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Howl: The Voice of UNM-Taos 2022

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Front cover artwork by Crucito Concha 

Beauty in a Cloudy World: Pueblo Girl, digital photography, 2022

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Howl: The Voice of UNM-Taos Art & Literary Journal represents the power and diversity of Taos and Northern New Mexico culture. Howl's voices are thunderous. They resonate with the interconnected chords that serve to unite our personal, academic, and common realms. Howl hums across borders and fences, penetrating the minds and hearts of all who are courageous enough to listen. Taos is a place situated in ancestral rhythms and lies between the Sangre de Cristo mountains and the deepest canyons in all of New Mexico. Perhaps the magnetic pull between these two is what draws us in and out of ourselves and has attracted so many to settle in this valley. Howl: The Voice of UNM-Taos Art & Literary Journal celebrates the creative work of UNM-Taos students, alumni, staff, and faculty, as well as the greater community of Taos.

© All artwork, videos, and written works are copyrighted by the original artist or writer.


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The University of New Mexico-Taos is pleased to present Howl: The Voice of UNM-Taos 2022 Art & Literary Journal. Last year, for the first time, Howl transitioned to a digital catalogue opening the opportunity for greater inclusion and the presentation of film and video. With over 50 individuals featured, it was clear that this new format was embraced by the community. This year, we are thrilled to present 75 artists, writers, and filmmakers as well as Fine Arts and Digital Media faculty and an art project from the UNM-Taos Kids Campus. The participants featured include students from UNM campuses across New Mexico as well as alumni, staff, faculty, and members of the greater community of Taos.

Regardless of age or training level, the works exhibited in this book reflect the nature of humanity in the 21st century. Common themes include gender politics, race, environmental impact, the pandemic, and autobiographical narratives. Stories and poems in Spanish and English compliment vulnerable artworks that investigate personal identity. There is work about friendship, love, loss, grief, and community connection. There is pride in the beauty of this vast landscape and insight into the diversity of New Mexico culture through photography, short video interviews, and descriptive stories. Indigenous art, functional ceramics, traditional drawing and painting, installation, digital media, documentary and experimental films, and children’s art hold the same space and demonstrate how art has the power to bring people together. The accumulating feeling is one of boundless creativity and an unapologetic sense of self.

The expansiveness of this anthology is impressive and awe-inspiring. It is a blazing reminder that Taos is a small town with a big voice. In 2022, Howl is a true embodiment of its name.

- Sarah Stolar, Chair of the Department of Fine Arts & Digital Media

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Artwork by Savannah Summers

Self-portrait in the In the Manner of Yoshitomo Nara (detail), installation, 2018

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The author requested this essay be published anonymously.

Complicated Feelings

            He thought about writing about his story, then the song that reminded him of her, played in his headphones, reminds him of his feelings for her, a Latin American rock song. It’s a smooth song about a Chicano singing to a girl he loves. He usually wrote about himself, but it changed when he met her. Suddenly his focus changed from himself and his attention switched to her like a spotlight. He can’t stop thinking about her and the way she makes him feel. They share the same feelings, and she constantly reminds him that the feelings are mutual.

            But who is she? She is the most beautiful Latina to walk the earth. With beautiful brown eyes, long slightly curly hair and a smile that melts his heart. He only has eyes for her. She’s a little older but it doesn’t matter.  She makes him want to learn Spanish so they can have deeper conversations. She makes him want to be a better young man.

When he exercises, she’s in his mind. When he goes to bed, he dreams of her. When he wakes up in the morning, he wishes that she would wake up next to him. A fantasy that he thinks of often. They wake up together, he looks her in the eyes before giving her a kiss and a hug, then gets up and makes breakfast for two.

            She is everything he could ask for and more. To him, she is the most beautiful and that’s all that matters. He catches himself listening to Hispanic music while thinking about her. He tends to drift off with her in his mind when he should be studying. He wants to write poetry for her… if only he was a creative writer.

            His insecurities tell him to pull back, but his heart feels like it’s the dish that wants to run away with the spoon! He never felt feelings like this for any girl. These new feelings were a little scary, but so enticing like a drug. He imagines them together in the future being happy; he never thought of his future with anyone else before. Were these feelings love or lust? He didn’t really care; he knew he was young and inexperienced. When they are together it feels like a romantic movie scene, perfect. Only it’s not.

            In his deepest feelings he knows his dreams will never become a reality. He knows, as much as he wants a future with her, it can’t happen, because his family dictate that he must be with a girl of Native blood. His father, grandfather, great father all married Native Women. Now it’s his turn, since he is the son in his family, who carries his family’s last name and his family’s tree.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t find the most beautiful Indian girls attractive. If he didn’t choose a Native girl, he will be forever remembered by his whole family as “the one who married a non-Native.” He couldn’t bring that shame and dishonor on his family, even if it means sacrificing his relationship with her.

