A DEDICATION

for WINTER/INVIERNO
by Jo

Dedicated to everyone who lost their footing last year.

Dedicated to everyone who has felt something alive inside of them that craves--demands--delivery. 

Dedicated to everyone who longs to feel connected to the creative flow but hasn’t known where to start.

Dedicated to everyone who used to read for pleasure and forgot what it feels like.

Dedicated to everyone whose winter has been sparse, whose spirit just about dried up and quit on the cold, empty prairie.

Dedicated to everyone who has loved us, chosen us, lost us, “not been that into” us, deeply seen us, ignored us, cherished us, and left us on read.

From the bottom of our hearts. 

Romancing the Scone: an invocation

by Bumsita

I wrote an invocation (dedication) for the first edition of The Love Kitchen earlier this week, but today—on the eve of its publication—I am a different person.

Six days ago I checked in to a hotel room in Bisbee, AZ, with the intention of grinding out all the content I’d been too weighed down to touch during the academic quarter. To this end, I have been successful. Content has been stored in the appropriate digital receptacle; trigger fingers tremble above the “Publish” button. But before we get to that point, I want to take a shot at synthesizing what’s been happening here.

It began the morning after I arrived. I moved the desk in my room to sit adjacent to the large window overlooking Main Street. To my left I placed two cut grapefruits and a large carafe of pour over coffee—Thompson, my old ghost, would regularly consume this combination, and I consider it a micro-ritual for invoking his creative spirit. From this desk by the window I lashed together old material, and lifted up some new things, too. The piece “bury me not on the lone prairie” was written here. Multiple strange coincidences came up in that creative process which lead me to believe it was meant to be written here—or, at least, that have underscored the importance of place in my creative endeavors. And Bisbee is a very, very good place.

Away from this desk, other relevant matters transpired. I sang Townes Van Zandt songs to a 5ft2in branch of mountain mahogany as we climbed down a mountain together (her name is Sister Stick). The sides of my head were cradled by the gently wrinkled hands of Holly, who cried at my light in the gymnasium of the Presbyterian Church Annex. I watched Terms of Endearment. I’ll have to write more about this later—likely for a next edition.

In the moments between these mystical activities, I was able to reflect on just what the hell this project is all about. I think that this first edition is about getting it done. Alternatively, I suppose you could say that it’s about getting over yourself.

When I was eight I set out to be a writer. My first story was a ghost story, inspired by the live-action Haunted Mansion movie that had been recently released (yes—the one with Eddie Murphy). In my story, a mansion had become haunted following a fantastical Victorian tragedy, when during a masked ball a guest tripped on the grand staircase and split her head open. Other guests rushed to help her but soon found themselves dead, too, when they slipped in the blood pouring from her open skull. In all, a dozen guests slipped in blood and died—and, naturally, a dozen ghosts now haunt the residence.

This story, in it’s Monty Python-esque brilliance, was never finished. Even at 8, I felt I had other things to do. With very few exceptions, I’ve never finished any story.

The spell, friends, is broken. Me, Jo, and all of the artists who contributed to this edition overcame that monster Inner Critic to send something out into the world. What we send to you now is a celebration of bravery and determination, disguised as a website. We have content across visual, audio, and written mediums, ranging in subject matter from horoscope divinations to the spiritual underpinnings of baking cream scones. Artists range in age from 2 to 73. Compiling the pieces you will find in WINTER/INVIERNO has humbled me deeply. This is a massive collective accomplishment. I am so very proud.

This edition is dedicated to all those who got it done. It is also dedicated to those who will get it done. And, when it does happen, I promise you that you have a home here.