CANVAS Volume 15 Issue 2

CANVAS

i9 *

;

i

T.

i

-,. .

;.

_,

,.

* Ia

,.

r .' in

d

3

t

Director Jared

Thomas

Editors

°

Daniel

Harting

Dianne

Orland

r,,l

1

Designer Nathan

aw

Bilanco l i

yn

p

Assistant

Directors =r te,

Bobbv

Conselatore

Daniel

Harting

Chloe

Kent

Rk;^ k

Anti

Kumar

Grace

Miller

Laura

Miller

Diannne

r

Osland

Stephen Schmuldt

Selections Marra

Committee

Ahonour

y

Bobby Kumar ConselatoreAnn.

A,

Grace

Miller

Laura

Miller

Stephen

Schlnuldt

x r y

,

I.

-.

Dea

Reader,

*z

6

e in in

a* x

nete

6.

p

alern

S

ditr

imgn

coo

ar

o paror stces

a

us

S.

*

*

.I

0tret

puhi 6u

wit

deir

and 5

-

.

S

.

*

picsi.hsmaaieaetckds0etyi -5

aM

XSi.

hn

o

oalo

u

otrbtr;tesaf

n

. o raesIhaebesobesdtbeaato thscm

d

*

h

al

us

pc,"ewe 6e S

.

5

wold

cofrnt

idln 6

the

h

o sps .

