Through Our Mothers
May31

Through Our Mothers

“We think back through our mothers if we are women.” Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own (1929) On the heels of Mother’s Day, we want to honor all creative women, recognizing our stories are born from women before us, nurtured among us, and inherited by those who come after us. Amidst what we can do and hope to do for each other, we remember our collective need for validation remains largely nominal. Together, to that end, we...

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And in me too the wave rises
May07

And in me too the wave rises

“And in me too the wave rises.”—Virginia Woolf, The Waves Excerpts from our earliest digital Waves. To receive our bi-monthly Waves publication, share your email address with us.  

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Undoing Entropy
Jan25

Undoing Entropy

“To come together…is to remember all that we forget to tell ourselves when we are working alone.” —Camille Endacott, Q partner and graduate student studying organizational communication It takes effort to gather– undoing entropy always does. To come together, though, is to remember all that we forget to tell ourselves when we are working alone. To gather with others is to remember who we are as creative people and to...

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Miraculum Monstrum by Kathline Carr
Aug16

Miraculum Monstrum by Kathline Carr

“Miraculum Monstrum by Kathline Carr is a remarkably inventive, audacious debut collection that unfolds as poems, stories, fragments, drawings, paintings, mixed media pieces, and quotes to document and illustrate the life of Tristia Vogel, a visual artist who transforms dramatically and traumatically into a bird, and becomes an unintentional prophet. . . . This book is a unique and brilliant contribution to contemporary dystopic...

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“Grow Heavy,” by Leigh Claire Schmidli
Jun24

“Grow Heavy,” by Leigh Claire Schmidli

First rule, he makes sure to look in the lady’s eyes when he smiles. Second, he crinkles his like Clint Eastwood. Tonight, many nights, he practices his smile in the tri-fold mirror, locks the bathroom door so his four-year-old can’t get in. He thinks of that Eastwood who could swagger about with a rifle in hand, but could also touch a lady, tender, at the small of her back. Who could work rugged days, eyes creased by the sun, but...

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