Interview with Artist Alexandra Eldridge

1. What is you personal/aesthetic relationship to the line? That is, how do you understand it, use it, etc.

Immediately what is called to mind, is Wm. Blake’s insistence on “the bounding line and it’s infinite inflexions and movements”. I see the line as a means to give merciful boundaries to the Imaginative forms that I am bringing forth. The line in my work, activates the image.

2. Do you find a relationship between art and the human body? Or between your art and your body?

Again, Mr. Blake…”Man has no body distinct from his Soul”. It is in the realm of the Soul from which my paintings emerge. I did a whole show in Serbia based on the interaction of Body and Soul. Enormous transparent hands were printed on old maps and emerged from oceans and birds sat on the fingertips conversing with one another. Feet graced old chinese scrolls, hinting at pilgrimage and earth connection. And of course, wings were not excluded.

3. Is there anything you dislike about being an artist?

I am so grateful that I have the life of an artist, that I hesitate to complain. Perhaps the isolation, when you are an extroverted-introvert, can at times feel unnatural. I have come to terms with this necessity and the utter devotion and deep relationship with silence.

“Four Investigations” by Michael Bisbee

“Four Investigations” by Michael Bisbee
Opening reception: September 14, 5:30 – 8 pm

THE LAND/gallery
419 Granite Ave. NW, Albuquerque, NM 87102

September 14 thru October 6
Gallery hours: Thursdays and Saturdays 11:00 am to 5:00 pm and by appointment

An exhibit of photographs, text, and 3 dimensional art objects. What happens when an artist is confronted with 40 acres of New Mexico landscape set aside exclusively for making and thinking about art? Using art objects created in the studio as intellectual probes, Magdalena, NM artist Michael Bisbee has done 4 projects to investigate this question of land usage as art.

Goopy, but it wanted to get written: Devon Miller-Duggan Muses on Friendship

Goopy, but it wanted to get written:

I recently spent a week at The Glen Workshops—a nice conference on religion and the arts that’s full of some of the nicest people I’ve ever been in a group with. I’d made an unusually large (for me) bunch of friends when I went 3 years ago and I was a little nervous about meandering back in and being welcomed after a couple of years of not going. Wasted worry. People were gloriously, heart-healingly welcoming. And I made new friends. Like I said, the place is unsually dense with folks who are smart, art-driven, and truly nice, so it’s very, very fertile ground. I didn’t stay on the campus of St. John’s College in
Santa Fe where the Workshops take place, though. I stayed down the mountain in the city with one of my oldest and most deeply beloved friends. 40 years we have now.

I don’t think of myself as someone who makes friends easily—a holdover from a slightly isolated only childhood (we moved a lot and I was a little weird and a lot shy). I do a pretty good job these days of acting like I’m an extrovert when I’m in groups—mostly because I’d rather make that high-energy effort than go
back to watching from the side and feeling weird and socially dysfunctional.

Anyway, I started thinking about friendship. I’ve had an interesting year, friendship-wise, a weirdly good year, partially because I’ve maybe been more focused on it than usual, for a variety of reasons (one friend out of work and
stressed, another grieving the loss of a child, others who’ve wandered back into my life because of Facebook, the happy surprise of the Glen, and my I’m-always-smarter-when-I’m-talking-to-her Santa Fe friend whose wisdom I particularly needed this year and who runs this nice blog and lets me write
these meandering think-bits). It’s probably good to periodically run through your friendships and make sure you’re paying proper/nurturing/conscious attention to them. Because I, at least, can be careless, and have been.

Smarter and more profound folk than I have written reams on the subject of the value (salvific, succor-giving, steadying) of friendships of various sorts and degrees. I can’t add anything to those reams and don’t mean to try.

Maybe I’m just writing this to let the Universe know that I know how fortunate, how blessed, and how flat-out wealthy in friends I am, and that I’m deeply grateful, even if writing this makes me feel a little bit like an Oprah episode…

Twin 6′ Hearts
Jim Dine 
Born in Cincinnati in 1935

Haibun From The Hood

I have this lovely yarn, rainbow dyed but subtle, and I love knitting it. But I took the second skein to wind into a ball and within seconds it was a dreadful tangle. Took me hours to unravel the mess and wind it up.I kept wondering if it reflected my state of mind until I realized I was really enjoying myself.

bright tangled yarn–
gently freeing each strand
my thoughts wind a ball


The mania for comparison is certainly a byproduct of my years practicing poetry. But these things seemed to put themselves together–unaided by me:

vase of cattails
from the Farmer’s Market–
my old cat’s black tail

Flash Fiction by Ken McPherson

Ken McPherson

’s work has appeared in “The Santa Fe Literary Review” and he studies creative writing at SFCC. This is his second published story:

The day already had too tight of a grip, distributing preemptive stress throughout Karen’s body. What was her 9 o’clock appointment about? Why was she meeting at 1 o’clock with Francis? Karen’s memory told only half truths this morning, withholding the remainder for inappropriate surprises.
She did remember that her last appointment, at six o’clock was in her own office, doors locked, with her self. The police would say she “was so stressed she took her own life,” a judgmental description of her wielding the only power she had over her body.

To read the rest–