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ISSUE 07
KEEP IT SIMPLE + DRINK GOOD COFFEE
born + brewed in san diego, calif c o f f e e a n d t e a c4 o l l e c t i v e . c o m
CONTENTS 8 PATRICIA PICCININI 10 CHARLES BERNSTEIN
Cover Art: Luara Ball, Fire Mandala, 2013 Watercolor on Arches, 20 x 16 in Morgan Lehman Gallery, New York
14 LEE MATERAZZI ERYN GREEN 16 LOUISE MATHIAS SCOTT ZIEHER 18 JARED STANLEY EL CURIOT
MHQ STAFF Dane Cardiel Founding Editor Daniel Heffernan Designer James Meetze Poetry Editor Nikki Oder Arts Editor Cooper Troxell Composition Editor Kristina Micotti Illustrator Allison Gauss Reader
22 LISSY ELLE ANNA PIDGORNA 28 GENEVIEVE KAPLAN JIM KAZANJIAN 32 KEN WHITE SHIVA AHMADI 34 BRANDON DOWNING 36 DAVID HADBAWNIK JABER AL AZMEH
F E A T U R E D
A R T I S T S
PATRICIA PICCININI
The Empathic Move: The Spirit of the Carnivalesque by Caitlyn Burford
LAURA BALL Unearthing the Archetype
ELENI SIKELIANOS From Oracle Or, Utopia
JAMES ROPER
Singular Vision from the Digital Collective Unconscious by Nikki Oder
SCOTT ZIEHER Interview by Adam Winner
SHIVA AHMADI The Flowers of Evil by Heather Ecker
Left: Sylys, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 150 x 75 cm Right: Xuloluz, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 150 x 75 cm
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PAT R I C I A P I C C I N I N I Skywhale, 2013
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CONCORDENCIA ERYN GREEN
O good shepherd magic me— on the train on the other side of the world everybody is reading the news in pictures I do understand, on the back of papers a young man standing naked covering modestly, although because it is today he takes the pictures himself and modesty is staged. There is no snake. Breakneck pink in the pastures screams at me. And so, poem, it seems nothing has changed. A big show about death glimpsed at speeds. How long until knowledge crawls back out of its snakehole? Today? Tomorrow? There has never been a single frame of this picture not shot by the sun. Invisible green trees chatter me—the news is a one-legged heron, a foxhole filled by need. I am left unattached O good magic and all my new scars, I will never regret calling your name out every page in the dark
L E E M AT E R A Z Z I
In Between A Path, 2012 C-print, archival mount on plexiglass, 54 x 40 in (137.2 x 101.6 cm) Courtesy Quint Contemporary Art, San Diego 15
HERM
J A R E D S TA N L E Y
We walked openly and for no reason To form in the prowl of talk an owl’s head insignia— That’s one way to say we took a walk Or that rabbit brush dusted our sleeves With pyramidal hints With imitative and contagious music Which gave these nights, in their broad coolness A gift to come into, a Bee sting on an Adam’s apple. We loped to propose a question: If the poem is an axis, what Are the lines which cross it, Its immersions, its alongsideness? And I take upon me this speaking for both of us, Confined as we are to the poem, its Crossed figurations, its eye-encircled Constellating, crossed and re-crossed by the paths and piths Of Spy Novels, of Hot Wings, Of little cuts of grease in the cuticles, Of my coat, leaking feathers, Of any decorative response. I push one fingernail under the other, And feel some pressure on my foot Either the sock is too big or the shoe is too small, Knowledge outpacing the desire to know Our walk’s aim, a creeping deliverance A fresh set of tracks at angles, willy-nilly, Parti-eyed to within an inch of home. Genial squiggles turn inside the wit Which animates such a walk Its etymologies and hidden laws heaped up In the thousandfold litter, or the lichens Or tiny pebbles in a cairn; will they allow us To well up in this unfurling, This flag, this Russian roulette we’re playing With a crystal ball? The words at war seem to shrink From memory forth to possession But we are not at war, we are at the path At the stump, at the ford, at the rise, Where we are at rest in this poem…
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EL CURIOT
Birth of Omuktlans, 2013 Acrylic on canvass, 60 x 50 cm
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for Paul Dwyer
THE CHILD, BRINGER OF LIGHT ANNA PIDGORNA
for Paul Dwyer
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III
© Anna Pidgorna 2012
© Anna Pidgorna 2012
LISSY ELLE Fisherman’s Tablu, 2012 23
FROM VIRGIL’S THE AENEID, BOOK III T R A N S L AT E D B Y D AV I D H A D B A W N I K