hdw

andbupe

weso.S.ode

~~~~~~~~~ ofatfl0nti

S

se

iia

oS cit

reurn 6ha

z

percetion

obevr

sii0

mueus

ure

our

et

we

wa

in

exst

ar

witou

F.

th

an

of

hsclevrn

thi

nd

hdw

spce

inemeit

.thu

7

S

efetosno6elty

excl

th

S

*

oto

ui.

CANVAS

The Death of Saddam Hussein Anders Johnson

Dancing, Hit By Truck 3

Anders Johnson

I am influenced by sexuality and feminism and above

all driven by process.

I am interested in human relationships and sexual courtship and often use nature to reflect the duality

of civilized society and primal emotions.

Le Petite Mort Allison Baker

Formation Suzanne Wyss

6

Formation 7

Suzanne Wyss

Handsome Edge Cups Benjamin R. Cirgin

8

I have a strong fascination with how we as humans use materials to construct and define our lives.

Growing up in southern Indiana surrounded by enormous limestone

rock quarries, I understand how materials from my backyard are unearthed, processed, and made into finely crafted buildings, art and thousands of indescribable objects. I think of the things that I make as a record of an event.

The events which I present have a personal record of time, place,

geology and craftsmanship.

9

Three Sons Yunomis

Benjamin R. Cirgin

10

There Is No Time 11

Benjamin R. Cirgin

I am intrigued with how we move through time. Our lives repeat, expand, contract,

cycle, and fade. Along the way, certain aspects appear clear and precise while other aspects lack focus and form.

I am interested in the way paint application can mimic these ideas.

Untitled right Marine

Tempels

12

;s......... .'.t..

.. .s" '. n .:" '1 . r Ac ,,. ti : a^a. r{r: a } s;, {: eye '"$iy;;} 3.i 'v?.

:y.+.::

;e

!.

J

?;L .tilr

,S.

':}

'}t {, F v .

C - L""'4',e'.+'""vix"Fi

,a'-'

v

r4 .. ,

"."

";f.

'.: '.: ..

. zv , ':

.ti.t

' "

;ice

'

ti

.; p7ra.,;y1h,

:?.""

"Y;."-.

.

^ {.:, .

<r -, .+"r; :ti .

y: t=

'ma y

;+h:i"u.

. } ,:" .r}

-

.4kF:

>,f y rx"44cr i 'r

;'y'::,

.Y

":

'T'y iy ; "

,

'r '

=

, ' !!" lF.: "

'r.F'"

'v'

. " u[':,':. "

h" ?f}i:

t'

.:ti".:G ;S .v " r

?I; '

} ;'

r:

.. 4"

~j'

v/'

sr':u.s:...

:.1,E ,4';srxj, t3 " ,L"

:

,..

t- f w :,

. .!.' ...

'.

yti:h!

n..

rk'v.,yeti'}, y t

x Y,

=] y:

is

'!y"

,

,.

°,

."' '

' "

'ate''"

.r.F...

'"

V.yH"

ri -

";

_Aj v.d

's

'Yfif. ,' Y ;

:;

"

y4'

".

,..,!

..k

"

.-

.. t

,y.

..

._,. . +.1..

,' . .....

.. :. ": ' :a:

'

s

z

., } ' Vic L'' 4

" iJ"

-

;.iii;

.........

ti_ i.

1!'

...

,

!

' " d "ts'-,.

.

.lr:."

."'':'l :"'-:'

;

.

r i

, k'

"s"'!s"..: ' " ,

,y

.}'r

".l

"-=v} ". RV\

-'

a

t-

z, ...

-use

'

;j::e"

., ?:Y "='

::....-,. ' .. .ti,,:'p1::SY'-. .:I . htiley

. ..- : y: y :\^

_

.i : "

...p;Y"'"i..'"v

:. v:"

,"a'.:..

c

kn, -w

: i':R:~.','ir.'

ily

'

,v a . ti , . r L1 ",Y4, k zvr4"(x."bta :'

417

'.=5:+ -

. ti:w.

11 4

.

a

tom..

:., ti+":='; ,<"e

Jam:

-

_

,

let;ia

-

i

may. .Vn.v

J

.e

FAX

4 +I

r'",.",

(f

M

W.-

S

fr

a

-.

6L:

George Washington is the Father of Our Country Marine Tempels

14

Fire I saw it in Niggeratti Manor

We saw the clash of steel on steel,

in Harlem, where they scrambled

the first stone arrow to ever pierce a hide,

for gin and lit a single fire.

a complete electric circuit and

I saw it in Cafe Select on

the invention of the key.

Boulevard Montparnasse

We listened as the wind curled

where the fire also rises.

the flames and the earth pulled

And in little needle and cone grove

and the tides came in and out. We felt

where the moon blazes like a silver koi

the warmth of the wine in California

swimming through pine tops,

and the warmth of the woodstove in Washington

where the wind whispers a prayer

and the heat of the kiln in Harlem

that we might not forget to live.

and the rage of every expatriate

The great awakener, fire water.

of this country or that.

Nothing changes in the fire ring.

The earth turns beneath us

Certainly we love the burn.

and I saw the embers turn,

We pour it down our throats

unwinding the thread of human history

and cup it in our hands even though it hurts.

in the night before my eyes.

And it blinds us for our passion.

I saw in the flames coursing through the broken sticks, plasmatic

Some do not care for fire.

and red, a script of forgotten faces

They are the ones who simply forget to live.

surely the same faces seen

For them the wind prays.

by my ancient ancestors huddling

For them the bodhisattva counts his beads

around their own hot circle,

by the light of the moon.

their faces buried like mine in the heat of

For them the poets clink glasses of absinthe

being ashamed and finding for the first time

and laugh.

the hidden things that alcoholics,

For them the royalty of Harlem

ink benders, shamans, and schizophrenic

set Fire!!

hermits have known for millennia.

Fire is

Dason Anderson

Untitled Hannah Clendening

16

I

Cousins burka-hijab: cat call under wraps keep it all so hot

tan-line bikini oh please see me all burned up

Cousins

17

Peter Oren

L

t

L

Yeti

RBt, { Y

':

4

fitt 4

S

S;

tiv

Y

4 Ls TL

k x,

i..

L

CS:

..

:

!

Stairwell 19

left,

Slip above

Liza Milhander

To Vladimir A greasy, chicken-legged prick pressed me against a wall and hissed in my ear: "It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight."

Seedy Justice pounding, fingering my leather shelling to pieces, firing our loins and I am Marat with only his sweaty paws to kill me.

Dreaming of seraphim, you slash your pen across the page, quivering at the touch of my half-breed barbarian tongue in your ear. Dear Jesus, I do

something and lay there-hot, slick, and unclean, his hands not yours ravishing me in sweet metaphor.

To Vladimir Heidi Peck

20

1

2

I

Untitled 21

Johanna Palmieri

Ants and Bowerbirds: How We Live

by Anu Kumar

Ants create colonies in order to have a

which both animals and humans alter the

place live, eat, and mate. Bowerbirds create

environment to fit specific purposes peaked

structures for the purpose of attraction.

his interest.

David Katz creates in order to show how we, as humans, live and exist within limitation.

"I think it all ends up boiling down to survival, and the cultural expectations that

"I've always been fascinated with humans and the strangeness of us, in comparison

have been built out of the need for survival," Katz said.

to other animals. The way we live is really weird," Katz said.

His work does not judge the human mode of construction or how we exist within the

Katz researches urban sprawl and methods

structure of society. There is no distinction

of occupancy by looking at maps, roadways,

of natural or unnatural. More than that,

and aerial photography of city layouts and

his work serves as an observation and

farms. He notes that even rural areas are

method of expression. The rectangular

formed in the most methodical manner.

forms represent manmade structures and

These structures are reflected in his work

the clay formations live and breathe within

through ceramic-based rectangular forms.

the structure, similar to people in society.

"We exist within our built environment,

"It's not wrong for us to live this way, but

I think that is fascinating and strange,"

it's a natural progression that we should

Katz said.

be aware of, as it is just a different form of natural," Katz said.

Katz also draws inspiration for his work from ant colonies and the structures male

Katz himself felt stuck within a set

bowerbirds create in order to attract their

structure during his sophomore year in

female mate. The different processes in

college and felt the need for expression.

22

-ci

-'.

-t-- _,

p.

1

[

'79 -

*

-

1 r2-

-

He simply signed up for an art class as a way to break routine and found a medium for expression.

"I needed to do something that was not because of the pathways mapped out by our society, but just for the sake of doing, just for the sake of expressing," Katz said.

Up until that point, Katz had experienced art that was about embracing beautiful things that already existed rather than expressing ideas. Now, as Katz teaches different introductory level courses as part of his Masters program, he looks to promote and help facilitate an open creative process for others.

"It's remarkably inspiring to watch minds uncover things and to help and look at that creative process," Katz said.

Katz emphasizes the need for an individual's unique voice and self-reflection. The opportunity to uncover, understand, and question continues to drive him.

"There are infinite answers, a back and forth dialogue within your own artistic practice," Katz said.

Even within the confines of society, Katz remarks that there are numerous avenues for him to continue to develop and pursue expression.

I

Confluent Systems 24

25

David Katz

IV's Sara Lowthian

26

_L

Vending Machine 6

27

Sara Lowthian

Candy Sara Lowthian

28

There Is No Time 29

Sara Lowthian

Stories

There are boys and girls.

They tell their stories, laced with grandeur and sugar.

