Little Epiphanies

I made an offering recently in the sand. I sat and watched as the waters of the Atlantic reclaimed it, advancing at first like a tentative squirrel inching toward a proffered nut; then like a voracious beast that relentlessly devours...

Painting by Estela Currao - www.estelacurrao.net I write to you now in the guise of the wanderer, having been so many places. In 1986, I took refuge in the monastery at the top of the mountain where the monks wore golden robes and goats...

By Kevin Carrel Footer His first night there, he slept on a cot as they all did. They camped in the unfurnished rooms like soldiers on campaign – or vagabonds seeking refuge from the elements. That first night the furniture had not yet arrived but an aunt took them to...

I choose the path of the artist. I choose the path that wends its way through doubt and disorientation, endlessly searching. The path is the destination. Art is my spiritual practice. When you see me creating, I am praying. And when I pray, I am celebrating creation....

Over a beer, a friend said to me, “I like it that we have different devils.” It started me thinking about my devils. My friend seems to think that not only do I have different devils but that I have more of them. He said it gently, politely, careful not to hurt, but...

It comforts me in this tempestuous world that the altar we erected to your lips that crazed night on the wall in San Telmo has earned respect from the toughest crowd: sloganists and graffiti artists and paid political posterers have carefully skirted your lips, awed...

by Kevin Carrel Footer I am sitting in the Puerto Rico Cafe on Calle Alsina. The blades of a ceiling fan are spinning above my head and the street door is open in the vain hope that either the hot air will be tricked out into the street or that passers-by will be...