3. procul montis ac volvere fumum Hadn’t gone far when winds churned seas rose tossing us pell mell in a massive flood day’s ripped out from under us night snatches sky LIGHTNING breaks clouds we go blind in black waves even the pilot can’t tell ass from teakettle nor guess the way for three days we wander starless by the 4th storm lifts LAND far-off mountains
twisting smoke
we furl sails and rise on our oars sailors stir froth scouring the blue to the shores of the Strophades Islands now fixed once wandered where the dire
CELAENO
and other harpies had dwelled after Phineus shut palace doors to them and they fled those tables in fear 36
WOUNDS JABER AL AZMEH
ALL IMAGES COURTESY OF THE ARTIST AND G R E E N A R T G A L L E R Y, D U B A I
The Dungeons, 2012 Printed on Cotton Rag Fine Art Archival paper Edition of 5, 100 x 150 cm
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PATRICIA PICCININI
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UNEARTHING THE ARCHETYPE LAURA BALL
Into The Trees, 2012 Watercolor on Archers, 32 x 52 in Courtesy David B. Smith Gallery, Denver 58
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Minotaur (Release), 2012 Watercolor on Archers, 40 x 26 in Courtesy David B. Smith Gallery, Denver 60
FROM ORACLE OR, UTOPIA ELENI SIKELIANOS
No one knows how it began. A few atoms lying in the sun began to lick and burn. Then man.
hearing the houses of their small white voices vibrating inside the dome the crisp “t” of the color moving against its walls
as if the “t” were a tongue & the walls were its mouth
as if the vowel were a mouth and the world was its mother the consonants licking the tin clean as if the “t” were a time-scrap banging into distant water towers
The South Lung hangs to the left where we’ve made our new home In the rainforest basement we patience our Oracle
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Left: Sylys, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 150 x 75 cm Right: Xuloluz, 2012, Acrylic on canvas, 150 x 75 cm
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CONCRETE POET SCOTT ZIEHER CHARLES BANK GALLERY 1 5 M AY - 1 6 J U N E 2 0 1 3
S TAT E M E N T The title Concrete Poet seemed to make clear my general approach to a first solo exhibition after 20 years of making art with no thought toward corralling what I made into anything coherent, all while simultaneously writing poetry. I’ve had to reconcile the two impulses in some way, and the way to most effectively eliminate any distraction was to make them one. The collages themselves consist primarily of paper I’ve found walking the streets of New York with an eye to the ground. I have always carried a notebook around, and I walk a lot, so I see a lot of discarded books and magazines, and both approaches are fed simultaneously in that way. Since childhood I’ve been a scavenger, and an argument could be made that my poetry is sometimes an act of hunting and gathering. Specifically, finding a 20 foot tall pile of late 60’s through late 70’s architecture magazines fuelled this body of collages. I’ve only gone through about half of them. Because there is something architectonic about the idea behind concrete poetry (for me), I see another allusion to both practices in the actual source material. Each fragment, or part, builds on itself if nothing else. And my writing is a decided collage process. So these confluences make the decision to twin the two impulses fairly straightforward. I think the term concrete poetry is really enticing on a lot of levels, but here I’m thinking of the visual as a plastic, layered poem as object. My approach is formal first, finding a fluid line or a color pairing that clicks, shuffling them into two shapes seeking a third, like words or lines or stanzas in need of company.
ALL IMAGES COURTESY C H A R L E S B A N K G A L L E R Y, N E W Y O R K Self Portrait as Concrete Poet, 2013 Collage on paper 18 x 14 in (45.7 x 35.6 cm) 80
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APOCALYPTIC PLAYLAND S H I VA A H M A D I LEILA HELLER GALLERY 21 FEBRUARY - 23 MARCH 2013
ALL IMAGES COURTESY OF THE ARTIST AND L E I L A H E L L E R G A L L E R Y, N E W Y O R K
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Cube, 2013 Watercolor, ink, and acrylic on Aquaboard 40 x 120 in. (101 x 304.8 cm) 89
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