J U LY Savannah, GA
free!
skirt!is
www.skirt.com
July is a month of primary colors, summer on simmer and Miami vice on the rocks. July unfolds like the new leaves of a banana tree after a tropical shower, lush and hopeful. July is faded pink stucco covered in
fuchsia bougainvillea. July is swimming pool blue, salsa verde, watermelon red. July smells like Coppertone, mint muddled in a mojito and the sunlight stored in a tomato. July’s theme song is played by ice-cream trucks and squeaky ceiling fans and a chorus of slamming screen doors all across the country. July
is grasshopper green leaping out of a field of weeds and wildflowers and the sound of cicadas on a long, hot, sleepy afternoon. July is as sticky and sweet as peach juice between your fingers, as spicy and succulent as slow-cooked ribs, as unforgettable and fleeting as the fireworks finale on the Fourth of July. Cover copy by Nikki Hardin, art by Gayle Kabaker
“Live in each season as it passes: breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit.” Henry David Thoreau
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Publisher
Nikki Hardin publisher@skirt.com Art Director
Caitilin McPhillips caitilin.mcphillips@skirt.com National Editor
Margaret Pilarski margaret.pilarski@skirt.com Savannah Editor
Elena Fodera elena.fodera@skirt.com Advertising Director
Jane Townsend jane.townsend@savannahnow.com Sales Executives
Cinda Baker cinda.baker@skirt.com Belinda Draucker belinda.draucker@skirt.com Graphic Designer
Britt Scott britt.scott@skirt.com Intern
Colleen McNally Photography
Emmy Lubitz Amy Moore Office: 912.525.0740 Sales: 912.525.0740 FAX:
skirt! is all about women... their work, play, families, creativity, style, health and wealth, bodies and souls. skirt! is an attitude...spirited, independent, outspoken, serious, playful and irreverent, sometimes controversial, always passionate. Calendar Submissions Send information elena.fodera@skirt.com, or mail to skirt! Savannah, 1375 Chatham Parkway Savannah, GA 31405
Letters to the Editor All letters must include the writer’s name and city/state.
Writers & Artists Our guidelines are available online at skirt.com. Submit artwork or essays via e-mail to submissions@skirt.com.
Follow us on Facebook and Twitter! Facebook.com/skirtsavannahhhi Twitter.com/skirtSavannah
The Independence Issue Features
Profile: Samita Wolfe
Gets the Show on the Road................................................ 10 Profile: Maggie Lee Hart
912.525.0746
Takes Center Stage.................................................................... 12 skirt! is published monthly and distributed free throughout the greater Savannah area. skirt! reserves the right to refuse to sell space for any advertisement the staff deems inappropriate for the publication. Unsolicited manuscripts must be accompanied by a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Letters to the editor are welcome, but may be edited due to space limitations. Press releases must be received by the 1st of the month for the following month’s issue. All content of this magazine, including without limitation the design, advertisements, art, photos and editorial content, as well as the selection, coordination and arrangement thereof, is Copyright © 2012, Morris Publishing Group, LLC. All Rights Reserved. No portion of this magazine may be copied or reprinted without the express written permission of the publisher. SKIRT!® is a registered trademark of Morris Publishing Group, LLC.
Women make more than 80% of all purchasing decisions.
Profile: Rachel Luker
Woman Behind the Scenes.................................................. 15 Local Loves.................................................................................. 18 A Walk Into the World
Women spend almost 2 of every 3 healthcare dollars.
Jen Wittes........................................................................................ 21 Jumping Ship
Stacy Appel..................................................................................... 22 Women control 2/3 of the nation’s disposable income.
In Every Issue
Women influence 80% of all car sales.