Their words taste of mango lassi from Mumbai, sweet, cold, and gold like the holiday sun.

Wide, barren deserts and tall skyscrapers that reflected the sky were curious of how they knew to venture out and laugh at hesitation.

Open space and the vast unknown constantly failed to suffocate them.

Oh, how they were thrilled by darkness.

No organization required, they did not plan, but still did not wander.

They walked because they wanted to feel, needed to know, and understand it all.

Running was pointless; it couldn't make them forget.

Besides, memories were worth remembering.

Remembering taught them to be strong, fearless, rulers of the jungle gym, leaders of tomorrow.

So they hoped and dreamed, uncased and open, for their stories to set them free.

Stories

Anu Kumar

30

31

Baden 31

Hannah Clendening

:;' r

Edto'

Choic

A;

S t

cc

T1 of

I'm

thim my

35

Where Science Meets Art An interview with Kim Waite by Dianne Osland

Science isn't something you'd necessarily think pairs with art. How did your work come around to combine the two?

This all started when I had to decide between the path of science or art. I chose art.

You can look at images and you can't really trust them, and even though science is typically viewed as fact, we still make mistakes. There's that parallel, what's real and what's fake. My best friend is studying in Chicago, doing crazy science research on muscle tissue in salmon and I showed her my work. She got really excited about it even though what I'm doing isn't factual at all.

I asked her, "Do you think other scientists would shun this because it's not pure fact?" but she thought they'd be excited about it even though it's more of a pseudoscience.

Because I'm an artist, I can take that spin in it and view the world in a different way.

What are you working on now?

I'm in my thesis semester of the MFA program now so this is my final project. A continuous theme throughout my work has been this idea of collection and fear of loss,

35 Editor's cho ice

so I've related that to my strong interest in science and the natural world. I'm collecting real and found objects and then creating some of my own.

For my show, I'll have these photographs but in different modes of viewing, not just 2-D prints on a wall. It'll be a mock museum in a way, where I'll have an actual physical collection rather than photographs of a collection.

Where do you find inspiration for your work?

I watch a lot of animal documentaries and look at books. This sounds kind of weird, but I have this Animal Fact File from when I was a kid and just flipping through that sparks ideas. Some things

kind of fall in my lap. We have a wasp problem in this building and while they don't bother me, other people kill them and we have these cups fill of wasps. I ended up making a piece to give them a use, rather than just throwing them out. I just keep my eye out and whatever I find can spark an interest.

How has your work evolved?

Before it was always very instinctual. An image would come to mind and I'd just do it, which is great in a lot of ways, but now I think more about where that image came from and what in my life has led me to that image. How can I show that? How can I put that information in my work as well?

So in this work, my interest in science and memory preserving, trying to control memory, or science, through collection, that's

Editors Choice

en ;igs

lave

min

I/

I

MY the

th e

wI 1w

thij anc

a fo lab, it t0

it. I aw it

"

I th

Mel

Thi glas star

third con sorr are

39

my genuine interest. I hope that comes through the work... there's more of me in the work now then there used to be.

You talk a lot about collections.

What do you personally collect?

When I was younger, I told my mom that I wanted a collection of collections. I'd collect things all the time, anything I found interesting, and put them in boxes. Whenever a friend or a family member would give me something, I'd label it with a piece of string and tape: who gave it to me, when they gave it and how I felt about it. I don't know why I did that, whether it was a way to communicate with my future self or if it was based on my fear of losing my memory...

I think that's where the idea of collection and memory loss has all come from.

The only collections I've kept are these small glass animals that used to come in rose tea. I've started to limit my habit. A lot of people collect things, and it's like they try to gain a sense of control of time and space even though that's something we can't ever control. Collections are our attempt to feel that control. I Work

(In Order Of Apperance) Cuttlefish Mosquitoes' Failed Attempt Southern Hognosed Snake Perch Skeleton The Impossible Meadow Run 39 Editor's Goice

Three Octopuses

PICHERS

The swan were starin me down thru the rain

like a bull inna ring, and he were raisin is

When I tol Momma bout the swan, her

S]

eyes got watery an red, an she smiled real goofy. She sayed It's ok, Jellybean, he never done no harm. Then she sayed she was goin for a nudder walk and for me to fix us some dinner for when she got back since I

head an the neck with

was such a big girl an all. Reason she sayed

the strings of muscle

I was a big girl was cuz I just turned eight

innit, and lookin right square at my eyeballs.

last month, an thats right big.

Momma'd been goin on walks since

Daddy'd been buried in Hoagland Cemetery down the road. It's close by the A hiss hiss came outta his bright beak.

lake where I were fishin down on the river

Then he bent that neck o his in half, clear

run trail, an she gone there most ev'ry day

down to the mud so I thought he was

since Daddy been dead. That were bout a

gonna drink some. But stead of drinkin,

month ago, and I spose it don matter how

he run straight at me, gruntin like a sow

often she want to go there, but the swans

in labor. So I done run back to the shack

got me to worryin bout her when she's

in where I put my fishin poles and worms,

walkin to the cemetery. So when she axed

forgettin my shoes and halfin to run back

me to fix some dinner, I got out some o

an gettem cus Momma'd whip me good for

the fish we had in the freezer an set it out

leavin em out in the elements.

to thaw while I gone after Momma t make sure she'd got past the swans okay.

Pichers

Stephanie L. Miller

Editor's Choice

41

Smellt like rainwater an rottin leaves

the bird, an I noticed how the feet o the

al

outside, an when I got near t the lake,

swan was almost purple they was so black.

ver

I saw Momma down by the water close by

But I knew Momma diden notice, cuz it

the swans. She were sqauttin down on the

seem like she were tryin to have a starin

x us

muddy groun an holdin out her arms wide

contest with that swan, an I swear I heated

:e I

like a hug, an she were lookin hard at one

her whisper Daddies name real quiet. She

o the swans. I'm fully certain it were the

sayed Charlie Charlie without barely movin

same hissin swan from before. The bird

her mouth for the sound to come out. She

were boppin its head up an down real quick

still had her arms out like a hug, an she

an makin gurgles deep in its white neck,

started movin em up and down like she

glarin at Momma. I reckon I jus guessed it

were gon fly up overtop the lake. An she

were glarin at her, cuz swans got little black

started makin noise like the swan, groolin an hissin up a hissin storm.

vet

he eyes that get hid in their black faces like they wearin sunglasses or somethin. But it

lay

looked straight at her, an it bopped up an

So I say Momma, how ignorant is you?

down quick.

He's the meanest swan I ever seen. You

yed ht

t a

should come on home cuz I got fish thawin

ow ns

When I got up close, Momma turned

in the basin.

round an tol me to stay aways back. ed

I donno what got in t her, cuz she were smiling goofy like before, an she kept

>ut

lookin back at the swan like they had a

ake

secret between em. Then she turn back to

But she

jus glanced

back at me quick with

er eyebrows all sewed t gether. She use my middle name, sayin Tara Reed, you bess be gettin on home an I'll be back on my own damn time.

Pichers 41 Editor's CGoice

Stephanie L. Miller

So I gone home slow as I could.

She seen him an she had a nice dance with

him by the lake.

I(

I fixed the fish up nice an fancy even

th

though I thought Momma done a stupid

I were real scared then, cuz I was for sure

thing at the lake. She done a few things

that Daddy'd been dead for thirty-seven

odd since Daddy died but nothin so stupid.

days. I were afeared that Momma were losin

I thought maybe a hot dinner would make

her mind like the wanderin dog I'd had t

er feel smarter agin. When Momma walk

shoot the summer before when it got in the

sa

in the door she were all wet an covered in

corn crib. Like maybe she'd start foamin at

C:

duckweed. She were still smiling, though

the mouth and babblin and smarlin, but I

F1

they was a bright cut on er neck. I stopped

wouldn't be able to shoot her like a dog.

