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Take It Back Blessed Samhain! Happy Halloween! Pick whichever you like, but I'd just like you to know that Samhain (pronounced s-ow-en) is basically the most important religious celebration to me. You see, I'm a Witch. Most of the traditions I've pursued have had Celtic roots. Samhain is an ancient Celtic holiday or "sabbat" as (Neo-)Pagan traditions have adopted. For us, it's the new year and a time when we are closest to our dead loved ones as well as everything else that lies beyond the veil of the physical world. My ancestors also celebrated the riches that they reaped from that year's harvest on this day. It is a sacred and special day to us. England later adopted it as Hallow's Eve, for it was the precursor to All Souls Day, a day when the dead walk the earth. But the Celts weren't the only people to celebrate Halloween. Halloween has appeared in different incarnations all over the world, including as the ever-popular Day of the Dead celebration in Mexico. Since the dead are so plentiful, Earth is jam-packed and we're in good company today. Smile like its the risus-sardonicus you've always wanted! Samhain is rich in culture and lore. You've probably already heard all about how Halloween is old school and about how the archetypal "witch" hag came from. Nonetheless, many pagans celebrate that iconography today. A lot of us do set out food as offerings human and non-human spirits, light fires, do divination, and party like rock stars in the name of the dead. That's what I do, anyway. It's a religious obligation, don't ya know. And that's why I'll never go to work on that day. Back in the day, everyone agreed that Samhain was important. It's an old and legitimate holiday unlike Columbus Day or Valentine's Day which both have their own gruesome roots and unnecessary place staked out on our calendars. Why can't we just get our priorities straight and honor the days that deserve it the most? Honestly, I don't know anyone with an excessive love for Columbus Day culture. Hell, I wouldn't care if it vanished off of the face of my calendar. But life would be much cooler if we had Halloween off. (Not that I'm opposed to making other usages of that day and still have it off.) Think about it: how cool would life be if we had Halloween off and we treated it like the valid holiday that it actually is? Fortunately, I've never had any serious problems getting off from work on Halloween. I have more than enough documentation to confirm my religion. In my letters to professors and phone calls to bosses, I always offered "proof" if that's what they needed. I've been writing some variation of "pagan" on all of my forms since I was thirteen of fourteen so that there would never be any question about my religious affiliation if it ever became relevant, such as if I died or needed Samhain off. Wouldn't you like Samhain off too? Just thought I'd put that out there since I think about it all year round. Halloween is a lifestyle. #Real #Samhain #HappyHalloween #Celtic #FightThePower #GetHalloweenOff #Pagan #Festival #Spirits #Dead #Religion Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.
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"Are You Feeling Uncomfortable Yet?" By Alex Carrigan QuailBellMagazine.com When I first heard about Dear White People, it was because of the trailer I saw attached with an Indiegogo campaign. It was a satirical look at modern race relations, with the perspective being from a young black woman hosting a radio show called “Dear White People.” The woman imparted lessons to the white students of her predominantly white college campus about black people, informing them that you need at least two black friends to not be considered and that it would be considered racist to date outside your race just to piss off your parents. It was quite an intriguing trailer, one that worked successfully for the Indiegogo campaign, which raised $40,000 instead of the original goal of $25,000.
Directed by first-time director Justin Simien, the film premiered at Sundance Film Festival earlier this year. The film follows four black students at a fictional Ivy League school. Sam (Tessa Thompson) hosts “Dear White People” and continues to crusade against people and programs she finds racist. Troy (Brandon P. Bell) tries to get along with the rich white kids to appease his father, the Dean of Students. Colondrea, or Coco (Teyonah Parris), tries to get cast on a reality show and tries to depart from her lower class Chicago background by acting white. Lionel (Tyler James Williams) conflicts with being a black and gay and facing bullying from multiple fronts. Their stories all entwine around one Halloween party where some white kids host a “black” themed party. Chaos, satire, and emotional arcs ensue. When you look at a satirical film, I think it helps to figure out what the film was attempting to do, how it approached the subject, and how successful it was on those fronts. The film's central purpose is spelled out in the title of the film, making it clear that the film is supposed to inform ignorant white people certain things about black people that they might not understand. This ranges from asking white people to not touch a black person's hair to making it clear that you really shouldn't say the n-word just because it appears in a rap song you're listening and singing along to. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Richmond Fall Fashion Week Review By Deniz Ataman QuailBellMagazine.com Last Friday night was the launch of Richmond's Fall Fashion Week Jewelry Designer Showcase. Rocking my best autumn attire (black, boots, and a beanie), I marched over to what is the Financial District by day to Haxall Point. This season was marked by a variety of materials ranging from upcycled bullet bracelets, polymer clay necklaces, bone from jewelry designers to bright colors and dreamy scapes from painters.
