midnight muse—issue 4
DESCRIPTION
Yeah! Issue 4 is here!TRANSCRIPT
A u t u m n 2 0 1 2
I s s u e 4
Want to contribute? Email us!Midnight Muse was created by Neebinnaukzhik Southall and Sarah Page.
All photographs and layout designs are from Sarah Page unless noted otherwise.
Who Are We?We are a small group of passionately
ambitious artists located in the
beautiful Willamette Valley! We are
awesome, and love other awesome
people. Like you! We want to become
a resource for artists of all creeds.
We are here to support, inspire, and
teach one another and everyone who
wishes to create. We represent visual,
literary, musical, theatrical artists
and everyone in between. We are a
network of infinite possibilities
of creation.
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Table of ContentsCover Art“Creationism” by Carrie Brandon
Who Are We?....................................................................................................2
Find Us!.............................................................................................................4
Artist Submissions Rinee Merritt, Wild and Domestic...................................................................................................................5
Amy Booker, Fly........................................................................................................................................................6
Samantha Hatfield, Langourous Ribbons......................................................................................................7
Alana Kenagy, Rulers Crossing.........................................................................................................................8
Nikki Brittain, Lush....................................................................................................................................................9
Nancy Jamieson, A Grandfather’s Collection.......................................................................................10
Frankie Olivo, Bullet for my Angel.............................................................................................................11
Kristin Hayes, Lady of the Deep...............................................................................................................12
Leah Palmer-Rye, Midnight Rose..............................................................................................................13
Christina Mason, If It’s Meant to Be (Easy)................................................................................................14
Brian Forrest, Abbey............................................................................................................................................15
Heidi Sterling, In Blue..........................................................................................................................................16
Laura Witham, Movement & Ruin...............................................................................................................18
Magdalen O’Reilly, Forever Avonlea............................................................................................................19
Conner Allen, Feel It All.................................................................................................................................20
Iris Benson, Dirty Words.......................................................................................................................................21
Davey Cadaver, Hornet Nest Headache...................................................................................................22
Paul Charron, Building in the Past..............................................................................................................23
Featured Artist: Carrie Brandon..................................................................24
Plus Size Fashion: The Naked Truth............................................................34
Ojibway Aesthetics........................................................................................38
The Evolution of Video Games as an Art Form.......................................40
Brittney West Exhibits her Chemotherapy Series....................................44
Sky Club Portland.........................................................................................45
ASCII and Art.................................................................................................46
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Wild and Domestic, Rinee MerrittPhotograh | Deanna Peters
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Fly, Amy BookerModel | Maile Hanani
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There is a place in the heart where only feelings reside. They are smooth fluidity, floating like silken ribbons throughout the languorous space.
Words are inadequate and clumsy, like huge concrete barricades, stalling and inhibiting.
But feeling is eminent; whether we choose the road or not. It can sometimes arrive unexpectedly, seemingly out of nowhere.
This metaphoric road is sometimes chosen for us. To illustrate, to expand, to guide. To teach.
Nearly everyone has been on an emotion-road at some point. It brings a depth of experience that cannot be explained entirely. I, am seemingly on that road. I
struggle, and I falter. I stare into spaces, and wonder about so many things.
The choices, the differences, the similarities, and the connections.
Life’s songs have been coming and flowing, and I am dancing . . . in the space that allows no words. It is somewhat uncomfortable for me. Words have been integral to my life since I can remember, much in the way music has been. Music however, was halted, but the words flow and surround, comforting me and allowing me to hide behind them when needed; allowing me to expose and share when it is time
. . .
The scientific Socratic method allows nothing for this type of situation to be analyzed and categorized. My scientific reliance allows impartiality, division, concrete evaluation of parts and taxonomic labeling. Carefully constructed analysis
that has divided and conquered; analysis which has led to logic and division.
My specialty, my training, my knowing, but moreover my heart, knows there are no rules.
In a feeling space, rules are a farce.
There is no analysis, no taxonomies, no categorizations which can be erected and placed. There are choices in life; the ribbonesque flow into and amongst us, interweaving time, and space, and heart. It is what makes us whole, it is what
completes Our circle. It is why we are human.
I sit and listen to the silence.
I sit, while the emotions flow and dance and remain.
I sit, and succumb.
I sit, and continue my silence as well.
Langourous Ribbonsby Samantha Hatfield
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Rulers Crossing, Alana Kenagy
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Lush, Nikki Brittain
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among her papa’s shellswere conch and nautiluswe used as phones to call the sea, specifically to speakto mermaids.
grains of sand got in our earsbut we could hear the gill soft-breaths of mermaids.
we asked ifthey would sing to uslike babies in a cradleshh-shh-shh was all they sang, our gently lullingmermaids.
we wanted songswith ocean notes, high &sweet and salty deepbut only sailors heard the ariasof mermaids.
dissatisfied with songlessness,mere breaking waves-on-sand,we shook our whooshing shell-phones,and thought we heard the slap, the thwack, the scale-finned tailsof mermaids.
our game was interrupted when her papa came and quick! we lay the shellsupon their shelf, nautilus and conch, as ifwe’d never called to mermaids.
A Grandfathers Collectionby Nancy Jamieson
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Bullet for my Angel, Frankie Olivo
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Lady of the Deep, Kristin HayesMake Up Artist | Kayleena CampbellModel | Candice Forsberg
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She appears suddenly in the darkness
Walking along the cobblestone path towards me as I sit under a maple tree
Leaves falling around me from the warm night wind.
Her heels echo as she steps down
The only sound in the black night that is quickly swallowed by shadows
As others toss in their sleep and children dream of fairies and magic.
She holds her head high, her back straight
A proud woman
Different from others in this sleepy town
Hair so dark it gleams in the moonlight.
Mysterious eyes full of broken dreams.
She looks like she is searching for something,
Perhaps a forgotten love or a place where she can finally call home.