m

what I was doin an made her get in a warm

I donno what I'd do if she done that.

pi us

rih

tub while I set the table. I don like filling the tub none, for I'm afeared of the soun since

Daddy been dead, but I fillt it anyhow.

My hands were shakin a little when I lay the silverware down.

When we were settin down to eat, Momma gave me a kiss on the top o the head an sayed thank you, Jellybean. She ate up the fish like she hadden eaten a thing in two days, an then slowed down an poked her collard greens like she were all thoughtful.

I axed what's wrong, Momma. An she sayed nothin, Jellybean. She were showin all her

h<

More so, maybe I were scared that Momma'd talked to a ghost of Daddy, an maybe he tol her what I axidently done to im.

So I ate up my fish speedy an axed t

be excused.

Momma ate her greens slow while I read my picher books bout spies, sittin in Daddy's brown ledder chair, where I like t sit the best. Still smells a little like him when he'd fall asleep there in the summer, smellin like sweet sweat an chewin tobacco.

teeth kinda bashful, an she were quiet for a few more minutes fore she talked agin.

I do favor books bout spies. Spies always

She tol me that she seen my daddy today.

be runnin round in the dark an chasing

Pichers Stephanie L. Miller

Editor's Choice 42

11

43

whoevers causin ruckus. An everyone know

one brudder, was the good ones. They

I don like ruckus near my property, like that mangy dog I shoot. Sometimes I

was pichers of us playin Spies mostly, but

pretend t be a spy from France, an Daddy

Daddy would say. These here is the good

on us. use t play with me fore he done died

ones, Honey Flower.

Spies gotta be real quiet, my daddy use t

That's how he make all the money to buy

the

say. They gotta be real quiet. Then he'd say

me and Momma nice things. I don know

at

Can you be quiet as a spy for me, Honey

how money come for the pichers or what

t I

Flower? And I always would be, maybe even

anyone would want withem. But I guess

more quieter, while he take pichers. I'm

that don matter anymower, cuz Daddy ain't

right certain that if Momma'd ever been

here to sellem anymower. I don right know

home when Daddy was playin Spies withus,

what I'll do now if I go an break my fishin

she would never of known we was down in

pole an Daddy isn't round to get a new one

the basement playin. But she wasn't never

down at the marina.

ith

re

osin t

sometimes udder games. An that's what

home then.

When I got t thinkin bout that, I done got

d

cco.

Daddy was a pho-tographer. That's what

tired of my book bout spies, an I jus sat in

he called it. He work also at the gas

the livin room for a good while in the dark.

station up town two nights a week. But his

Momma, who'd been sittin in the kitchen

pro-feshun-that's what he call it-were a pho-tographer. What that means is he

all the time I been readin, not doin nothin but rubbin her finger on the grain o the

take pichers o things an get money forem.

table, got up an went in her room without

He took pichers for bout three years, I

turnin on any lights.

spose, since I been five. The ones he show to Momma was the bad ones, o trees

I curled up there in the chair t sleep so if

an flowers an bumblebees an such. The ones, ones he take of me an Mary s udder

Momma got up in the night, I could wake up t make sure she were ok.

Leggett an her sisters an sometimes their

er,

Pichers 43 Editor's Choice

Stephanie L. Miller

When I waked up, the clock overtop the

The night were pritty as I were walkin

tv sayed two or three fifty in the mornin.

down to Hoagland, with no clouds to speak

Not sure which cuz I'm not fully certain

of an the wind a nice warm one blowin

bout all the rules for clocks with hands.

northeast. I tied my jacket round my waist,

The lights was on in Mamma's room, so I

for I was puffin from bein too warm. I gon

say Momma, you awake? She didden answer,

the some halfa mile down the road pritty

though, so I got up an went into her room,

quick, an I cut out into the grass t check

scootin my socks on the carpet so as not

the water. I passed the lake real slow, makin

t make noise. But right away it were evident

sure there weren't no swans or no Momma.

she weren't in her room cuz the bed was

All there was was some sparkles out on the

made nice an the floor were tidy, which it

water from the moon makin a shimmer

hadden been in a couple weeks. I coulden

line cross the middle, like a shinin bridge

believe I hadden waked up.

I could

jus

go right out onto. But stead of

goin on that moon bridge I kep goin on I looked all over the house for Momma,

to the cemetery.

but she weren't in any o the usual places

jus

or the unusual places like the basement

It were

an closets. Her sweater were gone from

o pine trees. If you wanted to get there

the coatrack, so I figgerd she were outside

quick, which I did, there was a deer trail

sittin somewheres, an I got my own jacket

thru them trees that you could take stead

t go out the back door after her. It weren't

of the river run trail, which were really

real dark out cuz the moon were high an

a road stead of a trail.

on the other side of a thick wall

th< It

round. I seen she weren't by the garden on the two benches, an when I take a lap round the house she weren't anywhere there either. Then I got the thought she probly gone down to Hoagland Cemetery, where I hadden been since Daddy been buried there.

It'!

The deer trail ain't real big, but I been

ud

on it enough to know where I was goin in

th<

the dark. Graveyard were my meetin spot

ot

with Mary Legget an her brudder Bobby

sta

when we'd play catch, but since the funeral

be

I ain't been there t meet em. I ain't scared

go

of the dark none, but I kep gettin a feelin

Pichers

Stephanie L. Miller

Editors Choice

45

in my throat when I got closer to Hoagland, like I were chokin on something hot and

I bent down t feel the dirt in front o the

1 crawlin. I done jumped at a rabbit who

Didden get a chance to do this durin the

aist,

decided to dart out of a shadow an make a

funeral for I were closin my eyes most the

gon

lot o noise in the leaves. Then I got a hold

time an prayin Daddy don't hate me in is

:ty

o myself in both senses o the word, shakin

grave. The dirt were still a little soft from

:k

my head tween my hands till I done shaked

thirty-three days ago.

iakin

the scared baby-feelin out. Ain't right to

speak

ima.

be afeared of things that ain't the devil,

To be certain, I were fully relieved the grave were still there. I were afeared that Momma

speshly if Momma needs help.

the

grave, which Momma call a headstone.

were right an Daddy done come back from the dead. Not that I don want im

When I got to the last o the pines,

ge

I stopped at the edge o the trees an looked out at the cemetery. They was graves

t of

n

wall

back, but I don think someone who been unnerground for that long could come back

poppin up everywhere like grey mushrooms,

hunky dory. He'd prolly be all white with

all of em throwin long shadows for it were

is bones showin, an I woulden like that

nearin morning. It diden look like nobody

none. But speshully cuz he might tell what

was round, jus me an all the people runner

I done to im.

the groun, but they ain't really people.

il

I run my fingers over the letters on the rock,

ad It's a little graveyard, no bigger than half

which was slimy an cold even though the

the size o the baseball diamon up town.

night were cumfterble. They say Charles

It only take me a few seconds t run t the

R Fenner. That were my Daddy's full name,

udder side, over t a small squared grave by

though everyone called im Charlie, cept

in

the only apple tree there. The dirt in front

for me callin im Daddy. The letters were

ot

o that one's still showin, little weeds yy

jus

startin to poke thru. I reckon they won't

eral

be any grass till nex spring, cuz the frost

ed

gonna kill all the sprouts in jus a couple

lin

months or so, for it's all reddy September.

real straight n nice, an I never felt em before then.

I sat down on the ground an looked round once fore I spat a loogy on the dirt.

Pichers 45 Editor's Choice

Stephanie L. Miller

I'm not sure why, but maybe cuz I'm still a

an fun anyway to wear no clothes. Momma

little mad bout what Daddy say bout Mary

never let me run buck naked when she were

it.

Leggett, maybe cuz I thought he might be

home. She say its improper, even tho I like

gir

thirsty unner that groun. Regardless, me

it, being free an fun.

be

It were the first an only time we played

M

princess with Daddy. How the game goes

ml

is us girls would set on the red couch

in

downstairs an pretend at princesses. There

be

was lights for the pichers set up round the

go

couch. He axed us to set in a line an braid

th

each others hair. He tol us to hug an kiss

se,

if we want, but we only hugged. He axed

to

us t lay down in a pile an pretend we was

W,

sleepin. But the reason this game were

sp