            She knows this. He tries telling her but she doesn’t seem to care. He believes she thinks they will run away together and be happy, but he knows better. As good as it sounds, he knows it can’t happen. “Maybe if I write about it, I’ll get her out of my system,” he thinks to himself.  Deep down he knows that he will have to put his traditions before his own feelings; after all his father and their fathers did. He is well aware of his responsibilities and knows he can’t get too close, otherwise he knows he will abandon his traditions and reason.

He thinks to himself, “This feels like a soap opera, but no fun in real life.” Though it hurts him very much, he must end things before they get too far. He thinks to himself, “Damn, this is going to break her heart; how am I going tell her?”

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Abigail Parmely

Abigail Parmely is a photography student and attending nursing school at CNM and UNM - both located in Albuquerque. She resides in New Mexico and has lived in several areas of the country, including Pennsylvania, North Carolina, and Kentucky. In her work as a student, she enjoys expressing herself through black and white photos and acrylic and oil painting of mostly wooden furniture. Her desire to capture the fluidity of sharp and soft lines in a single shot is what draws her to blurred motion photography. Abigail’s work includes landscape photographs of her home in Corrales, New Mexico and photos of those closest to her: her partner, two dogs, and four horses.

Boyfriend #1, digital photography, 2022

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Abigail Parmely cont.

Avocado, digital photography, 2022

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Abigail Parmely cont.

Horse, Black & White, digital photography, 2022

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Abigail Parmely cont.

Dusty Duel, digital photography, 2022

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Alex Simeti

Alex Simeti is a multidisciplinary artist who has lived in Taos, NM since 2016. He is currently in the Film & Digital Media Arts Associate Degree program at UNM-Taos. He also studies 3D design and 3D printing.

Other-Self-Portrait (ARGOT ONE), digital drawing (Procreate), 2021

This digital drawing depicts the creative being "ARGOT".

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Alex Simeti cont.

Something's in the Water, digital video, 2021

A video project put together with Kidrobot Dunny Collectibles for the Digital Media Arts Video Production 2 course.

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Alma Ortega

Alma Ortega is an art student at UNM-Taos where she is learning to create oil paintings. She has lived in Taos most of her life immersed in a beautiful culture rich with art in both landscape and amazing artists to learn from and be inspired by. She derives her inspiration from life raising her daughter in the high desert and the constant reminder of beauty in everyday life despite the harshness of the changing seasons and the scarcity that life in Taos exhibits.

Not Amused, oil on canvas, 24x24", 2021

My first attempt at painting a self portrait from a mirror.

Everything was dripping in that golden light
Slowly dripping
Honeyed air
Thick and sweet
Can't breathe too deep
I can't believe summer is gone
Grasping dirt
The searching seed
Bite of frost
Drifting through the seasons
To land somewhere
My tangled hair
Cannot put your roots there
There is something so beautifully sad
About the rise and fall
Of breath
The rhythmic life and death

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Alma Ortega cont.

Change is in the Air, oil on canvas, 22x28", 2021

My first attempt at painting a plein air landscape, featuring Birch tree and Taos mountains.

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Alma Quillian

Alma Jeannette Quillian is from Dallas Texas. She studied art at Southern Methodist University, University of Texas and Sul Ross State University where she received a Masters of Art Education. Her deep roots in the southwest and love of its wildlife are reflected in her work. Ms. Quillian taught Secondary Level Art in Texas until she retired in 2007. At that time she fulfilled her long time dream of moving to New Mexico and devoting her energies full time to creating art.She still teaches occasionally at Taos Ceramic Center. Alma has taken ceramic classes at UNM-Taos since 2014 and resumed her love of printmaking in 2020 and continues to explore both mediums. She is happy to be represented locally at Wilder Nightingale Fine Arts and Wild Sage Gallery where you can see more of her work. She also participates in several local shows throughout the year.

Pancho, copper etching, 10x8", 2021

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Alma Quillian cont.

Preening Raven, solar etching, 7x9", 2020

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Alma Quillian cont.

Mama and Baby Magpies, 

clay, underglazes, juniper, 

16x12x11'', 2021

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Alma Quillian cont.

American Kestrel, pit fired clay on juniper, 11x 8x10", 2021

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Alyssa Vivian

Alyssa Vivian is a film and digital media major at the University of New Mexico based in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She currently holds an Associate Degree in Liberal Arts and strives to work on her photography and computer skills. She has attended multiple photography and art classes and has demonstrated a great artist eye. 

