
in the Catskills. Originally from the Lake George area of upstate New York, he attended SUNY New Paltz and graduated with a BA in English & Dramatic Writing/Poetry. At New Paltz, he received the Vincent Tomaselli Award for outstanding poetry by a university student. His work has been published in Chronogram and a few other local and university publications. J. produced a CD of original poems on top of music samples (untitled still) and has written several poems to accompany the artwork of Eleana Pellegrino at various showings in New York. Since then, he has been fighting the big business of life, sharing poems with a few sweethearts and trying to grab his evasive muse by the elbows.
Acknowledgements There are so many individuals and businesses without whom Awosting Alchemy could not exist in this form. Thank you to Elizabeth Unterman, who saved the magazine from being crafted with typewriter and mimeograph, taped and hand-numbered. Your technological prowess is invaluable. Thank you to David Friedman & Barner Books of New Paltz who have supported the project from Day 01. Thank you to Morningstar Properties, Deegan-Sanglyn Realty, Elting Memorial Library, Verde & Cocoon of New Paltz, and PDQ Printing who all made our November opening event the place to be. Thank you, talented & diverse band of contributors, for doing your art & word thing so well here in the Valley. Aw/Al exists because you exist! And thank you again, dear reader, not only for beginning at page 01, but for reading through to the end. We hope you enjoyed your journey and will be back for the next issue in March 2011.
New for March: Awosting Alchemy seeks work to celebrate the lion/lamb culture of early Spring; one word of caution: be careful with getting too literal! But literal might be amazing! Ignore us and send what you want! We canâ€™t wait to see your submissions.
******* Submission Guidelines Thanks for choosing to send your work to Awosting Alchemy. Weâ€™re writers and artists too, dutifully sending our work out into the atmosphere with our fingers crossed. We truly appreciate what you do and your decision to include us in your efforts. Always check our website for updated submission guidelines & contests. Email us submissions of art, poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction at firstname.lastname@example.org You may also feel free to contact us with any questions you may have. Our response time is fairly swift. Expect to hear back from us within about a month. Thanks again. We look forward to your submissions. Send us things you had to write or create because they were nowhere else in the world, sharp and new and not yet worn out by others. Strive for a new set of fingerprints. Read: AwostingAlchemy.wordpress.com Submit: AwostingAlchemy@hotmail.com Facebook: artist.to/awostingalchemy/