Letter from the Publisher/Editor.......................................... 7 Calendar........................................................................................... 17 He’s So Original........................................................................... 25 Skirt of the Month..................................................................... 27 Meet.................................................................................................... 29 Planet Nikki..................................................................................... 30
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The UniTed SkirTS of AmericA
The United Skirts of America was founded on the blood, sweat and estrogen of our foremothers, who won us the freedom to choose...to break The Rules, to wear combat boots or high Gayle Kabaker Gayle calls herself a creative spirit and is thrilled to be able
heels, to run for office or run a marathon,
from The PUbliSher
The Independence Issue While there is currently a legislative war on women being waged in the U.S., in 1917, a more literal battle was being fought against women. In June of that year, suffragists staged the first-ever picketing of the White House—silently holding signs demanding the right to vote for women. In the beginning, a few protestors were arrested for obstructing traffic and released a few days later, but as the picketing and arrests continued, the treatment meted out by their jailers became ever harsher. On October 20, for instance, Alice Paul, one of the leading figures in the women’s movement,
to design and illustrate from
to form our own
was arrested and sentenced to seven months in the District of Columbia jail. Held in solitary confinement and denied legal counsel, Paul was repeatedly
the Berkshires of Western
rock groups instead
force fed raw eggs through a tube down her nose, a painful procedure
of being groupies, to
that can cause illness and death. The arrests escalated and culminated in the “Night of Terror” on November 15, 1917 at Occoquan Workhouse
Massachusetts. From starting out in San Francisco as a fashion illustrator to recently
shatter Glass Ceilings
promoting concerts in the Pio-
and Glass Slippers, to
neer Valley, she says she’s been lucky to explore many passions
shoot hoops instead
and is happy to share them
of settling for hoop
with whoever asks! What gets
skirts. The ones who
Gayle most excited is coming up with solutions to all types
came before us made
of challenges—reworking a
it possible for our
website, promoting a project,
daughters to dream
directing a film or just brainstorming ways to get more
bigger, to have the
business. Her work is used in
chance to grow up to
lots of different ways: market-
be President and turn
ing collateral, editorial, animation, web design and logo and
in Virginia where the suffragists were held in miserable conditions. Forty guards, under orders from the warden to teach the jailed women a lesson, went on a rampage and beat, kicked, dragged, choked, threatened and brutalized 33 of them. The resulting negative publicity forced the release of the suffragists, and in 1920 their efforts resulted in the passage of the 19th Amendment, finally giving women the right to vote. When I consider what these independent spirits achieved, I often wonder if I would have been as brave had I been in their place. Would I have stood up and been counted in such a hostile atmosphere? This November, when we go to the polls and maybe complain about standing too long in line to cast our votes, I hope we will remember the women who fought for that right on a long, lonely November night 95 years ago and send them a silent thank-you.
Nikki
the Oval Office into
publisher@skirt.com
brand development and more.
the Ovary Office. In
from The ediTor
gkabaker.com
the United Skirts of
So, what does it mean to be “indie?” The word gets thrown around a lot, but is there some uniting
America, every day is
thread that binds all that is indie? The definition generally refers to the arts and artists who exist and
Independence Day! Visit us on sKirt.com
work independently—that is, without backing from corporations or major producers. Whether it’s handmade artisan goods, music that strays from the mainstream or low-budget, small-studio films, we recognize “indie” as something unique. There’s a hint of the human factor, a feeling of authenticity in their creation. We enjoy the taste of relief from the mass-produced. In this issue, we spotlight people who thrive on this independence: Freedom of Expression. Mangue searches for it on the streets. Samita connects people to it with honest snapshots of life. Maggie brings it to life onstage through a new incarnation of each character and by sharing independent music, Rachel enriches the community. The urge to bring something into the world that is novel and expresses individual experience is at the very core of an artist’s ambition, no matter what the medium—and that is a freedom worth celebrating.
Rebel
Elena
elena.fodera@skirt.com
www.skirt.com
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Illustration by BerinMade Illustrated Paper Goods. berinmade.com
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Indie Women
Samita Wolfe | Gets the Show on the Road “Anything I believe in, I’ll get behind 110 percent,” raves Samita Wolfe, leaning on a seat inside a 1975 school bus. Today it’s in the shop for repairs, but soon the bus—painted with words from stories by “extraordinary Georgians”—will house a traveling troupe of authors and musicians as they hit the road for the Unchained Tour. Samita, the tour’s producer, organizes storytelling events on behalf of independent bookstores, promoting locally owned business and building community. “I go into these towns trying to sell them magic. And we’re not asking anything of them other than to listen.” The real connection, she says, lies in the performances: uninhibited, uncensored, unchained. “I’m from the South. Stories are part of our lives, and I love this brand of storytelling,” Samita says. “We tell personal, true, unscripted stories that may not end in happily ever after. Everybody’s made mistakes. There’s vulnerability—people connect through that.”