It's true I were mad as hornets then, but

differnt was this time Daddy set with us

di

I didden mean to hurt my Daddy that bad,

after a while stead o

for I loved im.

axin us things.

an

spittin were me tellin im I come to visit.

I say Hi, Daddy, I'm sorry bout what I done.

I didden spect no answer from im, an I didden get none. Felt good to talk to im though.

I say Daddy, I'm real sorry, but I were also mad bout what you sayed to Mary that las time we was playin.

jus

takin pichers an

so

H

H

n little more it started was ow a month ago, we was all playin

in the basement with Daddy. It were me, Mary, an her sister Brenda. This time stead of playin spies we were playin princess.

Rules of all Daddy's games say you gotta wear no clothes at all. He say thats so the pichers is good, an we thought it were silly

He set down on the couch with us an we

M

made im the prince, which he liked. He tal<

bt

nice to us, an hug an kissed us. He touch

W;

me down in my lady place, which he done

fit

a couple times few months before then

ar

when we was alone an playin. It felt right

d(

strange, speshully when his fingers was cold,

th

an sometimes he'd put one o the fingers

m

almost in me. I know this weren't quite

YC

normal for a Daddy, strange even. Felt ok,

Pichers Stephanie L. Miller

Editorrs Choice

4:

>mma

an he always loved me most when he done

Then my face turned real hot, an I

e were

it. He'd say, Tara, you is the most beautiful

yelled Daddy, how could you? I hate you!

I like

girl in the world, an I love you so much for

I scratched is hand way from Mary an

being such a good girl.

punched im in the chest, an dragged Brenda with me upstairs.

d

Made me happy, the couple times he touch

does

me like that, like he were puttin his love

I cried til Daddy an Mary come upstairs

in me with his fingers. He'd say this is

bout five minutes later. I coulden look at

here

between me an you, Honey, so don you

either of em, even when Mary tol me she

I the

go an spoil our secret to no one. I got

were sorry an went out the door to go

>raid

the feelin udder people woulden like our

home with er sister.

kiss

secret anyway. This time though, he start

xed

touchin Mary an Brenda too, sayin they

was

was pritty an stuff. I agree they was pritty,

That nights when Daddy were dead, but I didden mean to hurt im bad.

speshully Mary, whos eleven, so I guess I us

didden mind im sayin so. But then he done

an

somethin unforgiveable.

G

uess I must of fell asleep on the ground in the cemetery, cuz I woke

He were touchin Mary, callin her Princess

up a little sweaty an the sun were jus starting

we

Marigold. She look a little scared at first,

lc talk

but he kep tellin her how pritty the princess

ach

was, an she started smilin. When he put his

I got up an went straight toward our house,

lone

finger on her lady place, she move her hips

hopin Momma made it home alright.

to light up the east.

an spread er legs a little t see what he was ght

doin. Daddy like this, an he kissed her on

cold

the forehead. He sayed, right in front of s

me, he sayed Princess Marigold, I love you.

You is the most beautiful, I'm gonna make

ok,

you my queen.

The swans was all riled up when I passed the lake. They was spreadin their wings out, big an white like rows o teeth. Close to em, by the water, I seen Momma's

jacket. I

run

home fast as I could.

Pichers 47 Editor's Coice

Stephanie L. Miller

Momma were layin in Daddy's chair,

gone to hide in bed, lettin Momma find his

Bu

curled on er side. She were only wearin

body in the mornin, still in the water all

the

her underthings, an I saw right away

puffed up an naked. When I sayed I didden

prt

what the swans musta done to er. There

mean to hurt im, I weren't bein completely

asa

was scratches all over er, open an bleedin,

honest. I didden mean to kill im, but I

jus

duckweed an mud mixin in with the blood.

wanted to lettim know that Mary weren't

ho

Her lip was split clean open right in the

never gonna be his queen any time soon.

aft

middle, a little track o dryin blood goin

Th

down er chin. Her hair were wet an clingin to her forehead an goin over one of er eyes. The udder eye rolled over t look at me when I came in the livinroom. It were bloodshot an mostly shut.

When she saw me, she show all her teeth, which had some weeds innem. Outta that duckweed smile she say down quiet,

I

let gon t bed real early the night after

so

we played princesses, not wanting esplain t Momma why I was bein so sullen.

Most in the middle of the night, after I thought everyone was sleepin, I heated the bathtub bein filled up. My bedroom's

in bu thi wa

right next to the can, so I could hear the loud clink thru the wall when my Daddy

I s.

unbuckled his big silver belt buckle.

til

I headed the water slosh when he got in

sh<

the tub. The radio on the bath ledge were

we

I say Momma, I tol you those swans

turned on quiet. I waited some twenty

ou

was trouble. You poor thing, let's get you

minutes fore I moved an inch. I didden

co

inna bath.

move till I headed him snorin away in the

be

tub, the song bout kissin in summer playin

an

on the radio.

bi

Jellybean,

I'm glad you're home. I had a

lovely dance with your father agin today, an he'll be coming home soon as he can.

I lefter in the chair while I gone t draw the bathwater. I sit on the edge o the tub, starin

Like I might of all ready sayed, the bathtub's where Daddy died. I'd

ou I went to the kitchen, hopin t get something

at the stream o water.

jus

it's

to scare Daddy with when I talked some

tw

sense into him, something sharp maybe.

It,

leftim there an

Pichers Stephanie L. Miller

Editor's Choit

49

-dhis

But I felt right silly when I got a knife from

But I didden have time for jokes, cuz I were

all

the drawer, knowin he'd laugh at me an

gonna tellim how it was, how what he sayed

idden

prolly take the knife away fore I could get

to Mary were wrong. I sucked some air

letely

a word in. So I decided my fists would do

into my chest an stood up real straight, like

I

just fine, cuz he can't take those away. I was

Momma says is proper. But my air done

en't

hopin maybe I'd get a couple good slaps in

blew suddenly out thru my mouth again

n.

after yellin at im fore he got a hold of me.

when I saw what Daddy were holdin. In his hand which were propped on the side o the

The bathroom door were open a crack,

tub, were a picher. Fore even lookin I hadda feelin it were a picher of Mary, an my ears

t after

lettin a strip o light into the living room, so I slipped in the door an closed it behind

my breath while I peeked at the picher. It

ullen.

a sound. He were sleepin sound t mt without me in the tub, one o his arms hind his head,

couch, layin on her stomach an lookin with

ed

but I still took a good ten seconds t get the door locked so I'd be certain I woulden wake im up.

bright an bare, an she were stickin it up in

>m's the

Idy

I slid my socks fully silent cross the blue

burned hot. I clenched up my fists, holdin

were Mary, all right, an it were her on the

a sneerin smile at the camera. Her ass were

the air a little.

tiles, comin up next to the tub, careful my

I talked low to im then, not wantin to wake

in

shadow didden fall over 'is face. His mouth

Momma up. I sayed Daddy, wake up, I got

vere

were wide open an snorin loud as all-get-

something to tell ya.

out. He were naked, which I never seen completely before. I never seen a pecker

He waked up, sittin up quick an coverin

the

before, cept for Mary's brudder Bobby's,

himself up an sayin Jesus Christ, Honey

layin

an Daddy's were different. It were great big, big as my flashlight, an standin straight up

Blossom, what you doin in here?

n

out o the water stead o hangin down where

e

My fingers was white from clenchin em, so

iethi

it's sposed to be. The corner of 'is mouth

I opened em up an I snatched up the picher

me

twitched once, an his pecker swayed a little.

of Mary. I sayed Daddy, I'm right furious.

It were right ridicalus.

Pichers 49 Editor's Chice

Stephanie L. Miller

When I sayed that, I moved real quick, slappin im cross the face. His stubble

T

scratched at my hand. I put one knee up

when I felt it drippin hot on my sockfeet.

art

on the tub rim an I got myself prepairt

I run to the livin room to fetch Momma,

bel

t knock is nose in. But Daddy pushed

an I led her to the bathtub. She co operate(

S'A

me offa the rim by shovin at my knee.

an set down, lettin me clean off her cuts

He knocked the radio into the water,

careful with a wash rag. She lay back an

an the song bout kissin were drowned.

shut er eyes, sayin Thank you,

gre

he the water were the itedge of tub, an Irunnin quick over turned off

Jellybean.

stc

up an on

You woulden blieve what a nice dancer

at

your daddy is. He's right graceful.

is

know he was dyin right then. I only headed

She kep talkin bout Daddy like he were still

SF

im make a little noise like he were chokin.

live, like that swan were good as the daddy