With everyone dressed in their city-best, I grabbed a beer and window-shopped with a few friends to see what's buzzing in Richmond's craft-bauble scene: The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Halloween goes to the Dogs By Fay Funk QuailBellMagazine.com Halloween is a holiday of excess. I mean, so are Christmas and Thanksgiving, but on Halloween there is no shame. Other holidays are also about spending time with family and doing good things for the community, and even though plenty of us don’t do those things, there is a sense that we should. Not on Halloween, though. You can dress in your skimpiest outfit, gorge yourself on candy, and stay up all night without any shame.
The holiday of debauchery is actually the one that has taught me the most about behaving like an adult. I learned what happens when you drink too much and stay up all night at a stranger’s party in college. When I was very young I learned a hard lesson about disrespect, both for people and things, and what that can bring down. I was nine years old, and my sister and I had just returned from trick-or-treating each with a huge haul of candy. None of the elderly people in my neighborhood had recognized my Sailor Mercury costume, but in spite of that it was a good night. We set about sorting our loot. My sister and I had very different approaches to Halloween candy. I fully embraced the excess of Halloween and ate as much candy as I could stuff into my face that night, and then every night until it was gone. She would savor, having maybe one piece of candy a day, very measured and responsible. One year, she managed to make her candy last all the way to the next Halloween. These systems were not compatible. I ran out of candy within a few days, while her massive sack sat in her room, uneaten, mocking me. Inevitably the urge to get some sugar in me became too strong, and I would sneak some of her candy. I always intended to only take a piece or two, but inevitably greed got the best of me and I would grab large handfuls of candy, several times a day. Then my sister would notice, and there would be a fight. This happened every year. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
How Humanity Approaches Death By Gypsy Mack QuailBellMagazine.com The Buddha's cremation in Kusinara Every culture has its own way to preserve, or not to preserve, the bodies of the deceased. Practices vary according to beliefs, traditions, and geographic locations. As it is nearing Halloween, I got to thinking about the different ways that humanity approaches death and the wide range of beliefs abot the afterlife across the world.
Most everyone in the Western world is familiar with Christian graveyards. The old stones crosses and faded names and dates are often the common symbols that remind people of death, ghosts, the otherworldly, and the unseen. Christians believe that the soul will journey to Heaven if the person has done good deeds throughout his or her life, or Hell if the person was sinful and harmful. The person is has only one life and one body, so the body is often preserved in burial. Most of us are familiar with the traditional Western practice of relatives and friends viewing the body to pay their final respects. Everyone wears black, the colors of mourning in the Western world. But beliefs of what happens after death, funeral practices, and traditions are infinitely varied throughout the world. In the Hindu tradition, people wear white to a funeral, but in the Western world that would be unacceptable and quite rude. Here are some of the beliefs and practices of some of the major cultures and religions throughout the world. All the traditions vary even within each religion and culture, according to the observance of practice: The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Wonder of Punk Poetry Night Friday, October 17th was Punk Poetry Night at Kreators in Mount Sinai, New York. I’ve yet to come across an event fully combines my two passions (punk and poetry). I’ve seen poets give readings during show sets, but I’ve never heard of a place or event that puts the poetry first. And not just any poetry but poetry with punk elements like blood, booze, and the radical, freedom-loving rhetoric that we know and love. (Well, those of us with good taste, anyway.)