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Indie Women
Maggie Lee Hart | Takes Center Stage Growing up in the small town of Harrisburg, Ill., actress Maggie Lee Hart was drawn to theatre from the beginning. “Music and performance have always been a part of my background,” Maggie recalls. She now performs with the independent Savannah ensemble The Collective Face. “Even as a kid in third grade, I was at Indiana State University playing Little Guido,” she shares. “I had my hair in a bowl cut and dyed black, and nobody made fun of me!” It could be her friendly smile or Midwestern charm, but more likely it’s Maggie’s passion and finesse onstage that recently earned her the title of Savannah’s Best Actress. “I try to represent a character in a way that the audience thinks, ‘I can relate,’” Maggie explains. “The best part is, there’s no judgment—I’m not personally being judged for what this character believes in. I just get to physicalize a voice for the voiceless.”
Photo by Emmy Lubitz
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Indie Women
Rachel Luker | Woman Behind the Scenes Rachel Luker, a manager and publicist for independent musicians including local acts Each and Every Opus and The Charlie Fog Band, knows what it takes to keep a band in tune. With a background in business and arts administration, Rachel handles everything from booking shows and scheduling practices to marketing and social media. “The musicians’ job is to think creatively, whereas I think about things in a very organized way. I need to know the details for each show: when to load in, what we need, what’s on the set list,” explains Rachel. And her advice for musicians who are just starting out? “Make connections with the musicians in your community, that’s what has helped us. It’s so important to network with bands that already have a start,” Rachel says. “Get involved with the local music scene; go to each other’s shows. If everybody supports each other, we all benefit.”
Photo by Amy Moore
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Illustration by Monkey Mind Design, Unique Paper Expressions. monkeymindesign.etsy.com
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Join skirt! for a special fro-yo happy hour at Fresh Fusion celebrating our July issue! Look for your coupon for 4 ounces FREE at facebook.com/skirtsavannahhhi
All skill levels can join Ladies & Legends hour golf clinics taught by a female PGA instructor. 10:30am. $15. The Club at Savannah Harbor. theclubatsavannahharbor.com
Take on the Savannah Derby Devils for live music, giveaways and two one-hour games of Live Roller Derby. 5pm & 7pm. Savannah Civic Center. savannahderby.com
1-30 HAVE A BALL
Root, root, root for the home team! Cheer on our local Minor League baseball team, the Savannah Sand Gnats, every Thursday. Historic Grayson Stadium. sandgnats.com 1 STARS, STRIPES & SOUSA
Armstrong’s Savannah Winds symphony honors servicemen and women of America with the Annual Patriotic Concert. 2:30pm. Fine Arts Auditorium. armstrong.edu 3 SWEET ALLEGIANCE
Leopold’s nationwide “I Pledge” project rewards children with a free scoop of ice cream for reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. 4-7pm. leopoldsicecream.com
3 FIREWORK FRENZY
6-8 BUY IN
18-25 CALL FOR HOPE
3 RAISE A GLASS
7 GET FRESH
19 CONNECTIVE THREADS
4 SET SAIL
12 MIDSUMMER SHAKESPEARE
26-28 CROWNED JEWELS
Get a head start on the Independence Day celebration with Tybee’s annual 3rd of July fireworks show, launched from the pier. 9pm. tybeevisit.com Work on public speaking skills with weekly meetings, then keep talking (and drinking) at Wild Wing Café. 6pm. Hostess City Toastmasters Club. hostesscitytoastmasters.org Watch the Waterfront Fireworks display from onboard a River Street Riverboat. The 90-minute cruise includes music and a cash bar. 8pm. savannahriverboat.com
Find a masterpiece for sale or learn to make your own at the Tybee Arts Association Show and Sale! tybeearts.org More than 25 local vendors gather weekly for the Forysth Farmers’ Market, offering produce, eggs, pasta, and baked goods in the park. 9am-1pm. forsythfarmersmarket.org Watch Armstrong’s Masquers Summer troupe on opening night of William Shakespeare’s Love’s Labor’s Lost. 7:30pm. Jenkins Hall Theater. armstrong.edu
Be an advocate for sexual assault victims by volunteering for the 24-hour crisis line and hospital response. 6pm. Rape Crisis Center. rccsav.org The Telfair Museum showcases Georgia-native Beth Mount’s story quilts, aimed improving ties to community for people with disabilities. 6pm. Jepson Center. telfair.org The 2012 Teen, Miss and Mrs. united States of America National Pageant will be held in Savannah, awarding scholarships and prizes to young women. $40-$75. lucastheatre.org