She wears no color besides a one red rose tucked into her hair
A rose that gleams and sparkles with water
Glittering in the darkness
Something makes me want to take the flower
Feel the silky petals of the rose, caress it against my face and breathe it its sweet scent
Like this is the key to my salvation
Nothing has seemed more important than this strange woman
Like we have been searching for each other all along.
She is almost to me now,
Still walking in a slow pace, black dress sweeping around her making her look like she’s floating.
As she is about to pass me, she turns her head and looks me and I freeze
Her gaze pierces me, like she can see every dream and heartache I’ve ever had in my life
And my soul is like an open door to her.
Something in her gaze makes everything stop, where it’s just her and I and everything else blurs
I feel like this moment is what decides where I go in this life
And who I will be
She turns then, and melts in the inky blackness
Taking her star colored hair and proud figure
To where you just hear the echo of her heels fading like a memory
And I wonder if she was even there at all
Until I look down and look at a single red rose at my feet
Waiting for me in the golden leaves and starlight
Midnight Roseby Leah Palmer-Rye
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If It’s Meant to BeAn Original Song by Christina Mason
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Abbey, Brian Forrest
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This isn’t a getaway—it’s a getting to. A getting to the core, to lift the curtain, to
lift our eyes and voices, to be unashamed. You chose San Francisco because there is freedom here, an understanding that has deepened, that has been seasoned and intensified with the collective courage of those who have come here and dared to be themselves. This is part of why we are here—to be authentic, to be ourselves—to belong. But at first, we must find our way in. At first, we can only be two silent and small figures drifting through the sugar-encrusted hills that swell up and down the city, pregnant with life. The lace-mist floats in wisps over the rooftops and descends on our fingertips as we hold our hands out the car windows, caressing the face of the oceany night. We drive. Market Street. Lombard Street. The wide arc of the Embarcadero flowing underneath the steel thrust of the Bay Bridge. Back to Van Ness and into Little Saigon where the hotel waits—a Victorian-era building with marble and granite pillars. Our room is on the third floor. The street is old and dark. People mill around. A woman with drooping eyes and a hardened face asks us for money. We place our spare change in her dark, chapped hands and she smiles sadly and turns her eyes solemnly to the night. We look at each other wordlessly, a flicker of compassion and concern touching between us, and then we hoist our bags firmly on our shoulders and enter the hotel. The lobby is warm and smells of heated contentment. The walls are papered Victorian red—flowers, graceful swirling designs. A chandelier drips downward in a cascade of crystal droplets. I watch you write out all your information on a small 5 X 7 card—name, address, license plate number—and then hand the card to the clerk, a plump man with thinning hair, a dark moustache, and square, gold-framed glasses that slide down to the tip of his nose as he reviews what you have written.
Ah, ok, he says. Okey dokey, room number 32. He lifts a key from a set of golden hooks to his left. This is your key, he says. If you lose it, we
charge a $25 replacement fee. The key catches the low lamplight and for a moment, appears to glow like a firefly in your palm, and then your fingers curl around it, holding the light safely, and you turn to me and say, Stairs or elevator?
We take the stairs. Our breath, our footsteps, our words, echo in the antique enclosure, the hidden dimensions of a quiet building, and in the low, yellow lighting of the stairwell, your hair appears the colour of a faded memory, faded, but yet vivid, beautiful in its muted testimony to an altered perspective. When we have reached our floor, you pause at the top of the stairs, turn, and lower your eyes to me, smiling faintly, your silent smile, secret smile. You hungry? you ask. Because I could go for some pizza. I nod and say, That actually sounds really good right now. You nod back, and then we are walking down a red-carpeted hallway, glancing at door numbers etched into brass plates, finally seeing 32, a white door with a peephole like all the other doors, only this is our door—the first hotel door that has made my heart pound and my hands tremble---simple, white door, antique brass doorknob gleaming below a modern deadbolt---this door that creaks a little when you push it open to reveal the room—our room---blue carpeting, bay window facing the street, small bathroom with an old-fashioned freestanding porcelain sink and a clawfoot tub, a chest of drawers—white--a television set, a small round table, two wooden chairs---and one bed. We look at the bed quietly and my heart grows stronger, louder, in my ears. Is this---is this all right? I hear you asking as you set down your duffel bag onto the bed. I mean, if it’s not, I can ask for a different room, one with two beds…….No, I say quickly, no this is great. I smile and my cheeks turn to fire. One bed is great. I am shy, fiercely shy, all of a sudden. I fumble with my bag, smile again, clear my throat. But you won’t let me hide for long---even as I blush fire and avert my eyes, you are capturing me, pulling me out of the chaste comfort of innocence. You are taking my wrists and drawing me forward into a careful, thoughtful kiss that seems to me to move and express itself with a maturity beyond your years. I am soothed and pleasantly agitated all at once, my growing tenderness toward you steeped into
each deep drink of your mouth.
And then, as is true to your nature, you are drifting away, murmuring about pizza and hunger, and I am laughing quietly, knowingly, taking your hand, feeling the hot cushion of your palm in my palm, and then leading you back down the stairwell, white marble, glittering, and the city glittering, full, foreign, enticing, overwhelming. We take it all in, our eyes turned upwards to the tops of the buildings, or moving left and right, sweeping across the urban scenery, the night people, the cars, taxis, streetlights. We find a Pizza Hut two blocks down. Halfway there, you take my hand—our hands held in public for the first time ever. No one looks twice. Eyes are staring ahead, glazed, distracted, unseeing. We are the unseen tonight, and yet, I feel I am in the centre of everything, and only our story plays on the screen. The whole world has been condensed down to this street, this block, this patch of light shadowing over your calm face, your slight smile. Our story fills the city. Do they see?