Usually, the only poetry that I get out of the punk shows I attend are lyrics. After a show, I’m rendered lost in the dense fog of punk rock and good ideas. But I shall never confine my musings to my head, notebook, papers, or webpages, even to wonderful ones like Quail Bell where readers might appreciate them. There's something magical about live poetry. By the combined powers of poetry and punk, I pronounced my wish granted when I brought up the idea of a punk poetry night to Robin Petersen Witt and Ken-e-Bones of Negative Reaction. Hey, Kreators is a place “where artists gather” and they welcome literary artists—as well as punks—with open arms. Bringing poetry to the masses is a noble cause. As my native language, I’ve always felt that it was my duty to promote awareness to keep poetry from dropping off the face of our pages. Poetry is language at full blast. It blares into our souls like distorted guitars and drumbeats. Reading poetry by Edgar Allan Poe and Charles Baudelaire gives me a thrill and cynic brilliance that is akin to the endorphin-avalanche that crashes over me when I listen to punk. It is the ectoplasm that pours out of my eyes, nose, ears, and mouth upon coming in contact with other worlds. Like nervous urination, I can only contain it for so long until it gets out of control. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Or, Everything is Basil Hayden's Down Here and Nothing Hurts By Christopher Sloce QuailBellMagazine.com Section A: An Anecdote
I grew up being told that moving north, everyone would look at me like I had nine heads and they all couldn’t talk right. I got a very good taste of this when I was a senator/delegate for J.J. Kelly’s Mock General Assembly team. During the dance, I ran back up to my room, dodging my sponsor. I sat down in the Richmond Marriott lobby with my copy of 2666 by Roberto Bolano around a bunch of people (because that’s who I was) all discussing the slight margin the gay marriage ruling passed by in our fake Virginia. I voted for it and wanted to talk to people who agreed with a ruling I felt strong about. I spoke up. A girl from Hampton, Virginia looked at me and asked where I was from. I said Wise, Virginia. She said her mother was from Pound, Virginia. Then that she was surprised she was intelligent. I went, oh. I sat down and sulked with 2666. Until someone mentioned Twitter. I spoke up. “Oh, what’s Twitter?” I had recently gotten one because of my obsession with Free Darko, probably the single most important influence in my adolescent life besides HBO, Faulkner, and being impossible. “It’s like Facebook.” They looked at me. “You know what that is, right?” “No idea.” They very calmly explained Facebook to me. Admittedly, I just thought it was just MySpace, but I knew it existed. I feigned ignorance of the Internet. Same thing. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Protecting Your Power Reyhaneh Jabbari, an Iranian woman, was hanged on Saturday for murdering the man who raped her. As I was researching this horrifying event, I couldn't help but look past the man-made laws humans are expected to follow, and instead focus on whether this was the right karmic action. Was it right for Jabbari to kill this man who robbed her of her dignity and power? And further, how do you reclaim your power after it has been stolen violently from you?
Jabbari's story is not an uncommon one. Rape victims, who are primarily women, often remain silent. Along with the heavy weight of guilt, shame, fear, sorrow, and anger that a victim must battle with every day, how does one heal the scar that has to be hidden under more than just clothes? The new generation of women, such as Emma Watson and Warsan Shire, are celebrating equal gender roles and encouraging the freedom to be a human being. Despite our biological differences, gender is subjective. We wear what we want to show, yet harbor both masculine and feminine traits. As humans, we hide what is considered "weak," which is typically anything in the feminine Gender Venn Diagram. But what happens when you hide the empty space from where it is stolen? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
It's Novel Writing Season By Kate Hickey QuailBellMagazine.com I admit it, I’m one of those girls who loves autumn. It’s the season for me. When the weather breaks, I get to pull most of my clothes out of my closet and finally start wearing what I really like to wear—scarves, boots, cardigans, hoodies, tights, socks, and hats. When the leaves start to fall from trees, it means I get to transition back to hot coffee, which really just is more satisfying than cold coffee. It means that all of the holidays based on eating are on their way and I can put aside my insecurities about my body to eat my weight in Halloween candy, Thanksgiving pies, and Christmas cookies.
But there’s one other autumn event on the horizon that has me squirming with nerves and excitement. It’s almost November, my friends, which means it’s almost time for National Novel Writing Month! National Novel Writing Month—or NaNoWriMo for short—is a yearly event where people put aside time and commit to writing a novel of 50,000 words in the month of November. Instead of re-watching three episodes of Doctor Who on Netflix each evening, people are sitting down and cranking out 1,667 words in order to meet daily word counts. Rather than scrolling Tumblr, checking Twitter, or Facebook stalking exes, determined people sit down in front of their computers on the first November and stand up as authors on the first of December. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Fingertips (Pt. Three) By Terry Barr QuailBellMagazine.com From the time I saw her in the summer before 7th grade, I thought Melanie Shumacher was the most beautiful girl I’d ever see. Girls were a dicey thing: They seemed to want so little to do with me, and I had no idea what to do with them. That first day, Melanie looked right through me, even though my eyes and mouth were wide open and plainly in view. The pain of 7th grade affairs.
