PAINTING • by Michael Chapey
He painted her a picture. He showed it to her one Tuesday, after she got off work. He had been working on it for a while and finally decided it was finished. He knew he was done with the painting,… Continue Reading
art
EYES • by Scott Sinclair
The first stab was dead center between the eyes. The scissors were plunged all the way to the pivot joint then dragged downward slowly, deliberately so. Incision after incision followed. He held the handle so tightly his hand began to… Continue Reading
THE LOOP THAT CANNOT BE BROKEN • by Helen French
Deep in the concrete bowels of the Tate Modern, I grow large and choose my form. I become strips of aluminium, curved into arches, then glued together, banded into long cylinders. When I am ready and no one is looking,… Continue Reading
MIRROR, MIRROR • by A.J. Rocca
Tucked away in some little-known corner of time, there once was a glassblower who lived by the sea. In the daring years of his youth, the glassblower would pull all kinds of strange and wonderful shapes from out of colored… Continue Reading
THE RED CARDINAL’S VISIT • by Lisa Tang Liu
Tommy bolted out of the parking garage elevator as soon as the door opened. A man waiting outside the elevator stood with mouth agape as he watched the toddler fly past him. I dashed after my son. Clad in a… Continue Reading
LOOKING AT EAKINS • by David Macpherson
“Yes, I’m here to look at your Eakins,” the little man at the door said. He was old with a bald head and a messy gray mustache. Dockers and a cheap polo shirt were his attire. The man looked strong,… Continue Reading
KUMI’S LIGHT • by Alisa Golden
Kumi perched on one side of a quilt-covered pedestal, naked. Easels were pulled around her in a semi-circle. Students, both earnest and lackadaisical, staffed the easels, peeking out, squinting, thumbs raised, brushes or charcoal poised to capture her. A small… Continue Reading
THE PAINTINGS OF SIZWE • by Liz Tsikkos
[story text removed at the author’s request]
ARTIST OF LOVE • by JT Gill
Papa comes home with a large white canvas and a brown paper bag filled with paints and brushes. He closes the cabin door behind him, shutting out the flurries, and shakes the snow from his hair. “Use these,” he says.… Continue Reading
THE BODY PAINTER • by D. Quentin Miller
“The first thing you should know,” Scott McRae said before he paused to light his cigarette with an old-fashioned metal Zippo lighter, snapping it closed and extinguishing its flame with a sharp ping, “is that I’m somewhat shy and modest.”… Continue Reading