Your grip on my hand tightens as a loud car passes by, and you switch sides with me—you on the outside now, me on the inside. You say, The man always walks on the street side. We look at each other and chuckle. When we are outside of Pizza Hut, I give you a meaningful look. And the man always opens the door, I remind you with an amused smile. Ah yes, indeed, you concur and reach over to pull open the smudged glass door for me. Thank you, I nod. People glance over. They must see this bursting, delirious feeling—they must sense it, feel it, like sun on their faces. I can hear the electric snapping of emotion, feel it tugging in my chest. It continues through every ordinary event—ordering a pizza, filling plastic cups with soda, pulling paper napkins from a dispenser. What a strange agony—this nearness, this yearning, this endless flow of sensation, heightened sensation. Everything you do, everything you say—a sensual build-up, a saturated colour. The dreamworld has flooded the real world—now the boundaries are buried under the streaming of desire. Now I am drowning willingly. Now I am in your underwater realm—all blue.
excerpt
In Blueby Heidi Sterling
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We eat our pizza—a medium half pepperoni, half olive and pineapple. We comment on the locked bathroom—a token required to use it---This you have seen in Boston, but in Arcata, there are not these public restrictions. Let the city boy show you the ways of the concrete jungle, you say proudly. But back on the street, I see the wonder and curiosity on your face, the wide-eyed look of newness rushing in. Everyone becomes a little kid again in novel situations, in unfamiliar surroundings. Everyone grows small beneath tall buildings, in the midst of a traffic rush, jostled by a stranger’s shoulders on a crowded street.
You point to the cable car tracks and say, Let’s ride one tomorrow. You want to? Yes. First thing. We return to the hotel, climb the steps again, enter the room quietly. I turn on a clock radio on the nightstand and a Smashing Pumpkins song is playing. “By Starlight.” You glance over, eyebrows raised. Everything you touch turns to romance, you comment playfully. We stand looking at one another from across the room. Without thinking, I reach over and turn off the bedside lamp, and the walls turn to hazy blue. Come here, I say. And you come. I lift your hands to my shoulders, and I put my hands on your waist, and in a low, shy voice, I say, I know this is cheesy, but……I say nothing more, my voice giving way to the careful movements of my body. Slight sway, soft sway. You follow along, a bemused look on your face. Rossetti, I don’t dance. Yes, you do. You are. You lower your chin and shake your head. I feel your body softening. I can’t believe I’m…..What are you doing to me….Leo? You draw in closer. Leo, you say. Your hands slide down my arms, move to my waist. We continue moving. I feel your mouth warm on my neck. I feel your kisses opening me so that it seems I become just the soft pulp of flowing life, rushing past your lips, offered to you to slake your thirst. There is no thinking, there is no doing, there is just instinct, the instinct and force of emotion. I see in colours—white, pearl white, your skin. All moonlight, all newborn, pale, smooth glass, untouched, clear. The blue of your eyes drift in the milky streams. Your fingers weave through my hair slowly, and from far away I hear you
saying my name again as I fall backwards onto the bed, taking you with me.
Outside people are laughing. Cars grow quieter, more distant. The curtains are drawn, crème panels, absorbing the diffused light of the city. The radio is humming low, something melancholy, something that sounds like a sigh, a yearning, something that trembles like my fingers as they touch your skin. Your shirt is on the floor, your chest above me, radiating. You are from the water, a silk creature, fashioned in a world unseen by human eyes. I am intimidated by you, your strength, your boldness. You look at me unwaveringly, studying me through your quiet lashes. Let me see you, you murmur. I am beneath you, holding my breath, face and chest flushed. I half-sit up, pull my shirt off, and lie back down, waiting. You breathe out slowly. You don’t have to say anything—I can see your eyes change—turn serious, contemplative, full of wanting. I shiver as you lower more of yourself onto me, as your hands caress my shoulders, my chest, as your lips touch to my skin. Now all the world is water and I am looking into my reflection—I am seeing my body move and join to another body, a mirror half---There is nothing in this world that is closer—nothing that can move into the blood as deeply as this. There is a knowing before the knowing---A familiarity, and yet a profound discovery—in the body that looks and responds as a mirror. There is a purity here, a natural privilege—the echo of myself in your frame—the expression of your body—male---reflected back to me---full of desire. There is no imbalance—we are on the same side of the scale. I kiss you, taste you, invite you, and nothing changes the reflection. Our hands caress, our skin heats---I close my eyes and feel all of myself drawn up into your mouth, like a thread through a needle, pulled through, stitched through. I hear your soft cries, your unsteady breath. I feel myself rising, rushing. Half-clothed, shoes still on, the rough friction of your jeans--still I feel you heating through. I find myself murmuring, then letting my voice break free—Your soft mouth is flowing to my lips, my chest, suckling me---I grow louder, and I am drowning again…….My breath is lost---then recaptured, sighing
your name. I feel you tremble as if in great pain. We are broken open, warm fountains, blood coursing through, soaked skin and hair. It is as if we have fallen from a great height, plunged into water, resurfacing, panting in our amazement as we come back to awareness—we are alive.
Your hot skin settles into me—you are draped over me, damp and supple, a tender mantle. I feel your hair warm and soft as fresh earth on my chest. We are both trembling. The night has retreated into the rolling waves of early morning and grey begins to touch the horizon. The radio is static, and the streets are muted. Your eyes are closed, your lashes dark. I fall in and out of sleep, sinking into the layers of your embrace, and I dream, but do not remember the dreams, only the feeling of them, like light—shapeless, but real.
In the morning I wake up, but my arms are empty, and the room is silent. I sit up and look around confusedly, still tasting you on my lips. Reece? And then I look down to the floor and see you curled up, half-covered with the comforter, your head supported by your duffel bag. I watch you for a few minutes, wondering why you left the bed—My heart sinks. Was this too much, too soon? I bite my lip and lie back down, my eyes to the ceiling. Too much, too soon, and I have frightened you away. I close my eyes to steady myself. This is what life is, isn’t it—beauty and pain. Accept it. Accept. I keep my eyes closed. My chest burns. I hear you stirring, rising, breathing in. I feel you waiting. Come to me….I chant this in my head. Please, come to me. Drowning again. Drowning in your blue. I will not open my eyes until I know for sure that you will stay away, or until I feel you touch my body. What will it be…..You move and the comforter rustles like an ocean wave slipping away from the shore. The sun comes through the window and through my eyelids…..I feel you standing…..I pretend I am still sleeping even as all my nerves are raging, waiting. Did I do wrong? Did you feel me last night, did you feel the desire? Just one caress, and I will know…..Just one word and I will know……
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Lightning struck the fallenphoenix’s umbrella. The bird flewinto a spider’s web and pluckeda turkey’s tail as a fishnet dream-catcher caught hold of the vision
instead of waiting for a rise.