However, as unsophisticated as I was, even I knew that when I saw Melanie, my life in the coming years would be utterly hopeless. Melanie dyed her hair some version of burnt orange, which didn’t exactly hide her brown roots. I’m thinking that even now her hair is that same shade of orange, the one lost in my spectrum. So what was so special about her? Why are certain people beautiful to us? Is this about aesthetics or desire? Or simple youthful infatuation? Even my normally reticent and taciturn father pronounced Melanie beautiful when she was thirteen. That sounds creepy, I know, but I promise you, my Dad was no creep. And anyway, his appreciation didn’t help me one bit. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Meet Publisher Ayn Frances dela Cru Paper Monster Press Founding Editor Ayn Frances dela Cruz’s works have been published in Oddball Magazine, My Favorite Bullet, and Gone Lawn Journal. She generously shares with LFF about finding the inspiration to create her Press, how her hometown is a good place for women in art, the upcoming issue, feminism and humanism and much more…
Where are you from? How did you get into art? I’m from Cavite, Philippines. I actually got into art as a direct result of the art scene from the area. Lirio Salvador organized and regularly held “eksenas” in his artist-run-space called Espasyo Siningdikato. Hundreds of people come for talks, music jams, and poetry sessions. It was like a hippie commune that served vegetarian food and thought/sound to starving souls. It literally nourished the need for art/love/life in our community. And it was there, that I found inspiration to start the love of my life: Paper Monster Press. Tell me about your inspirations/ processes. Paper Monster Press was made as a response to our D-I-Y culture, and also because I loved books. We first started as a ¼ page poetry pamphlet, irregularly stapled and served up to people who would buy our love offering for Php 50.00. This was because years ago, I read a biography of Vachel Lindsay (creator of The Congo), who was fired up by the experience and the act of selling his poems (which he handwrote himself on paper and sold for 20 cents each). He never made much money by this but the experience of talking to people, reaching out to the mass of humanity as it were, made such an impression on him, as it did to us. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
"There's Nothing Scarier than Politics" It's almost Halloween, and for those too old to go trick-or-treating, this is the time when you buckle down, ingest candy and/or alcohol, and dare yourself to watch a scary movie, either alone or in the company of others. Halloween is an interesting time because it's when people dare themselves to watch horror. Horror is one of those genres that really asks the viewers to challenge themselves. Can I sit through this movie, even though it's likely to make me uncomfortable? Will I embarrass myself in front of others if I get scared? Is this something I could conceivably get through in its entirety? These are the sorts of questions you never really ask yourself, but make a big part of what kind of scary movie you watch.
There does come the issue of what movie you watch when you decide to go ahead and watch a horror film. Do you watch a movie that is filled with blood and death, or do you watch something that terrifies you because it feels closer to reality? You might not think about it, but there are certain traits that are common in horror that depend heavily on the era the film was made and the ideology of the people behind the film. A lot of this does tie in with conservative and liberal political values, but doesn't necessarily mean you align with one leaning based on what you watch. It just means that there's a bit more to look out for when you watch a horror movie. Now, it might seem odd to assign subtext and political ideology to a horror movie (to that, I say: someone already did), but all film does lend itself to interpretation, and even the dumbest, most low-brow film can have some elements explained through critical theory and carry elements that date back hundreds of years. This also does not mean that every film is meant to carry some ideology and deeper assessment on life and human nature, but generally, there is a reason for why certain elements and tropes appear in a film genre more than others. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Free Range Boobs I recently learned that I’ve been living a lie. According to a 15-year-long study, bras make your boobs saggier. I think I can safely say that I’d struggle not to trust the opinion of any scientist who devotes 15 years of their time to studying the secret of breast-sagging. France, the lovely country that brought us fishnets, is now responsible for helping breasts all over the world cope with the oppression of gravity.
I’m experiencing intense cognitive dissonance because, once again, society is wrong. How surprising. That must be why I’m grappling with the the point of bras, besides maybe for aesthetic effect. But I’ve always wondered who looked at their boobs and thought, “Man, I gotta put these in a cage.” Apparently, free range boobs don't suffer gravity's wrath to the extent that caged ones do. The modern bra derives from the ever-fashionable corset, but the bra goes much further back into history. Even women in ancient civilizations like Egypt and Greece wore garments to keep their breasts in place. Heck, a 600 year-old bra was unearthed from an Austrian castle, complete with lace trimmings. They even found matching panties to boot! The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Books and Hierarchical Mammals By Robin Wyatt Dunn QuailBellMagazine.com Publishing, the lifeblood of democracy. At root it simply means making your writing public; your Facebook page is a form of it.