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LocalLoves Local Loves Fun’s in the Bag For 15 years, family-owned Bluffton Cornhole has upheld this outdoor party tradition with quality-made boards. blufftoncornhole.com
Kiss Bliss
Savannah State University student Pebbles Winston is passionate about beauty and the community. Her own line of organic balm, Lips of Bliss, is handmade in small, cruelty-free batches of naturally sweet flavors.The vegan product is tested only on “willing humans.” Best of all, she donates a percentage of sales to a different charity every month.
Buried Treasure
Salt Artisan Bath & Beauty Products mixes specialty bath products that are worth their salt! From salt and sugar scrubs to soaps, lotions and even mineral make up, it’s all handcrafted from natural ingredients right on Tybee Island. saltartisan.com
Sweet Story
Ann Curry continues her mother Isobel’s Scottish family tradition. Hand-cut and cooled in tins or gift bags at her President Street bakery, the buttery shortbread is also available for local delivery. isobelsshortbread.com
Photo by Dennis Burnett.
Try the featured flavor, Luscious Strawberry, starting at just $3. lipsofbliss.com
“Toss around the idea of customizing with your team logo or lanterns for late-night play.”
Meet the Little Lady Belles!
Developed by SCAD alumni Abigail Kokai and Carrie Christian, these handmade cotton country girls are a creative combo of repurposed materials—vintage buttons, bows, big hair, and bigger personality. Each homegrown heirloom is “stitched with love and attention,” and comes complete with a unique back story and portrait. For your own fabricated friend, find their page on Facebook or e-mail them for a custom order. Invite a Belle to your next “sweet tea” party! facebook.com/littleladybelles
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Sandfly Isle of Hope
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“…see if something a bit more interesting catches your eye.”
H
Jen Wittes
ilda lived in a mid-sized apartment on the Upper East Side—a neighborhood designation that is still lost on me, although I’m well aware that it means quite a lot to real estate agents. Like many native New Yorkers who found themselves in a fortunate location either via rent control, legacy or a favorable tide of change, Hilda was anything but fancy. Practical, humble. Beaded jewelry and simple lipstick. Sleeveless polyester and pants, always pants. Of course, this is only how I remember her. Pictures of her earlier years show the subtlest hints of glamour—a fancy shoe, a flamboyant hat, a beautiful bag. Always a whisper rather than a bang. When I was a little girl, Hilda made me several sets of elaborate paper dolls. If Hilda was anything but, the ladies that she drew for me were above and beyond. Fancy for certain—in oil pastel, watercolor and thick charcoal black. It seems to me now that I didn’t really comprehend—although I must have known—that Hilda had been a highly successful fashion illustrator, most notably for Vogue. Before photography, before the slimming and smoothing deception of Photoshop, pattern and perfection were shaped by pencil and pen. By my Great Aunt Hilda. As I grew older, I loved my summer visits to Hilda’s. There was no worry about bedtime, no agenda for an early morning. Hilda just let me be as I sat up late with the guest room window wide open—chewing on humidity and breathing in the sweet smell of brick, exhaust, and scarce but optimistic flower boxes brimming with begonias. In the morning I would make myself a bagel and orange juice and sit barefoot and bleary-eyed at Hilda’s old drafting table, furiously writing in my journal and experimenting with her vast collection of semi-retired colored pencils and pens. She never hovered over me or asked me what I was working on. Still, I felt a sort of unspoken validation of my creative expression. When I was 17, Hilda started taking me to museums, letting me browse and wander, frown or roll my eyes, stop when something moved me to look closer. In the afternoon, when she’d tire, she’d shoo me out into the street and practically demand that I spend some quality one-on-one time with her city. No matter that it was the city, the world’s city, the big one. No matter that I was young or timid or unfamiliar with the subway system. To her I was (as I am in my own mind now) a born city girl, one who draws inspiration from crowded pavement rather than tall pine trees or crashing waves. As I walked, stumbling self-consciousness quickly gave way to a long, haughty, arm-swinging stride—smiling at nothing but the jagged skyscraper horizon, as if it was draped around my shoulders like a boyfriend’s jacket. Shop windows, park benches, street vendors, the stray eccentric. Good old honking horns. New York as a postcard of itself stamped with freedom before legal adulthood.