Movement & Ruinby Laura Witham
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Forever Avonlea, Magdalen O’Reilly
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I Feel it All, Conner AllenModel | Alaska Bruneau
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A plow horsegoes west
in one long furrow.
Fingers fallow behind,stitch and sow seeds,
open buttonson a dirty cotton dress,
let the heat outswaddle a baby
to nursegrain sprouts -
Bred to work, hair short,
in overalls, not menbut girls, hidden until
their breasts growlike seeds in dirt.
Neon stems and rootscut by silica in soil,
grow tall under a sighand reach the nakedsides of salted men.
Sweat drips into doughto make bread
without yeast. Women kneadmuscles at night
and drink keroseneto feel the light,
catch TB, coughcoal into diamonds,
a tool to carvedirty wordslike work.
Dirty Wordsby Iris Benson
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Hornet Nest Headache, Davey Cadaver
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J’ville Oregon (left) and Bannack Montana (right), Paul Charron
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CarrieBrandonIssue 4 Featured Artist
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CarrieBrandonm
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q&a
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Q: Carrie...first off...WHO ARE YOU?
A: I am a freelance illustrator and concept artist. A lover of Doctor Who and devourer of epic fantasy novels. My friends often tell me I’m either laughing or smiling constantly. I try not to take things too serious and enjoy life, and I hope that attitude comes a cross in some of my art.
Q: You are insanely talented and you are still so young. How long have you been drawing? Did you/are you going to school for art or is your art education in your own hands?
A: First off, thank you so much! I think like a lot of artists out there I tend to be my harshest critic when it comes to my artwork, so I really appreciate your kind comments. I started out doing little doodles when I was around twelve years old after catching an episode of Sailor Moon one morning. For some reason a gang of magical girls fighting monsters got me inspired to draw. I still have some of those abominations in an old sketchbook to remind myself how far I’ve come.
In high school I decided to get really serious about my art, and I haven’t let up since then. I am for the most part self taught. I was lucky enough to take Drawing I at OSU back in 2009, but due to some family issues I ended up leaving school. Since then I’ve been studying on my own like crazy, in the hope that I’ll blow all my professors away when I get to attend class again. Just recently I decided to take the Figure Painting and Drawing class at LBCC. It’s really great for my improvement getting to work with a live model once a week.
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Q: From talking to you previously and just by browsing your Deviant Art, I can see how dedicated you are. How much time do you spend studying and refining your artistic skills?
A: I spend a lot of my free time studying the fundamentals of art. Art is one of those
subjects where you get as much out of it as you put in. I realized early on that I’m
not going to become the next Caravaggio by sitting on my bum so when I feel like
I’m lacking in an area, such as perspective or anatomy, I study it for hours upon
hours. The Corvallis library has several books I’ve found to be insanely helpful. I
also heavily rely on whatever materials I can find online to teach me what I’m not
getting. Once you’ve studied, things will start clicking in your mind and that’s when I
start sketching. Sooner or later it’ll all click on paper too and that’s when I move on to
the next subject that I’m terrible at. The entire process can honestly take months, so
it’s important to just keep trucking at it and not get discouraged at lack of progress.
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Q: You mentioned being part of an online community of artists before. Care to share with us how that sort of environment has impacted your growth as an aspiring artist?
A: I was a part of Sketchpad.tv. It was a streaming
website where several artists from all over the world,
and all different levels of skill and style participated.
It was honestly an extremely huge impact on my
improvement. Not only was it really exciting getting
to stream my drawings for art lovers everywhere, but
it was a huge source of constructive criticism for me.
With people watching me draw in real time, they were
able to spot any mistakes that I hadn’t noticed yet and
point them out to me, allowing me to work so much
faster. Also, when another artist would stream I could
tune in to watch and observe their unique techniques
and see how they handled those tough subjects to
draw that I hadn’t quite grasped yet. Unfortunately
Sketchpad.tv lost it’s website programmer, so it’s now
in internet limbo.
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Q: What are your long term goals as an artist?
A: To conquer the world! I want to do a bit
of everything, honestly. One of my biggest
dreams has been to just do some concept
work for a video game someday. I already take
commissions, and I hope that I’ll be able to
continue doing that until the day I die. I love
doing artwork for people who appreciate it.
Currently I’m working on producing a Graphic
Novel with a friend who is a writer. So another
dream of mine would be to finish it and
have it sell well. Other than that I’m looking
towards possibly teaching art as a long term
stable profession.
Q: Who is Lola?
A: I get this question often by people offline,
and it’s one I love answering. Lola is a very
important character who serves a variety of
purposes for me. I first created her when I was
around 17 or so. I wanted to draw someone,
but kept coming up to that block “Well who
do I draw?”. And so I created Lola. Someone I
could fall back on to draw when I just wanted
to draw for the pure pleasure of it. I poured
all of the personal and physical traits I admire
into her design. All those things I secretly
wanted to be, but never would. She was a
teenage outlet for me. As I’ve gotten older
she is now a very good reference for when
I want to see how far I’ve improved, drawing
her throughout the years has shown me how
far I’ve come and keeps me inspired in my
progress.
These days Lola is even more than that, as
I’ve passed her on to my best friend Nicholas
Browning, who is an extremely talented
writer. I gave him the basics of Lola, and asked
him to tell a smart part of her story. What we
have now is one amazing epic fantasy trilogy
that he’s writing, which is what I’m using as
the basis of my graphic novel. He’s already
finished the first book, and words cannot
describe how excited I am to share Lola with
the world under a new medium.