fee

I were hopin maybe he realized what he

that done loved me so much he showed

TI

done, an he were cryin for forgiveness.

me with his fingers. She were certain that

pa

a goddamn bird were her husband.

fe<

I fell on the floor smack on my other knee, an layed there on the ground. I didden

But he weren't crying, he were lectrocuted.

th

By the time I stood up, he were twitchin

So I sayed Momma, Daddy's dead.

with is eyes shut. I were afeared to touch

He done died a month ago, an I

the water, which be full an runnin with

promise it's gonna be okay.

l\

Momma screamed. She sayed Tara Reed,

bc

you're a lyin fox. Ima prove it to you.

th

so

lectricity.

I coulden run to Momma. She'da known I kilt im, an I'd go to jail with the rest of em, all the lyers and stealers. All I could

Then Momma scrumbled out from the

think of was t burn that picher o Mary

tub an ran away outta the house. I run after

up on the stove an go t bed, hopin

her fast I could. She's right fast, but I knew

Daddy'd wake up from the twitchin

where she were going.

in the morning.

The swans were floatin a little out from shore, akin slow circles. The sky were

Pichers Stephanie L. Miller

fo

l

Editor's

Choic,

cc

e edge

grey an blank, like a sky o winter. Momma

When the swan got to me, I threw my

[it off

stood on the shore, naked an flappin 'er

whole self on top of it. I pushed im down

.feet.

arms, yellin out Charlie, Charliiieee, you

unner the water an wrapped my hands and

nnma,

better come over here an dance with me,

legs right round is strong neck. Mamma

perated

Sweetheart. She waded into the water

were shriekin. More she screamed, more

cuts

up to 'er waist, which musta been freezin,

I squeezed that neck with my hands, holdin

an

an clapped er hands at the birds. The big

down the wings with my feet and backside.

:an.

one, one who hissed at me, glanced over He turned quick an opened er Momma. at

More she screamed Charlie, Charlie, more I pushed im unner.

is wings. ere sti

Spread out, the wings were at least five

caddy

feet, which is bout the same as Momma.

ed

The swan ducked his head down an

that

paddled hard right toward 'er. His black

I held on a minute more, till the wings stopped movin, an the bubbles disappeared.

Real slow, I got up an out o the water, makin sure he were really dead.

feet kicked out behind him, an he splashed

Momma were bawling, gettin tears in all

the water up with 'is wings, grunting

her cuts an yelling No, Tara, no. No no no

somethin horrible.

no. You done kilt him! You kilt him! She

Momma stood with her arms like a hug,

sayed it over an over. I

waitin. But he was coming fast, an she took ed,

bout ten steps backwards back on to the shore. The swan were headin straight for her.

, after'

All I could do was run towards Momma.

knew

I run the last twenty steps to her, stepped in the water, an got braced up. My shoes

m

were full o muck an freezin water, an I coulden move no more.

Pichers 51 Editor's Choice

Stephanie L. Miller

Untitled Zac Roz

Untitled 53

Zac R6z

Game On Katie Jacobs

Remembering Your Hair The night you told me about the cancer, you made salad and corn on the cob and grilled chicken that you had marinated for days. It was summer, and you fed me well.

I remember the bitter crunch of the lettuce and how the vinegar in the dressing made my gulps of milk strange and slippery. The radio was on

in the kitchen, and some soft-spoken radio man was probably telling me something honest and real that I didn't understand, when you told me.

But your hair? I said. You're really going to lose your hair?

All of your hair? And when you nodded, the lights from the ceiling were tiny and living in all that blackness,

that place that I had brushed and braided and hidden behind so many, many times. But your hair? I started cutting my chicken so I wouldn't have to see you holding out

your hand, see the foreignness in your gaze, and show my shutting own. The chicken was charred and juicy. I said, This tastes good, and you nodded, Yes.

Two months later, you were a backwards baby, this sad sick thing whose hair filled up the house. By then, I'd already forgotten how you used to make me dinner.

Remembering Your Hair 55

Miranda Hoegberg

-

.

.

p'7

,

l~~i

-.

-

' -'~;

-

i

-

-

POORa

g

S-

af . . ,.

:

'

.. v ,+ ;

mp..,.s

":.

J r

:

r

r.

- .::

l Y -r-4 4

.p"'..

w:

".

,-

".

, ,,

>

.

'wosg

ice-'..

1

i

-:,:

9

Alto.A

p

A,'

assi !

"

-p

5'5

$I9,700 Painting left, Solo above 57

Ian Sundstrom

Burning Bridges Find yourself

we're off to burn bridges

back in the blacktop desert

you are off

swimming in your mindless scribbles

and I am on fire

a pit of tar and bleached bones

leaving cinder-soaked impressions

tip-toeing (keep your chin up) to sneak downstairs

all over your mind like when we met

and out the door

and where you slept

Is it a duel

and why was I ever there at all?

or an evaluation when you're back to back

what a cruel

with your I6-year-old self

twist of fate

when ten paces isn't enough

that our wrists were carved hollow

to justify looking back

with initials and hearts

when you put yourself up for sale

that our eyelids had been sewn

and I'm still the highest offer

with Xs instead of Zs

We were fortunate enough

that I found my reflection

to discover fake

in your sick, florescent eyes

in a town where the wet concrete

and you found yourself

begged us for our footprints,

someone else to get tired of

dark-grey and moist as it all baked and panted like a dog locked in a parked car but now

Burning Bridges Pierce Kuhl

Untitled 59

Nicole Krsak

Cycle of Decay Chris White

As

artists, we are constantly

influenced by our surroundings and personal experiences. For me, that influence comes from the interaction between humans and nature and how this interaction is undergoing a constant cycle of growth, decay, and re-growth.

My work seeks to examine the interconnection between humans,

nature, and technology through this cycle, while at the same time exploring our perception of reality through the use of trompe l'oeil.

61

Untitled/Coke above, Untitled/Club Soda roht Samuel

J. Winter

Y

VIM%

4 .

li "r

'

-

.4t1Y

v

k..

t

.

v

rg,

ly

t

4E'

VA,

s

'.

s

:.A..

{.1.":

S

. .

..:.

..

." ti

,

.rr-.wri

v

7

f L.

4

s

'l{t

............ .. x

MK,'ra

x'#

x...

;.

'..

Untitled/Sprite left, Untitled/Pepsi above 65

Samuel

J. Winter

Untitled/Negro Modelo Samuel

J. Winter

Untitled/Orange Crush 67

Samuel

J.

Winter

Believer Oh, so

It was a dim cotton after-

you're a skeptic,

noon. She was living

she said within

in the old South Bend

thirty seconds

Conservatory of Music.

of meeting sixteen me & you.

She'd taken the letters down &

I hadn't said

rearranged them

anything-

RAVEN

to say

HOUSE

just shook her hand

& admittedly I thought the whole bit

politely & asked

was bullshit

if I could turn on the tape recorder.

but was happy to keep her talking about her seven spirit masters

Barbara the Grey Witch

& the inter

told us one weekend

latitude & longitude lines

section of

she dated Frank Sinatra.

I asked

& the lovers who

about the broken

haunted the place. Corrupt

cabinet

mayors &

glass.

her dead

mother.

She said her exhusband tried to

She led us upstairs to the Blue Room

shoot her

& we

when he was possessed.

slid down

couldn't

breathe. You

to the carpet.

Believer Liza Milhander

6f

kissing you. I remember once

Put your head your skinny knees.

between

I felt some heavy presence

I tried explaining it to her. She squinted in the sun, shook her head & said

& I started fucking crying.

Later,

we gave

each other

No.

you only liked boys,

He's a slut.

He has to pick

back rubs. I thought one.

but we kissed friend's bed

in your best

& ever since then I've

preferred boys who prefer boys.

Again last winter I broke

every mirror

in my mother's house standing in the burnt

on a stepstool orange

bathroom

Believer 69

Liza Milhander

Kate

Lauren Stern

7

My work reflects the way I interpret objects and people sitting in front of me. I aim to create a sense of volume in my subject matter while still maintaining a delicate mark. I also strive to pay homage to the brilliant colors that can appear out of grays and local colors.

Landscape 71

Lauren Stern

The Gentleman's Travel Club

A.J. O'Reilly

Origins I know I am German because a ladder twines in my blood and those letters were formed in German. I know I am German because Gottschlich translates to godlike and the hard sound of spit in English. I know that I am German because time separates certain things, like blonde hair from sunlit infancy, though mine kept its gold color. Because sixty years ago in Lohne my grandmother harvested wheat of the same golden shade,

though where the strawberry in her hair has gone, I can't know.