But as all public things are political things, it matters in publishing who has your back. Who stands next to you and says, “I like this guy or gal! Check out the thing he wrote!”? Since we are helplessly hierarchical mammals, it matters even more if that person having your back is the king. When the king says, “This bold writer has my support!” and claps you on the back, we all sit up and take notice. Even as George the III went mad and we left him in the dust, so too our American king of publishing, New York City, and its ultimate shareholder, Wall Street, now mad, may one day be left behind us. But not yet. We are hierarchical mammals, God bless our hearts, and so my modest foray into publishing like most, does not enjoy the support of our king, merely two of the king’s remoter adjutants, our friends createspace, smashwords, and lulu. Still, we know that in the end it is the words that matter. Whether you have scribbled them on to a patch of lead and shoved them in to a Roman wall to curse the usurper of your house, or bound your poetry in the finest vellum to rest in a royal library, the words are what matter in the end. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Beyond My Life Story I never meant to. I was a poet first, then a fiction writer. My memoir started with a blog post, the day of my daughter’s eighth birthday, when my father appeared to me so vividly. I was haunted by the fact that he never saw me turn eight, since he died when I was seven. The blog turned into an essay which took on a life of its own and became a book.
In the spring, I gave a reading from the book at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. As I was about to start, I worried it would be too dark and sad. Again I wondered: Why do this? I was surprised by how emotional I became during the reading. I have had many years to grieve for my father, to cope and heal. But the words made everything fresh. At the end of the reading, I was bombarded by my fellow writers. They didn’t want to talk about my craft or even my content. They wanted to tell me their stories. About their fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, children, brothers, sisters, or friends. It was an amazing outpouring. When I told a friend about this feedback, she asked if I was disappointed that the focus shifted away from me. Not at all. This was the perfect reaction. It meant that my story had reminded people of their own life stories. My words gave them permission to access something they had lost. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
We Choose Our Dream Bench When you're one of the most respected members of the U.S. Supreme Court—nay, one of the most respected women anywhere, period—you have some leeway to call it like it is. Which is precisely what Ruth Bader Ginsburg has done, telling NPR over the weekend that she believes there should be an all-female SCOTUS bench.
Is this a radical notion? Considering how male-dominated the Supreme Court has long been, yes. Is this an outlandish notion? It shouldn't be. The number of female justices has been climbing steadily; nearly 35% of the active judges on the federal courts of appeal, and 32% of U.S. district (or trial) court judges, are women. While not anything to write home about, these numbers are significantly more impressive than the breakdown for the highest court in the land, where just 3.5% of the justices (four of 112) have ever been female. An all-female court would hardly put a dent in these overall historic demographics, and as Ginsbrg pointed out: “For most of the country’s history, there were nine and they were all men. Nobody thought that was strange." The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
A Past of Pageantry If someone had told me when I was 12 years old that in five years I would not only compete in a beauty pageant, but also win, I would have thought they were either downright crazy or just mean.
I should preface this by saying that at 12 years old I was in a pretty awkward place in life. Severe scoliosis put me in a rigid back brace for two years, leaving me no other choice for clothes, but big bulky sweaters and oversized band tee shirts and flannels. Thankfully this was the 90s and I was all about grunge music, but I still felt incredibly insecure about my situation. I closed off inside myself and hoped for a more “normal” future, but seriously doubted I’d ever have one. I became a loner, camping out in my room and daydreaming the hours away. When the back brace didn’t work, I underwent major spinal surgery with titanium rod implantation, allowing me to skip most of my freshman year of high school and bask in months’ worth of Vicodin. Bedridden and sentenced to months of physical therapy to learn how to use my new body, I continued to spend a lot of time alone, isolation made all the more bearable with a number of obsessions and compulsions—writing, the Internet and intense body maintenance, especially in the realm of body hair removal. I clung to these obsessions even when I returned to school, feeling a little more open without the back brace, but still painfully self-conscious. Fashion magazines also became an obsession, their covers offering new and beautiful white actresses I tried to emulate as best I could. Gwyneth Paltrow playing Estella in the adaptation of Great Expectations became my ideal of beauty, appearing smooth and slim and seductive throughout the film. I copied dramatic gazes from perfume ads, refused to leave the house without red lipstick, bought green contact lenses to cover up my brown hue and coated my face in my mom’s expensive facial creams that smelled like jasmine and perfection. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Beatlemania Producers & Stylists: Amy Gatewood and Shannon Minor Photographer: Shannon Minor Model: Margaret Carmel QuailBellMagazine.com Feminine Menswear + Dark Eye Makeup + Short Hair = '60s Dream The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Why Do I Love You Again? I thought you might appreciate it if I interrupted your lives with another glimpse of the synesthetic experience that is my everyday existence. My mind personifies the United States as well as the United Kingdom and other countries. Places also have colors (likely because of constant exposure to colored maps for as long as I’ve attended school, perhaps longer.)