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Q: What are your preferred tools (for digital and traditional mediums)
A: While I’ll doodle with anything I can get my hands on, I use mostly oil paints and my
digital drawing tablet. With the oils I use a lot of pallet knives and cheap brushes and
paints. Since I tend to do my study paintings in traditional oil, I really don’t go all out when
it comes to using quality products since I’m pretty cheap. With the digital art I do I’ve been
using the same Wacom Intuos 3 drawing tablet for the past six or so years now. Currently
I’m using Photoshop CS5 as my painting program of choice. I think it’s really important
to become familiar with both traditional and digital art. The skills you learn from each
medium really support and synergize with each other.
Q: Where can people see more of your work? Buy prints/originals? Commission artwork?
(links, links, links!)
A: I try to keep my decent art on my DA portfolio http://carrieli.daportfolio.com/, with
everything else being posted to http://carrieli.deviantart.com/ and once in a blue moon to
my Tumblr at http://www.tumblr.com/blog/studiotuba.
Q: Is there anything specific you want your fans to know that I didn’t ask? Go for it here!
A: I’d like to say thank you so much anyone reading this or looking at my images in
Midnight Muse or anywhere else for that matter. I really appreciate all the support I get
from everyone. It honestly keeps me going and striving to get better. For those of you
interested in art or just getting started who feel like they’re lost, never give up! So many
people have told me they want to start painting, but they’re too old to start or they don’t
feel “talented” enough. I say poop to that! It’s never ever too late! I don’t believe in things
like talent being needed to be an artist. All you need is a passion and the willpower to
commit your time to the practice and I believe anyone can draw well.
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P lus size fashionauthor and Model | Keri atKins
PhotograPhy | liang liang of lsquare Production
Jewelry | calyPso art
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I don’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t
a big girl. If you wish for me to be brutally
honest; yes, I am fat and have been pretty much
all of my life. In part, due to poor choices; but also,
due to medication side affects. Perhaps it doesn’t
help that I stand at five foot nine inches, and have
excellent ‘birthing hips’. Regardless, I am a big
girl, living in a time where ‘thin is in’. Despite an
incredible movement that grows every day, many
fashion designers and media outlets ostracise a
large group of people that I am apart of.
Perhaps it is my stubbornness, or perhaps I am
doing this all for my need to be apart of a creative
team. None the less, I got into the fashion industry
and now work as a plus model and fashion stylist.
Yes, me: a girl who was always teased about her
size and bullied much of her childhood. Most of
my life I wore jeans and over-sized sweatshirts,
sneakers and my hair pulled up in a pony-tail.
Though, admittedly, even during these many,
many years of awkwardness, I would take time to
apply makeup and wear fashion accessories. That
was the one place in fashion I felt accepted: no
matter my size. I could fit into designer jewelry, I
could use their purses, I could fit into their shoes.
How can there be any doubt, that all women
and men, regardless of size, wish to wear fashion
that appeals to them? We all wish to wear our
favorite designers...we all wish to be able to try on
looks we saw and was inspired to try ourselves.
Fashion is simply the art we live our lives in. It’s
self expression quite literally worn on our sleeves.
Fashion is creativity we offer to the world, allowing
it to see a small portion of who we are. No matter
your age or size, this is a truth. No matter how little
you yourself actually take notice of fashion, it is,
none the less, a major part of your life. Yet for many
of us, finding clothing we wish to wear is hard to do.
The plus fashion industry has grown leaps and
bounds, but there are still many designers that
refuse to go above a size 8 or 10 in their sizes.
When you look at the history of fashion, you start
to see why. In the 1950’s, fashion mannequins had
the same hip measurement the average woman
had: 34 inches. By the 1990’s, the national average
hip measurement was 37 inches, however fashion
used mannequins with a 31 inch hip. America
grew by 3 inches, while the fashion industry
shrunk by 3 inches. Once, fashion marketed to
the average woman. Now, we have 6 inches
separating the average woman, and the sample
sizes fashion uses on their models. Sadly, the plus
fashion industry itself is falling into the same bad
habits ‘mainstream’ fashion has. Ten years ago, the
average plus models wore a size 14 through a size
18/20. There was diversity in plus models, meaning
diversity in marketing. Today, however, plus model
agencies ask for size 8 -14 models. Yes, you read it
correctly: size 8 is now called ‘plus size’ in fashion.
If you are a big girl like me—who wears a size 20—
you realize there are far more companies against
you then they are for you. What’s worst is being a
big girl working in the very industry that is trying
to ignore you. But perhaps I am looking at this the
wrong way. Perhaps these companies that refuse
to market to me, companies that obviously
do not want my money, must have
a secret desire. If they are not
willing to sell me clothing,
perhaps they wish for
me not to wear
clothing? Perhaps,
they wish for
accessories to
be the only
fashion on
my body?
thenakedtruthpushing the plus away.
Keri
won
‘Best
Model
Plus’ at
Portlands
1st Annual
Fashion &
Style Awards
!
Photographer | Robert Domondon
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not willingto sell me clothingperhaps they wish for me not to wear clothing? Perhaps, they wish for accessories to be the only fashion on my body?
if they are
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OjibwayAs I’ve been lately exploring the art of my
people, the Ojibway, I’ve become aware
of the substantial influence that European
culture has had on the evolution of
Native aesthetics, particularly as a result
of the souvenir industry. How might this
play out in Ojibway art particularly? In
finding an answer to this question, one
might begin by identifying and exploring
the reoccurring motifs and symbols that
typify the art.
Floral iconography became a dominant
feature of Ojibway art production, as well
as Northeastern Native art in general,
following the War of 1812. This new motif
replaced traditional geometric motifs
and depictions of the Thunderbirds
and Misshipeshus (water panthers), two
diametrically opposed and important
figures in Ojibway mythology. A
possible explanation for this shift
was the pervasive influence
of Victorian culture which
emphasized naturalism,
especially flowers
as a supremely
b e a u t i f u l
product of
n a t u r e .