I’d come back to Hilda, so proud that I’d found my own way, sweaty palms clutching a large shopping bag that contained not one, but two boxes of Converse sneakers. “Those are cute,” she’d say, “but tomorrow we’ll send you to Greenwich Village with your cousin…see if something a bit more interesting catches your eye.” From Hilda, this was a promise, not an insult. She accepted who I was, but also wanted to offer more—take it or leave it. Sure enough, I scooped up several treasures in the Village: clunky rings, beaded boxes, a cheap orange ribbed bodysuit. Quasi-one-of-a-kind purchases made with my own money and misguided sense of style. Hilda was satisfied. That seventeenth summer, Hilda and I watched the Democratic National Convention on TV. It was right in town at Madison Square Garden. Hilda made me ice cream and told me what she knew about Barbara Jordan, and then, Bill Clinton. She liked him, I remember. Said he was kind of fun. Said his wife seemed like something special too. A few months later, I signed up to work for the Clinton campaign in my small California hometown. This decision wasn’t prompted by Hilda’s suggestion, but was born in the moment she said, “Listen to him, Jen.” And I did. She didn’t tell me what to hear; she trusted me to make up my own mind, to become a liberal—or not. Care about politics, or not. Stay up all night wishing that someday I might have a perpetual taxicab lullaby and a bedroom the size of a postage stamp, or go to sleep and dream instead of Bali, Paris, a small Sicilian fishing town, or the Amazon. Now, I try to make sense of my relationship with Hilda and what I keep coming back to is the idea of taking a small child to Europe. Is the Eiffel Tower lost on an eight-year-old boy? Does a toddler know the difference between gelato in Rome and Coldstone Creamery? Maybe they don’t, but maybe they will— someday—appreciate that they’ve been. If alive, Hilda would laugh to see me compare her to the Eiffel Tower, but they are both icons in my mind. Here was a woman who graduated from Pratt and went on to become a true breadwinner in her family, in the midst of the Great Depression. She had her first child at 45, in the 1950s. So-called advanced maternal age was unheard of at the time and her decision to become a mother in her forties was nothing short of revolutionary. From there, she balanced parenthood and career, sketching her way into fashion history. On the night we watched Clinton accept the nomination, she was about 78—still following politics; still so connected, aware and relevant. All of this was mostly lost on me at 17. I like to think that if I could do it again I would pick her brain endlessly; I would thank her for the paper dolls and the permission to be, create and breathe. But thinking like that is merely wasting time. The beauty of our short visits was in not knowing, not over-analyzing. It was an open door, a nod, a vague suggestion. It was my new voice in the adult world and an unaccompanied walk down Madison Avenue in search of sneakers—and then—something a bit more interesting.
Jen Wittes works as a freelance writer, editor, postpartum doula, and mother of two and counts Hilda as an inspiration for a richly textured life as a woman. You can find Hilda’s work at thewhitecabinet.com, the brainchild of Jen’s cousin and Hilda’s daughter, Liz.