States having personalities mean that they might clash with mine or blend well. I could have loved ones in those states. To be honest, town names do it too but to a much lesser degree. I realized this after years of unwarranted prejudice toward certain places and inexplicable fondness toward others. I have no doubt that my experiences influence my associations, but I've found that a lot of these states' personalities developed reflexively. Well, now it all makes sense. I’ll start with my home state, New York, except I feel as though it would be irreverent if I were to conflate the individual personalities of Upstate New York and Downstate New York. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Any Child I Have Will Be Brown Any child I have will be brown. I’m mixed (black and white, identify as black) and ever since I was little dreamed of raising a slew of babies (adopted or biological) that looked in some way or another like me.
For a while, however, I wasn’t so sure. This is a story from that time. I wasn’t made unsure of my long-held desire because having babies is expensive (I have a heap of student loan debt to pay off) nor is it because my dating life hovers somewhere between tragedy and comedy. What gave me pause is Mike Brown and Andy Lopez, Trayvon Martin and Oscar Grant. Police brutality against black and brown people in this country is hardly new. More recent is the mainstream media’s sustained attention to abuses of power. Newer still is the (rightful) refusal of social media-savvy activists to let these stories recede from the public’s memory. The combination of these three things has made me doubt what used to be one of my biggest dreams. Bringing a child into a world that I am constantly reminded is not only indifferent to black and brown bodies, but violent towards them seems selfish and immoral. I might feel differently if there seemed to be any hope of reform or progress, but Darren Wilson is still a free man and George Zimmerman is racking up room service at swanky hotels on CNN’s dime. And that’s just my would-be son. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
DIY Instrumentation On Sunday, October 12, a parade of activist street bands marched, shimmied, towered, and rolled from Somerville to Cambridge, Massachusetts. #Real #Photojournalism #Massachusetts #NewEngland #HonkFestival #ActivistStreetBands #Somerville #Cambridge Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Feminism, Perseverance, Survival Rial’s work at SPACE Gallery, photo by Martha Rial. Martha Rial is a Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer based in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her work can be found in the permanent collections of the Carnegie Museum of Art and the Newseum in Washington D.C., as well as numerous private collections. Rial previously worked at The St. Petersburg Times and the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. She is currently exhibiting in Pittsburgh’s SPACE Gallery in “Public Record,” a group show closing November 9, as part of Pittsburgh’s Biennial. She generously shares with Sally Deskins about her “fly on the wall” approach, her work documenting Pittsburgh’s disability community, being an artist and woman in Pittsburgh, feminism, advice for aspiring artists and more!…
Where are you from? How did you get into art? I am from Pittsburgh. I grew up in the eastern suburb of Murrsyville, but have lived in the city for more than 30 years. I left twice—both times to further my career, only to come back home. I have always been in involved with art. I drew, painted and did crafts throughout my childhood. I began making photographs as teenager because I loved the magic of discovery and engagement with subjects. I was especially fascinated by the power of storytelling. My father was an amazing storyteller and I wanted to develop same talent for sharing experiences and capturing the attention of others. He died when I was 17 years old. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
"Death of a Cool Girl"Warning: While there will be an attempt to minimize it, there may be some spoilers for both the novel and the film adaptation of Gone Girl within this review. Readers who have yet to read the book or see the movie should proceed with caution. When the film faded to black and the credits started rolling, the audience at my local AMC shared a moment that I'm sure most of them have never experienced in a theater before. Once the credits for David Fincher's adaptation of Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl began, there was a large and quite audible sigh of shock that erupted forth. Audience member after audience member exhaled in response to what they just saw. This humble critic shared a conversation with the old lady next to him that almost entirely consisted of “wow”'s and “woah”'s. In short, the audience had just watched a film very bleak and so dour, that once it ended, the viewers needed a moment to let the unpleasantness of this story wash over them so they could leave and continue on with their lives. It was euphoric.