The Brightest Joy, digital photography, 2022

My dog Chauncy. He shines so bright in black and white photos, and he's also one of the brightest joys in my life.

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Alyssa Vivian cont.

Lonely, digital photography, 2022

This photo describes that even those who shine bright, and those who are meant to bring joy to others get lonely at times.

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Alyssa Vivian cont.

Walking on Water, digital photography, 2022

I stopped on the side of the road at the perfect time to capture this photo. The sun behind the clouds visually solidified the water, making it look as if you can walk on it.

Hózhó (Walk in beauty), digital photography, 2022

To walk in beauty is to understand yourself and your surroundings. This photo represents the idea to take a minute and enjoy the beauty in life.

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Anna McConnell

Born and adopted from Russia, Anna McConnell grew up in Questa New Mexico, then moved to Taos, New Mexico when she was six years old. She recently graduated with her Bachelor of Studio Art at UNM Albuquerque. She started her Associate in Fine Arts at UNM for two years where she learned more hands on art styles.

New Mexico Black Bear, oil, 2021

A NM black bear strolling by a river on a rocky shore. I wanted to show the natural habitat and physique of the bear.

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Bayan Khwais

Bayan Khwais is a freshman at UNM-Taos currently studying education to become an elementary teacher. 

Untitled, digital photography, 2022

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Bayan Khwais cont.

Untitled, digital photography, 2022

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Beth Enson

Beth Enson is a slow tinkerer and hard listener in the fields of poetry, motherhood, friendship and parenting support. She published one book long ago and is at work on another. She tries not to have a fixed identity.

Huevo Dave

Louis Bacon moved the olla on Kachina Peak

its ethereal antenna lost

winter off course

fires move in

children move away

animals mutter

and who remembers Huevo Dave?

White hands broke the ancient clay pot

that kept us in right relation

People with tight mouths

drive in airsealed comfort

others thumb rides

think they don’t matter

and who remembers Huevo Dave?

He wore short shorts all year to show

his handsome legs and more

panhandled at the stoplight

lived at home with his mother

never sold the people’s water

had a lot to say

and who remembers Huevo Dave?

A Meditation to Open the Meeting

(zoom poem #2)

She tells us to close our eyes

take three cleansing breaths.

I press mute

leave my eyes open.

Your faces dissolve to inwardness

slack as putty

or open as a sleeping child’s.

With lips and brows pursed

in pursuit of the task at hand

or brimming with sorrow,  

vaguely disturbed as if at onset of a drug

or solemn as a stone queen reclining on a tomb.

For these few minutes you are mine

and I am yours, I watch over you,

bathe naked in your nakedness.

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Beth Enson cont.

Zoom Poem

Your severed heads

my severed head 

float in black non-space

I voice your idea

you voice my objection

we all shift uncomfortably

Public chat reads

Are you wearing pants?

I think therefor I scam

Beyond the screen’s edge

screams of children locked

in mortal combat 

Private chat reads

meet me for lunch

I’ll wear my mask

Our bodies submerged 

in the void beyond the grid

Slither of sensation 

below the bed

alone at night

or on this call

Voices in my headphones

vibrate in the dark 

group mind

Your bodies howl to mine

below the agenda

in the craving place

Golden diatom patterns 

flicker in the planet’s 

electromagnetic field

Artwork by Bayan Khwais

Untitled, digital photography, 2022

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Bren Price

Bren Price, born on the Llano Estacado of Texas, has called Taos home since 1983. Having spent her early career teaching art in Texas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico and ad agency career in Chicago, she draws inspiration for her large scale watercolors and oils from Taos as well as her world travels, including Bali, Java, India, Bhutan, Morocco, Honduras, Europe, China, Roatan and the Caymans. Past President of Oklahoma Watercolor Association, she has had 36 solo shows and her work is represented in collections worldwide. Author of Inside the Wind, Sunstone Press, Founder of Touchstone Inn, a Boutique Hotel in Taos, NM, Founder of Touchstone Foundation, 501c3 for Education and Cultural Exchange Programs Worldwide, Co-Founder TAO, Taos Artists Organization. Teacher, Writer, Sculptor, Painter, her showplace in Taos is Gallery at Touchstone on Mabel Dodge Lane. Currently, she is studying sculpture, ceramics and painting at UNM-Taos. Her urls are:,,

I know You by the Who

You Are,

Not by the Face

You Wear.

My Face, Raku fired stoneware sculpture, 17x14x7", 2022 

This 5 piece Urn has two enclosed areas, glazed inside and out

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Bren Price cont.