In this
time period, floral motifs were not seen
the way they might be now by some,
bereft of meaning and generic, but as
the cultural apex of aesthetic sensibility.
This led me to believe that the post
19th century Ojibway aesthetic, then,
was influenced by a needed generation
of supply for a particular Victorian
demand. This was confirmed to me by
an awesome book, Trading Identities
by Ruth B. Phillips, which stated that
Native groups developed
s o p h i s t i c a t e d
n e t w o r k s
t h r o u g h
which
t o
deliver and sell products to nineteenth
century tourists seeking connections to
that authentic, natural way of life that had
vanished in the wake of industrialized
European society.
Many negative aspects of this
phenomenon became apparent as I
read more. Victorian culture viewed the
replacement of traditional design with
floral patterns as evidence of cultural
Upper and Lower Worlds, Norval_Morrisseau
38 |
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Aestheticsprogression. To the “enlightened”
minds of many Victorians, it was a
sign that the Natives were accepting
civilization. In this regard, echoing
the same creed of cultural superiority,
religious aspects of oppression had also
caused much of the Ojibway
mythos to be downplayed
in representation, as many
European pre-contact
spiritual motifs were decried
as “pagan” and
subsequently suppressed in boarding
schools, missions, and the like.
Interestingly, however, indigenous values
and beliefs saw continued expression
even through this shift. Though flowers
themselves are not centrally important
in Indigenous cosmology, oral tradition
stressed plant life as irrevocably important
as it transforms the energy of the great
manitou, the sun, into sustenance for
animals and humans. Plants also play
a prominent role as
m e d i c i n e s
and in
m a n y
ceremonies related to changes of
seasons and renewal. In this regard,
the shift from traditional motifs to floral
patterns allowed Ojibway people to
continue expression of their Indigenous
beliefs and values while creating new
art and securing a means of economic
subsistence.
For those interested in further exploration
of Ojibway art, I recommend the art of
Norval Morrisseau, also known as Copper
Thunderbird, as a subject of study. This
talented painter and medicine man, born
in 1932, founded the Woodland school of
native art, which controversially utilized
and shared many Ojibway cultural
concepts. Though met with resistance
and accused of violating tribal taboos
by sharing his knowledge of
Ojibway culture and myth,
Copper Thunderbird inspired
many other Native artists
and was himself known
as “the Picasso of the
North.”
Thunderbird Icon, Neebinnaukzhik Southall
Medicine Being from Sacred Fish Stomach, Norval Morrisseau
Written by Joel Southall
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asanART FORM
g o d o f w a r 3
theevolutionofvideogamesThe Corvallis Advocate Presents
Written by Sean Bassinger
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If you’re a fan of video games, chances are the name Roger Ebert represents more than movie culture. In 2010, Ebert made a
blog post stating that video games “can never
be art,” a continuation of statements he
made years before.
Since voicing his opinion, discussions followed
– most of which were intelligent retorts
and evidence claiming why he was wrong
– regarding the topic of video games as art.
Eventually, Ebert conceded and applauded
those who disagreed, stating “I should not
have written that entry without being more
familiar with the actual experience of video
games.”
So are video games truly art? Since these
games house an array of fascinating visuals,
musical and storytelling, most gamers and
developers say “yes.” Meanwhile, others
consider them nothing more than mind-
numbing entertainment with no further
purpose. The reality, however, is that the
question itself is very broad; both answers are
correct since not all video games are art.
The primary definition of art begins with “The
expression or application of human creative
skill and imagination.” The continuing
definition states how most art forms typically
exist to be intentionally moving. Key word,
though, “typically.” Video games aren’t
your typical medium, and the fact that any
game could move someone emotionally --
especially through use of captivating visuals
-- proves that video games qualify as art. And
if we look back through the years, it’s quite
evident that games represent art both visually
and in other ways.
The beginning bitsRalph Baer’s Magnavox Odyssey, the world’s
first interactive television game, entered stores
in 1972. Though technically a “video game
system,” the Odyssey was mostly a glorified
electronic toy. There were interchangeable
chips with different data arrangements, but
the actual televised graphics consisted of the
same series of white dots. The unit also came
with colored TV overlays to make up for the
lack of visuals. For instance, Odyssey Tennis
required that consumers paste a graphic
designed as a tennis field on their television.
Scores were also kept manually, using nothing
more than a regular scorebook to help players
keep track of the winner.
Visually, the Odyssey presented very little.
Baer’s creation was far from art, as most of
the console’s creation involved programming
the behavior of on-screen dots, and there
wasn’t much emotion or intentional design
involved. However, it’s still representative of a
pre-evolved art form, given that Baer worked
with what he had in order to recreate certain
games for the television. After all, the same
can be said about a toddler who, for the first
time, finds a purple crayon next to a blue pen
and decides to recreate a sunset. Does the
purple squiggle look anything like our sun? Of
course not, but this is still the beginning of a
very important artistic process. The child can’t
accurately recreate visuals right now, but
eventually they’ll craft masterpieces featured
in galleries and exhibits; the same can be said
about video games as a whole, only the pen
and paper are code and computers.
Like a child discovering their talent as
they experiment, video games developed
throughout the 70s and 80s. Pixels and
bits started resembling real objects, and
sound chips were improved to output more
detailed effects to complement these visual
presentations. These games were simply
entertainment, but certain patterns eventually
formed that changed the medium forever.
Evolving into art As time passed, developers acquired more
resources; video games involved less
imagination and more representative visuals.
Compelling characters and captivating
storylines appeared, making video games less
about entertainment for the moment and
more about lasting experiences.
One pioneer of storytelling in video games
was Nintendo’s Shigeru Miyamoto, who
worked on games like Super Mario Bros.
and the arcade hit Donkey Kong. Though
these games seemed rather simplistic on the
outside, they were actually quite innovative
for their time. Miyamoto never made a
game without offering a story on the side.