Gone Girl has been a widely discussed book since it hit the bestseller's list in 2012, and a film adaptation was natural. The film follows the Dunnes, Nick and Amy (Ben Affleck and Rosamund Pike), as Amy goes missing on the couple's fifth wedding anniversary. What follows is two competing tales, one of Nick after Amy has gone missing, and one of Amy in the years leading up to her disappearance. It's a tale that critiques long term relationships, the media response to missing persons cases, and the roles people play in various sectors of their lives. As a result, the film is one where a character's personality can change on a dime, and where every action can be questioned. Gone Girl is a story that is open to discussion on various formats (Zack Budryk wrote a fantastic and spoiler filled article for Quail Bell where he discusses one of the major draws of this story), and a film adaptation of such a book is going to bring many of those discussions to the forefront. Does the movie accurately portray the message(s) of the book? Does the process of adaptation cost the viewer some scenes, characters, or themes that they could get from the book? Does the story change now that it is being filtered through the lens of another person? The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
10 Signs You’re A Politi-Kid By Colleen Foster QuailBellMagazine.com Some are born into politics, others later have it thrust upon them. From the highly charged AA-battery of Arlington/Alexandria to the sprawling Fairfax and Loudoun Counties, my native Northern Virginia has a whole tribe of the former: politi-kids. People who grew up in the red-and-blue thick of it. This could be due to the career of a parent, as in the case of my big brother and me. Or maybe you somehow else found staffers, lobbyists, activists, and their kindred spirits at your kitchen table at odd hours.
Regardless, like children of showbiz who thought of a clean diaper as a “costume change,” we can’t remember it any other way. Call it the incumbent lifestyle. You can certainly count yourself among our ranks—I mean, constituency—if... 1. You don’t trick-or-treat when you go door-to-door. You do something even scarier: lit(erature) drops. 2. Sex, politics, religion—all those things you aren’t supposed to bring up in polite company. They are the topics du jour at your dinner table. Every jour. 3. You’re told to “Get a grip!” and you pick up a piece of cardboard with someone’s face on it. As in, a grip card. 4. Your alphabet was reduced to “R” and “D,” color wheel to “blue” and “red,” and the zoo might as well just’ve had donkeys and elephants. 5. If they’re not in the area majority, you’ve had to justify a candidate’s orientation à la Seinfeld: “Yeah, Dad’s a Republican...NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT!" The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Columbus Is Not My HomeboyEditor's Note: Now that we're back from a three-day weekend, it's safe to complain about Columbus Day. After all, while we don't like the idea of Columbus Day, we do like the idea of having a day off. But maybe like Seattle, we should use the day to honor someone or something else. If there’s one thing that I can’t stand, it’s when I discover that a beloved holiday has sinister roots. As a Pagan, I know very well that many Christian holidays, including Christmas and Easter, appropriate pagan customs. A lot of non-Pagans know this, too. However, a lot of people still don’t know that St. Patrick “chasing the snakes out of Ireland” is a metaphor for St. Patrick committing genocide upon Celtic Pagans. While I might indulge in the dyed food and beer on that day, I can never shake the feeling of discomfort that comes from knowing that this particular holiday celebrates death. I understand that this holiday has morphed into a day that celebrates Irish culture, but the prevalence of the snake-chasing mythos still makes me uncomfortable. The fact I still indulge in St. Patrick's Day is a guilty pleasure, with a huge emphasis on the “guilt” part.
Thus, in order to stand up for Pagans, I do try to explain the roots of St. Patrick’s Day to others in order to promote awareness. Yes, I can thank St. Patrick’s Day for giving me a reason to celebrate my Irish heritage, but the fact that the day once celebrated the banishment of Pagan culture, religion, and lives remains. Others might accuse me of being “fluffy” or petty, but the point is that people and customs were killed specifically because they were Pagan. That’s not cool. I feel the same way about Columbus Day. All I really have to thank Columbus for is all of the days off that I’ve received in his honor. But honestly, I would rather not devote any time or attention to him at all. I hear some Italian-Americans say that Columbus Day is a day to celebrate Italian-American culture. Christopher Columbus does not glorify Italian culture in any way. If anything, he makes us look terrible and if we’re to continue observing this holiday in good faith, we need to stop calling it Columbus Day. |
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