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I
Stacy Appel
couldn’t have imagined a more hospitable place to learn to sail than the bay alongside Huatulco, Mexico. The breeze was light and steady under an azure canopy of sky, and the calm waters weren’t crowded. Marcus, a nerdy, skinny guy in carrot-colored trunks whom I’d met on the beach in front of the resort had taught me to snorkel a day ago. Now, despite my reluctance, we were on to bigger adventures. I did feel I could trust my newlyacquired, very capable sailing mentor. We were about the same age, and I liked how gentle and funny he’d been while waiting for me to get the hang of fins and mask, an enterprise that took far longer than we’d thought. Emboldened by his success, he had major aquatic goals in mind for me—sailing, windsurfing, maybe even waterskiing. The resort kept a few small sailboats to lend to its guests. After listening to a rapid-fire, barely intelligible sermon on water safety delivered by a bored French staff member who, we felt, might have vaguely preferred to see us drown, we donned life jackets and untied the small craft from the dock. Marcus steered us out onto the open water, explaining the mysteries of navigation: the boom and the rudder, aft, bow, port, starboard. I listened as best I could as he explained tacking and jibing, but the primrose depths of the waves were mesmerizing. The cool fingers of wind on my face were thrilling after the mid-day heat of the beach. If the boat hadn’t sunk, I suppose Marcus and I would have said later that it had been a perfect afternoon. We were only half an hour out. Having taught me the basics of mast and tiller, Marcus occupied himself with trimming the sail, so I sat back and watched the gulls dip and spiral and plunge into the waves before us. I opened, then dropped, one of the water bottles we’d brought with us. Retrieving it, I noticed that the bottom of the boat seemed to be covered in water. It did look more full than the occasional splashes of waves washing over the side would account for; though embarrassed that he’d think me alarmist, I called out to him. “Nothing to worry about,” he called back, but he left what he was doing anyway and came over to where I sat. His eyes widened, and he swore like a seasoned sailor. Then he moved us into action. “We have to start bailing! NOW!” he yelled to me over the wind, tossing me a bucket. I did my best to heave the water back into the bay where it belonged. The wind was growing stronger than before, and he dashed to tack the boat while I ducked and continued tossing water over the side as fast as I could.
It was no use. The boat was filling fast—even to a novice like myself, it was evident that we were not miraculously going to stay afloat. So we made sure our life jackets were fastened securely and jumped over the side. We would have to tow the boat back to the resort on a rope. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline, maybe it was the sudden freedom from all that effort—but Marcus and I began laughing so hard it was difficult to keep swimming without inhaling water. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so safe or having so much fun on a trip. When we neared the dock, two resort staffers, one of them the bored Frenchman who’d given us the boat, were standing there seemingly enraged, which sent us both into a fresh bout of hysterics. I knew how ridiculous, how inexperienced we must have looked—two orange blobs paddling furiously back to shore, trailing a sailboat tipped over on its side behind us. The staffers watched silently while we tied the boat up and extended no offer to help. It took Marcus almost an hour to convince them that we hadn’t done anything wrong, and he only succeeded by pointing out where the hull was cracked and leaking. They never apologized, of course, for giving us a defective boat or for putting us in danger. Over Mai Tais at the poolside bar that night, we had a wonderful time imagining just how they’d secretly try to dispose of us if we decided to try skindiving, say, or the much-touted Sunset Dinner Cruise. “Eet was very sad, ze Americans jus’ fell overboard after the cheese course, and sharks ate zem up, piff-poof,” said Marcus. “Quel dommage!” “We’d better mail our postcards out tonight, just for safety’s sake,” I told him. “Even these drinks might be spiked with a little something.” I’m not a sailor to this day, and swimming is still about the only water activity I’ve mastered, despite Marcus’ long-ago hopes for me. I read books by women about their exciting experiences sailing the high seas alone, or kayaking on the Boh River in Borneo. I’m excellent at memoir-reading, it turns out. Cookbooks, too, though I don’t have time to cook. Author Annie Dillard wrote, “...there are all kinds of ways to live. You can take your choice. You can keep a tidy house, and when St. Peter asks you what you did with your life, you can say, I kept a tidy house, I made my own cheese balls.” I’ve thought about Marcus a lot since that afternoon in Mexico—the perfect plan we made, the perfect weather, and then the way jumping ship turned out to be so exhilarating. Maybe there’s something immeasurable to be gained from doing certain things really badly, or having them go wrong. Just about anyone can teach you to sail, but learning to fail is so much more important.