Some stories, like The Legend of Zelda, were
visually inspired by Miyamoto’s childhood
experiences.
Before Miyamoto, video games rarely
highlighted stories outside of the instruction
manual. Sure, all games had backstories (as
everything usually does), but actual events
were never portrayed through the player’s
progression. In the arcade hit Donkey Kong,
you actually rescue Pauline at the end of
certain levels. In Super Mario Bros. and Zelda,
you eventually reach the princess, therefore
fulfilling your quest. Most video games before
this simply involved “make the number higher
until you get bored or die.”
As storytelling evolved in games, other design
concepts followed. Games like Final Fantasy
needed stunning worlds, lovable characters
“M o s t v i d e o g a M e s b e f o r e t h i s s i M P l y i n v o l v e d
“ M a K e t h e n u M b e r h i g h e r u n t i l y o u g e t b o r e d
o r d i e . ”
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1
“
f i n a l f a n t a s y X i i i
g a M e s l i K e f i n a l f a n t a s y n e e d e d
s t u n n i n g w o r l d s , l o v a b l e c h a r a c t e r s
w i t h c o n f l i c t , a n d s c a r y c r e a t u r e s
i n f l i c t i n g s a i d c o n f l i c t .
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with conflict, and scary creatures inflicting
said conflict. Spiritual sequels in the Super
Mario and Zelda series became more detailed
and complex. More than ever before, players
had reasons to jump in and save the world,
while also being moved by different animated
sprites, sounds and story sequences designed
to capture the hearts of millions.
Creating worlds & moving audiencesMore years passed, and two-dimensional
graphics were replaced with entire three-
dimensional realms in the late 90s and early
2000s. But as we approached the modern age
of gaming, 2D graphics returned in the form
of portable and independently developed
games. Often described as “Metroidvania”
titles, many of these games honor the
general aesthetic and exploration mechanics
of popular franchises like Metroid and
Castlevania. For many players, these games
offer trips back to childhood, where beautiful
colors – often representing certain moods
or settings in virtual worlds -- presented
themselves on the screen.
It took much time and debate, but many current
video games are works of art in themselves. In
Bioshock, you wander around a beautiful but
structurally degraded underwater city while
discovering what lead to the community’s
downfall. In the Mass Effect series, you
assume the role of Commander Shepard
as you traverse the known galaxy and push
against the assumed Reaper threat. Games
like Skyrim: The Elder Scrolls V let players
roam an entire countryside, day or night,
and encounter everything from breathtaking
medieval cityscapes to gargantuan dragons.
Even independent developers like the studio
Playdead (the creators of Limbo) craft
adventures with purposes beyond those of
conventional gaming. With its shadowed
backgrounds and breathtaking environmental
shading, Limbo is a visually unique experience
that continues to move new players.
As a whole, video games are just now breaking
through as a recognized vehicle for visual
art. In-game graphics and character models
utilize the very elements of art within their
creation, and assure players experience more
of an emotional takeaway than ever before.
Since it’s still such a young medium, critics
will continue devaluing the purpose of video
games beyond entertainment. Regardless,
it doesn’t change the fact that video games
convey visual art, and in many cases, are art.
A collaborative effort between The Corvallis Advocate, The Commuters Editor-in-Chief Sean Bassinger, and Midnight Muse. Thanks to everyone
involved for this phenominal contribution!
presented by
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Many of us are close to someone
who has battled cancer, or perhaps
may have suffered with it ourselves.
Although I witnessed my own mother
slowly succumb, I can only imagine
what it must have been like for her, and
others, to be diagnosed with terminal
cancer. Her balding visage is a symbol of
courage for me, extending far beyond the
effects of this illness to a confrontation
of fear itself and the enlightenment that
follows.
Rather than a story about conquering
cancer and loss, this collection of work
titled “Chemotherapy Series”, addresses
acceptance and living life more fully
through facing fears. Human fears are
many, can be paralyzing and restrict
us from living freely. I have included
figurative paintings and drawings
of women specifically experiencing
hair loss due to chemotherapy. With
recurring images of these women during
a vulnerable and distressing transition, I
seek to illuminate their beauty in such
a raw state, displaying their resilience
through trying times and capture a
moment of profound understanding.
Art is a visual language through which
I seek to communicate the interplay
between vulnerabilities and acceptance.
The body of my work primarily consists
of figure studies through a variety
of mixed media –predominately oil
paint, charcoal and pastel. Within my
art I explore multiple interpretations
of my subjects— both psychological
and physical— taking the figure out of
their realistic environment and creating
a space to exist in that reflects and
abstracts the beautiful subconscious.
I was born in Eugene and earned a
Bachelor of Art at the University of
Oregon. With the desire to explore
unfamiliar ground, I moved to Corvallis
where I set up my art studio downtown.
A wide variety of my work can be found
on Facebook at “Brittney West’s Art” and
in my shop at Etsy.com. Ultimately, my
goal as an artist is to be involved with
organizations and events devoted to
helping others. If I can be of help
by donating art to an organization
or cause, or if you would like a
commissioned piece of art, I can be
contacted at [email protected].
Brittney WestBrittney’s Chemotherapy Series has several
exhibitions coming up. Be sure to stop by &
check them out in person!
Dec. 4th – Jan. 5th The Arts Center’s Corrine Woodman Gallery
January 5th – 31st Corvallis Chamber Coalition
February 1st – 28th Benton Hospice Service
March 1st – 31st Samaritan Regional Cancer Center
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Walking into Sky Club Portland, or as I like to call it Skybar, was
curious. A lightly illuminated room with a stage in the corner
and silk hanging from above. My mind wondered what lie ahead
for the evening.
Lauren Lee started the show off smoothly trapeezing to “Girls
Just Want to Have Fun” by Cyndi Lauper. It was nothing like I
was expecting and exciting and I suddenly knew I was in for a
treat. Soon a singer, commanding the room with her beautiful
voice, interacted with patrons making fun gestures to match her
song...I was thrilled, and okay, perhaps a little turned on as well.