I know I am German because their words tumble from English mouths. I begann the same buch, its lang list auf similar worker. Am I still gottschlich or does time misspell? Korrect this, search the grocery store, the rungs of gleaming aisles like observation rooms where Herr Freud und Herr Marx studieren my fetisches. I will have the strawberries from a commercial farm in California, Ich will the stroh beere auf my grandmother's haar. I want, I will this confusion fruit. Ich will, ich will a proper origin. Wer ist my ladder? I have lost my grip.

I know I am German because my immigrant grandfather poured cement in Chicago suburbs, because mein Vater still knows some deutsche Worter and once worked in those wet driveways and in-ground pools. Because mein Vater climbed out, ending Herr Gottschlich's zement business to attend college where he met meine Mutter, where I now studiere Buchs and Worter that I kann not macht mine.

I know ich bin Deutsch. Mein Vater taught mir the Verb teiligen: To separate und zu share.

Because letters twine into Namen and forms that separate because letters twine into Strohbeere und Formen dass teiligen.

Meine goldene Haare, oh Grolmutter, ist es immer noch dein?

Du brang mir dein Leiter, oh GroBvaterIt is rot, it ist rot, es ist rot, es ist rot es ist rot es ist rot es ist rot

Origins 73

Michelle Gottschlich

11

My Inability To Read There is writing on or under or in your skin and I need a linguistics teacher, or a cereal box decoder, a swarm of bugs, or a three point one mile race, old kitchen ware, or shitstall quips

to give to me

My head is in the sand*

*(see! my tongue is stapled to a-dead-mousetrapped-inside-the-wallwords)

I will go lay in my yard! I will till the ground for you so we can grow corn or beans or squash or popcans or candybars

My Inability To Read 75

Harlan Kelly

let me rip the ground away till my skin tears off my fingers let me pile up the loose dirt till my fists are whittled to nubs let me sweat in the dirt, making a paste till my teeth are all I have to dig with let me take mouths full of soil till my stomach and lungs are full let me vomit out earth till my gut heaves itself stupid let me tense up all my muscles till my body rips at the seams

and I become the fertile land

or the pack of coyotes that surround the family dog

while praying that someone will read to me My fingers translate every word:

being blind is a virtue

My Inability To Read continued Harlan Kelly

i

For two years I have

photographed Ivy, my lover and confidant, my muse.

What began as a visceral documentation of falling in love progressed into a series of images about our unique version of intimacy; showing daily experiences that are both ordinary and eccentric.

This series is the beginning of an on-going chronology of our partnership-the honest documentation of an intimate relationship

from the very beginning.

Mirrors Audim

Q. Culver

Dead Battery 78

79

Audim

Q.

Culver

Rafael Cronin: The Instinct Behind the Artist Artist Interview by Laura Miller

Where are you from?

Has that impacted your art in any way?

I am from Bloomington but have always felt a little alienated.

Not in a self-pitying way though but in a practical sense. [Laughs].

I was born in Scotland to my fully Irish father and my fully Spanish mother. Having foreign parents with such thick accents, who wore European clothes and packed me obscure lunches for school made me a little more self-conscious as a kid. I don't know if or how it's impacted me though.

What gave you your start in art?

I was always that kid in class drawing. But I guess in high school, that's when I really started getting into hip-hop culture and then found graffiti. I actually had a cousin in Spain who was doing a lot of graffiti and that prompted me to take it on.

Would you say you still have a big

hip-hop influence?

Totally. I usually have to listen to music when I paint because I rely so heavily on beats. Beats help me visualize and emphasize my work, my flow. I listen to a lot of electronic house music and as far as

11

f

i

t

pt

"FT a

3

.

b

t

s

ti

u L.

I III

wr.

db 5 r

"

y

eh

""

r

?

'cf ^

RE 1, ru

T

RIP 19

ir"

hip-hop I listen to ASAP, Kendrick Lamar,

possible. Because of that, I never expect

Drake, and Wiz Khalifa. Also jazz. I love

the viewer to necessarily find a specific

that complex, but focused rhythm that's

thing. As a viewer or artist, if it works

typically found in jazz.

for you, then go with that feeling. Just be real, I guess.

What is your motivation to make art?

Where does art fit into your life?

I don't know exactly. It's inherent in me.

I do it and get it done, and when a work

Art making is honest, instinctual. If

is complete, there is a certain kind of

successful, then art can be really revealing.

fulfillment. It satisfies that itch, which

But I find it hard working with art every

is similar to a high. And it helps me

day. I have a lot of self-doubt in that field.

understand myself a little better, which

But, like the rest of my life, I try to hold

makes me less anxious as an individual.

onto my instinct and not lose it. We all used to draw as children, and for whatever reasons, a lot of us stop or move on to

Does art have to mean

different things. 1 have to remind myself from time to time to pick up the pencil

something for it to be art?

Art, whatever that encompasses for you,

and fool around. It feels refreshing when I do though.

should mean something, but I think it's best when it can be read from multiple ways. If it's one dimensional, then it

just

What is your spirit animal?

becomes stale, lacking that timeless

element. Honestly, I don't like to be entirely conscious when I'm making a work, although I try to be as aware as

An owl and a bear. Maybe the head of an owl and body of a bear. A bowl: That sounds gross. U

Work p 81 Quico (uncle) 83

left Blaise (father)

BROKEN THINGS AND BREATHING

Chicken Ricky awoke smiling. He never

remembered having dreams. Reaching to

Right on schedule, the kids arrived, five boys and a girl, almost teenagers.

They rode by on their dingy BMX bikes.

"Hey, Chicken!" they yelled, doing little burnouts in the gravel on the roadside.

"Where are the chickens?"

his right, he seized the pillow, awakening Miles Davis.

"What's wrong? Did your girlfriend eat em?" screamed the little girl with adolescent venom. They sped off in a cloud of hysteria and dust.

Miles awoke frowning, as most cats do.

Ricky watched them go, petting Miles

They crawled from the mattress and

Davis, acknowledged the ochre dust

wandered to the kitchen. Breakfast, as

dancing in the empty street, then grumbled

always, would be milk and cookies. Ricky

to the back yard. Small towns don't like

carried their breakfast to the front porch,

small people. Towns are great brains,

where the two slumped into a swing.

lacking everything that matters, filled

"It's my birthday, Miles Davis," said Ricky,

with names and judgments. As a chicken

the declaration wilting nearly before it

farmer, Ricky had always known and

had sprouted. Miles hacked in boisterous

managed this. He raised chickens, and

approval. Ricky was 47.

he never thought about trying to do anything else. He came from a family

Broken Things and Breathing Stephanie L. Miller

84

of chicken farmers, in fact, and his father

the farm than she did at her own house,

had inherited the farm. They kept seventy

which was across the street.

hens and five roosters. It was barely a living, but they lived.

"Oh, Snoogie Blossom, happy birthday!"

Darlene crooned. Ricky mumbled

New chicks pecked at the feed that

something from the depths of her cleavage.

morning. Birthday chicks, Ricky thought.

She was a tall woman. He could smell her usual scent of sweat and cheap fruity

"Way to go, Schmutz," he said to Schmutz the rooster.

"Honey Bear!" The voice had come from inside. Miles sprinted away to the feed shed. A very round woman pushed through the back door without using her arms, and she strutted to Ricky, her generous hips bouncing. Her equally plump dog squeezed through the doorway after her, yapping once with effort.

"Hi, Darlene," Ricky said as she smashed against him. They'd been dating for three years, since Darlene had moved from the

perfume. He hated that smell, but he liked that she was a woman.

Ricky knew that his sister Sammy would be waking soon and would be outside at any moment, full of new belligerence after twelve hours of sleep. Ricky's eyes were riveted to the back door as Darlene fondled and fussed. The door was missing a piece on the side that nobody would ever fix. Little things like that are hard on chicken farms.

His father hadn't been able to handle the chicken business. He hadn't been able

next county over. Now, she lived more at

Broken Things and Breathing 85

Stephanie L. Miller

to handle much of anything, but the

in summer pajamas, with Darlene's dog

main thing was the chicken business and

attached to her ankle. "Hi, Darlene," she

everything that went with it. Ricky had

spat. Darlene shrank away, closer to Ricky.

done most of the farm work since grade

Sammy was skilled in degrading the woman