Stacy Appel is an award-winning writer and not-so-hot sailor in California whose work has been featured in the Chicago Tribune and other publications. She has also written for National Public Radio. She is a contributor to the book You Know You’re a Writer When… by Adair Lara. Contact Stacy at WordWork101@aol.com.
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He’s So Original
Mangue Banzima has an eye for style. .. For Mangue Banzima, inspiration walks our streets every day—with its head held high. This innovative street-style photographer from New York City says Savannah is growing into a serious star on the fashion map. “Someone has to go out and expose it, and that’s what Qui Style is for,” he says. His blog, Qui Style in Savannah (quistyle.com), features outfits, details and fascinating interviews with students, locals and creative characters of all kinds. “Style is not just defined by your clothes; style is about individuals who have confidence and who are happy. Qui means ‘who?’ in French,” Mangue explains, “There’s a big question mark, and I want the answer.”
What do you like about wearing a skirt? “I always want to know what everyone else is doing and do exactly the opposite. I didn’t just wear one, I made my own!” What do you like about reading skirt!? I’m interested in the people who read skirt!. It’s all about the who—I’m curious to know. Photo by Emmy Lubitz
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Wilmington Island
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Meet Favorite Restaurant Chiriya’s Thai Cuisine
Kristin Cook, a recent Armstrong State University graduate in Gender & Women’s Studies. Kristin served as vice president of the student group Feminists United, taking a stand for LGBTQ rights and against domestic violence.
I Can’t Live Without Feminism
Favorite Flower Orchid
I’d Like To Learn American Sign Language
Favorite Artist Brandi Carlile!
Dream Vacation Volunteering at a safe house in Cambodia My Workout Life! Where I Get My Coffee Gallery Espresso Zodiac Sign Aries Right Now I’m Reading Jaclyn Friedman & Jessica Valenti’s Yes Means Yes Favorite TV Show Golden Girls Signature Scent Tom’s Apricot Deodorant
Photo by Amy Moore
Guilty Pleasure Trendy pop music Favorite Feminist Adrienne Rich Words I Live By Everything is temporary My Inspiration Every girl and woman I meet
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planetnikki [ a visual journal ]
The perfect Saturday. Waking up on my favorite plain white, ultra crisp pillowcases.
Seeing
coins of sunlight shimmer through the blinds and across the bedroom wall. Keeping my cell phone
turned off.
Drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice. Savoring a backlog of unread magazines.
I like. Listening to Goldberg Variations. Stir-frying whatever is in the fridge. Staying home all day. Nothing to accomplish,
Drawing something
everything to enjoy.
A friend gave me the little box of I love you cards. The designs are inventive and intriquing...typical of products from Chronicle Books, a favorite at skirt!.
My new raku bowl by Charleston potter Bette Mueller-Roemer reminds me of a piece that has been unearthed from the ruins of some ancient civilization or excavated from a dream.
charlestonartistcollective.org
I love “painting” on my iPad with a Wacom Bamboo Stylus digital pen. I can use it with both the Paper by 53 and Brushes programs. .
“The Dangers of Love” is on Emily West’s EP I Hate You, I Love You. Her voice is gorgeous and broken-hearted on this song, one of my favorites.
I bought “Ocean Moonrise” by Dee Schenck Rhodes through Charleston Artist Collective. It’s destined for a birthday gift for one of my daughters, but I’ll have a hard time parting with it. Nikki Hardin is the founder and publisher of skirt! magazine. She blogs at fridaville.com. 30 julyw2012savannah www.skirt.com