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Seattle | Sun Yourself by Willie Fitzgerald, Postbox

The last time we stopped by Vignettes, the one-night-only art gallery that Sierra Stinson hosts in her tiny Capitol Hill apartment, it was for a Lindsay Apodaca show titled “American Spirit.” Against one wall, there was a bright pink condom stretched over an irregular hunk of quartz. In the center of the room, Mickey and a Minnie Mouse dolls had been sewn together, back to back, making some sort hallucinatory Janus out of Walt Disney’s cheerful, helium-voiced cash cows. Off by the kitchen, a Garfield doll had been turned into a fully operational bong. (At one point, while guests were milling about and sipping champagne from plastic cups, Apodaca strolled by almost nonchalantly, loaded Garfield up, and then the burbling sound of THC dispensation filled the sweaty apartment). We’ll cut to the chase: If for some reason you haven’t made it over to Stinson’s Vignettes by now, you’re missing some of the most interesting, ascendant and off-kilter art this city has to offer. Stinson’s made a name for herself as the curator of the moment, and now she’s bringing her talents to bear on a print publication, the seasonally appropriate "Sun Worshipers." Featuring work by 26 of the city’s most interesting artists, the art book has more than 100 pages of stunning images and artworks, like “Connotations,” by Shaun Kardinal, seen above. Apodaca’s Minnie Mouse obsession makes an appearance, as well. “Sun Worshipers” has already had a New York release (dahling!), and this Saturday (July 21) Stinson will unleash this arts compendium on its hometown. Also part of the celebration is photographer Ross Laing’s book “HELLAWASTED,” which is essentially a photo journal of his past year. He was, presumably, wasted. Robot Romantic and the wonderfully named (and very heady) Hair and Space Museum will also play live sets. Click Here for Link to Article

#sun worshipers #sierra stinson #willie fitzgerald #msn postbox #article

This is my proposal for an AWP panel that will never happen about writing communities

WE write in a vacuum of other writers. We feed off their successes and failures. When we die (figuratively) from the cold shock of markets, other writers resurrect us with the fire of another spirit wanting to do the same thing we do. But more importantly, they keep us feed, drunk, and warm at night either with their bodies or their blankets. And what do we do? We populate their readings and read their books and book their readings in hope that the whole population will be attending. Afterwards, on those dark and secret nights, we make promises to each other never to write about each other, only to each other, and then we rush home in the coming light and write about exactly and furtively each other. We find solace (fake or real) in the fact that we don't know our future, that our future is strange. We will do anything in our powers to keep our illusion alive. Keep our bubble whole.

A quote from Spurious by Lars Iyer: "This is W.'s great fantasy, he admits: a group of friends who could make one another think."

We're here to talk to you about how failing is the best way to collect guns and ammunition. How you should act at a writing group. How to talk books even when you're not talking books. How to curate a festival. Run a bookstore. Run a website. Run to an MFA. Publish your own books. Publish your friends' books. Publish strangers found in the acknowledgments. How to write: as in, WRITE. Never how to write, just write. We'll show you it's possible to bridge the gap and make others think.

Or something less stupid. Oh, how we sound.

Any questions?