school. Sammy was too young to help then,

who had claimed Ricky as her Snoogie

and she somehow remained that way.

Blossom. She glared at Darlene once more

When he was in eighth grade, he began

before grinning around her at Ricky.

to do all of the farm work. "Ricky," his

It was a smile that Ricky recognized, the

father had said, "you ain't going to school

sweetest of Sammy's smiles. He knew what

tomorrow." Ricky watched his father chew

she would ask, once she got around to it.

a piece of grass, waiting for more. "You

He averted his eyes, watching his birthday

ain't going to school for a while." Still,

chicks fluff around the grass in loving

Ricky waited and watched that piece of

amusement.

grass, moving around in a slow circle like cud in a cow's teeth. But his father never said anything else about school. He stayed in the house, chewing on other things besides grass, chewing on chew and pieces of the unraveling couch, giving orders with his eyes on the TV Ricky stayed home. He enjoyed it at first, not going to school, being outside, being almost like an adult. He enjoyed it for a few

By the time Ricky had fried the eggs and made the toast, Darlene had already locked herself in the bathroom. Sammy perched on the kitchen counter, satisfied with her work. "I don't know why you're with her," she said, "She's rude. All she does is make you buy things for her, or her stupid dog."

"She loves me," Ricky offered. He said it more to himself.

years, maybe.

Sammy squinted, opened her mouth, then From beneath the greasy sheath of Darlene's hair, Ricky saw the broken door

closed it. "Good then," she said, "So how's your birthday?"

swing open, and he removed himself from his girlfriend's embrace. It was Sammy,

"Good." A shrug.

Broken Things and Breathing Stephanie L. Miller

86

She watched as Ricky slid two eggs onto

When Ricky was seven, his mother left.

a plate with toast before she spoke again,

Sammy was one and just walking, and his

more softly. "I need some money." He

father was still working on the farm. That

had known she would say that.

day Ricky was standing in his bedroom doorway when his father yelled, "Trudy,

"Um, I'll be right back. I'm bringing these to Dad," Ricky said, his lips pulling up vaguely at the corners.

Their father had been living in the old house since he was a kid. He was still there, but he stayed in one room now.

When Ricky walked in, his father rolled over in his bed. It was a tall four-poster bed, the only bed left in the house that wasn't a mattress on the floor. They'd had a lot of yard sales. "I brought you some eggs, Ricky said, more quietly than he'd meant to. The old man stared at him for a long moment, measuring something, or remembering something, and he rubbed his eyes with hands that were smooth and white, like a child's.

Ricky knew he'd failed his father again.

you can't leave. Why don't you fix up some lunch and think about this? It's a goddamn bad idea." He was following her around as she put clothes and random items into a bag. She was panting, like her lungs weren't big enough for her breath. Ricky watched his parents move like this until his father wrapped his wife in his arms. His father's meaty arms crushed her up until all Ricky could see were her pale legs and her pale, tired face, and he saw that her mouth was shaped like a trembling circle, sucking in air that was too thick or too thin to breathe.

He wanted to pry the arms away. Then that trembling circle let out a voice nobody had heard before, a crackling voice like a scream but quiet. "I can't breathe," she said. "I can't

breathe. Let go, Don." He did. She picked up her bag, walked out, and was gone-her

"I don't want your goddamn eggs," the

pale face, circle mouth, pale legs.

old man said. "I want a chicken leg.

I thought you were cleaning another chicken this morning."

Darlene had removed herself from the bathroom. She promptly enveloped Ricky in her bulk when he slouched into the

Broken Things and Breathing Stephanie L. Miller

living room, and her body pressed the

barren ground. Why were they pecking

plate of eggs against his favorite shirt.

the ground, Ricky thought, if they weren't finding anything anymore? He would feed

She pushed him into his bedroom and

them again later.

down onto his mattress. "Happy birthday," she whispered. Straddling him, she smeared

Darlene and Sammy began to fight again,

her hot tongue down his neck. Ricky

about dogs or cats or chickens or farms.

shuddered as the spit cooled, and he

Before they could start screaming, Darlene

wiped it away with the sheet.

stomped over to sit down hard on Ricky's lap. The air momentarily escaped his chest.

"I can't right now," he said. He was limp under Darlene's splayed legs, but she'd unbuttoned his trousers anyway.

Across the yard, Darlene's dog picked up a yellow chick. "Mango!" Darlene shrieked.

"Put him down!"

Darlene pouted, swaying forward and

back, grinding into Ricky's denim lap.

"Shut up!" Sammy said. "He's just playing."

She leaned over him, and he watched sweat

This produced another bout of belligerent

bead between her breasts. A drop fell onto

squabbling between the women. Ricky was

the corner of his tightly closed mouth.

a white statue in his chair. He stared at

The zipper on his pants caught on his hairs

the yellow fluff between two rows of teeth,

as she thrust forward one last time. She

like sharp white fingers closing over a new

climbed off of him, her lips still scrunched

egg. He had stopped breathing, couldn't

toward her nose, and lumbered out the door.

remember the last time he had breathed at all. He felt Darlene becoming heavier.

Ricky followed Darlene to where Sammy had set up lawn chairs in the back yard.

He spotted Miles Davis slinking from the feed shed, avoiding Darlene and her dog, to the chair Ricky usually vacated.

They sat and watched yellow chicks peck

The women were slinging profanities and spit, and he was being crushed. And his father didn't want any goddamn eggs. He wanted everything but goddamn eggs. And Sammy wanted money, and Darlene wanted to crush him. They all wanted to crush him,

Broken Things and Breathing Stephanie L. Miller

88

Ricky thought, because all Ricky ever had were eggs. And it was working, he thought, because he was breaking, and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't do anything but stare at the beautiful yellow bit suffocating in a sharp white fist, its little orange beak open and trembling. Ricky stared and sweated, his whole body wet under Darlene's heat and weight. Finally, he found he could scream; at least he could scream. Ricky choked out a sharp, creaking scream, a discordance that pushed Darlene to the ground and Ricky into a run. All he wanted was to breathe. He lurched the twenty feet to the back corner of the porch like a blind man, to something dark leaning there. Then there were more screams, from the women, as he turned around.

The dog turned toward the cries, took a step toward the house, faltered, and fell. Dead. Smoke still streamed from

Ricky's gun. The chick lay on the ground, already gone.

I

Broken Things and Breathing 8S9

Stephanie L. Miller

15

Dason Anderson Fi-re

4-5

Allison Baker Le Petite MVort

8-II

Benjamin R. Cirgin handsome Edge Cutps, Thereis

No Time, ai

Three SonlsYimomi:

31, 16

Hannah Clendening Baden and Untitled

80-83

Rafael Cronin Iise fathct and

Qutico

Audim Q. Culver

'ule+

Inte r vie'

77-79

Mirrors and Dead Battery

Michelle Gottschlich

73

Miranda Hoegberg

55

Re~membering Your Hair

Katie Jacobs Came

0

54

1

INDEX

2-3

Anders Johnson The Death of Saddam Hussein and Daning, Hit By Truck

David Katz

22-25

-+ lnter view Confluent Systemns

Harlan Kelly

75-76

My Inability To Read

Nicole Krsak

59

Uentitled

Pierce Kuhl

58

Buriing Bridges

Anu Kumar

30

Stories

Sara Lowthian

26-29 Candy, IVs, There 1s No Line, and

68-69, 18-19

ending Machine

Liza Milhander Believer, Slip, and Stairell

84-89

Stephanie L. Miller Broken Things antd Breathing

INEX N

A.J. O'Reilly Th Cenleuman s Travel Club and Lif's a

72, 74

i ip

Peter Oren

17

Coisins

Johanna Palmieri

21

Untitled

Heidi Peck

20

To V ladimir

Zac R6z

52-53

Untitledj and Utitle

Lauren Stern

70-71

Kate and Landscape

Ian Sundstrom

56-57

S19, 700 Paintivn and Solo

Marine Tempels

I2-I4

George ['ishinaton is the Fther of Oir Co itry and Unt taed

Chris White

60-6I

Cylde of Decay

INDEX X

62-67

Samuel

J. Winter

United: Club Soda, Coke, Orange Crush, Negro Modelo, Pepsi, and Sprite

6-7

Suzanne Wyss Tormnation

Editor's Choice Canvas gives editor's choice awards to the best written and visual work submitted each semester. This award serves to recognize the high level of craft and creativity with which they represent their chosen fields and to thank them for sharing their exceptional work.

40-SI

Stephanie L. Miller Pichers

34-39

Kim Waite Cuttlefish, Alosqitoes' failed Attempt, Perch Skeleton, Southern Hognosed Snake, The Impossible Meadow Run, and Three Octopuses + Interview

INDE X

it