But really, what a show! Silk dancers sailed and climbed as easily
and gracefully as if they could fly. Pole dancing that was fun with
a sing-a-long song.
I was in awe and felt like a kid at the circus. Skybar was a night I
won’t forget and a venue I can’t wait to return to.
If you want to learn more about Sky Club Portland—and trust
me, you do—head over to their website at skyclubpdx.com for a
list of their events. Or next time you make a pit stop to Voodoo
donuts pop your head in and say hello! You might be in for a
surprise.
Sky Club PortlandWritten by Daniel Page
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While computerized art is certainly not a new
concept, it is generally considered to be much
more firmly rooted in the realm of graphic de-
sign as opposed to fine art. While this may be
true by statistic, there are often overlooked
venues in which digital artists have truly bro-
ken new ground in ways that have yet to be
fully appreciated or even understood. One
such example is the computer world’s adap-
tation of text art—most notably utilizing the
ASCII character sets that were first defined in
the earlist days of modern computing.
A very long (and interesting!) history
made reasonably short, ASCII characters
(resembling the English alphabet along with
numbers and other symbols) quickly found
structural use on older machines that were
short on graphics capability. In the place
of lines and shapes, these characters were
used to add graphical elements to text-only
documents for the purpose of organization
and presentation. There is more to it than that,
of course, but what shouldn’t be surprising
is that this concept was quickly taken much
further by artists and scientists alike -- such
as the famed photomosaics of Ken Knowlton
and Leon Harmon (which were more of a
precursor to ASCII, but that’s besides the point
for now).
As time passed and computers became more
common, dialup bulletin board systems
emerged (and later the Internet). As a result,
this art form found cult status amongst
computer programmers, hackers, e-zine
writers and software pirates as a way to add
graphical elements to universal text files so
that the images could not only be displayed
on nearly any machine, but any machine from
any era. Character set art crews emerged,
including the likes of ACiD and iCE. Literally,
this form of text art became (and remains) the
graffiti of the web. If you had a computer, you
could do it. End users claimed this as their
own and soon thereafter came the inevitable
emergence of specialized software, such as
AcidDraw.
Over the years such an incredibly diverse pool
of this type of art was created in an equally
diverse set of approaches. Take a look at Mr.
Knowlton’s “Studies in Perception I” then find
something belonging to Normand Veilleux.
Next, look up some SAC (an underground
text art group) logo work. I see no less
diversity here than when viewing the various
movements that painting has seen over the
course of hundreds of years. The platform
is compact and vast. Various character sets.
Color. Fixed width and variable width fonts.
Tools as different as a text editors alongside
specialized software. Imagine now post-
creation edits being done in high end
graphics software like GiMP and Photoshop.
Animations. Comics built on these building
blocks that could be considered fine art just
for existing or being used in this fashion.
And all within the confines of images being
drawn with keyboards rather than pencils,
paintbrushes or even computer mice.
What intrigues me the most is that we’re not
even scratching the surface of what this form
of art is capable of. The underground status
that has persisted has left an immense amount
of unexplored territory. Human beings are
explorers. We expand into any habitable space
– and create that space out of thin air when
our imaginations merge successfully with our
knowhow. ASCII art is just one great example
of where we can choose to go artistically
from here on out.
¦\¯¯``¯;\\ ____ ’¦;\_, ',\¯`' ¯`'\\' ’¦:;¦¦¯` .:;'¦'\ ',\ ''\;/ .:;'/_;\, ,\ ;/_____/ ¯¯'¦; ;¦';'¦¦¯`'¯`'¦¦ .:;/____;/¦';¦: ';¦ .:;'¦¦¯`'¯`'¦¦;'¦;'¦L_ .'¦¯¯;¦; ;¦;¦ ’ ¯¯ .:;¦L_ .:;'¦/ ¯¯ '’
:;//¯`’¯`’;\¦’¯`’¯`’¯\\_ ’ ;¦; - ‘ - ‘;’¦\___’__’/¦¯ ;¦\_____¯¯¯’¯¯¯¯\ ;//¯`’¯`’’,\;\ - ‘ - ‘;’\ ¦\__’_;¦;\___’___’_;/¦ ¦;¦¦¯’¯’¦¦:;¦¦¯`’¯`’¯`’¯¦¦;¦ ¦;¦; .:;¦:;¦; ;¦;¦ ‘\¦L_.:;¦;\¦L_ .:;¦/
;//¯`’¯¯’/\¯`’¯`’¯\ ¦;_’ .:¦ ;¦____;¦ ¦\¯` ;’\; .:;¦¯`¯’¯¦ ¦;\ .:;’\’:;’/ .:;:;/¦’¦:;’\_____\/____/;’¦‘\ :;¦¦¯`’¯`’¯`’¯¯¯;¦:;¦:;\:;¦; ‘;¦;’/ :;\¦L_ . ;¦/ ‘ ¯¯¯¯¯¯’ ‘
¦\\¯`¯’¯’\\ ¦:;\’,_, .:;\; ¦ .:;\\¯` .:;’\ ‘\ .:;’¦; ‘;¦ .:;\;/_____/¦’ .:;¦¦¯`’¯¯`’’¦;¦ .:;’¦; ’’;¦;¦ .:;’¦L_ .:;;¦/’ ¯¯¯ ’
¦\\¯`¯’¯’\\ ¦:;\’,_, .:;\; ¦ .:;\\¯` .:;’\ ‘\ .:;’¦; ‘;¦ .:;\;/_____/¦’ .:;¦¦¯`’¯¯`’’¦;¦ .:;’¦; ’’;¦;¦ .:;’¦L_ .:;;¦/’ ¯¯¯ ’
Art and Words by Johnny Beaver
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www.midnightmusemag.com/submissions
Cover Artwork by Featured Artist Carrie Brandon