                        Voices on the Wind

            The coarse scarf flapped at her cheek as she stood with the

edges of her hands pressed against the windowpane.  Shielding

her face from the light, she quenches her eyes to look inside.

                        Trying to see, not seeing,

                        Trying to hear, not hearing.

                        She stood on the outside looking in,

                        Hearing voices on the wind.

            From inside they see her peering in and beckon her to join

them.  Taking her hands from the glass, she cups them round

 her mouth for warmth, stamps her feet with happy thoughts.  

Quickly grabbing up her things, she threads her way to a vacant

 seat on the circle within.  

                        Trying to talk, not talking,

                        Trying to listen, not listening.

                        Sitting on the inside looking out,

                        Hearing voices shout

                        Inside the wind.

Fish and Bamboo, stoneware jar, 11x7x7", 2022 

This lidded jar is glazed inside and out.

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Bren Price cont.


            An old man, bald and bearded, walks gracefully across the courtyard, hands folded.  His drab robe following the flow of his footsteps catches first on one heel, then the other.

            Reaching the edge of the court, he slowly opens the gate to a small garden and walks inside.  His face held upward, he stands for a long while breathing the spring wind.

            He takes a leather pouch from his waist and with both hands, carefully opens it.  Then, holding each tiny seed in his open palm, he begins to throw them one by one into the air - outward across the garden.

            As each floats skyward, a small brown bird swoops down and snatches it up before it can touch the earth.

            When the pounch is empty, the old man smiles and walks away.

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Brook Maher

Brook Maher an observer, of people and of nature. Her writing, painting, drawing, ceramics, sculpture, printmaking and mosaics all flow from that source. She embraces bright color, line, shape, pattern and humor when she finds it. She sees people as spirit expressed through tangibles. All are vessels of both shadows and light. She believes that the ability to play is one of humanity’s saving graces. Creating is play. Brook is a mother, a wife and an athlete. She plays pickleball and the ukulele. She received a B.A. in English, but continues to be a student (currently UNM-Taos, taking Printmaking and Ceramics, alternately). She is also an autodidact. She made a home in Taos in 2010 and has lived here full-time since 2016. She is a New Yorker by birth.

Mosaic mural constructed with found materials, 9x15'

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Brook Maher cont.



What poets and musicians know,

Whether the tempo be brisk or slow,

Is that a pause is at least as fraught

As any note or word or thought.

The spaces lying in between

Though never heard and seldom seen,

Give shape and meaning to their neighbors

By being “rests” and never “labors”

And yet they have a job to do—

Visual artists know this too.

In painting and sculpture it’s always the case

That objects rest in negative space.

It brings a rhythm to composition,

It lends a grace to each transition.

Arms akimbo, a woman stands,

Strong hips grasped by emphatic hands—

The space outlined by elbow and torso

Is just as lovely, if not more so

As the forms on either side

Slender, solid, narrow, wide....

Look and listen and beware,

Never assume there’s nothing there.

Don’t burden your world or page with stuff

When rests and space may be enough.

B.R. MAHER 1/31-2/1/2021

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Brook Maher cont.


Suspended in amber, suspended in honey —

No bother with jewelry or makeup or money,

I’m moving at half-speed, I don’t go much faster—

My senses are deadened to pain and disaster.

I’m slow as molasses, no reason to rush,

My brain is a warm bowl of cognitive mush.

It matters not much if it’s raining or snowing

For I’m going nowhere, that’s just where I’m going.

I’m crossing no datelines, traversing no oceans,

I sit by myself to perform my devotions,

I go to get groceries once in a while

My face will be masked, I’ll have no cause to smile,

Or off to the doctor’s, if I have appointments,

And maybe the drug store, for pills, creams or ointments.

My temperature checks — it is just below normal;

I fill out my forms; in this sense, I’m formal.

I laugh, if I laugh, as I scan my devices.

My ailments are minor.  It’s not quite a crisis —

I have enough food.  I have enough water.

My eyes aren’t accosted with visions of slaughter.

I haven’t gone crazy; no need to commit me.

It’s Russian roulette

But the shot

Has not

Hit me.

So, should I conclude that I’m doing quite well?

Suspended in amber —I really can’t tell.

B.R.MAHER - 1/31/21

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Brook Maher cont.


They both stand on the other side of the miracle

One steps backward, one man moves ahead

Both scan the dim horizon now behind them

They cut their losses while they count their dead.

Once they walked together, now they stand apart

Weighing what they did and didn’t do

Questioning choices, each man wondering, wavering,

Seeking answers, finding nothing new.

Once the world was flat, then it was spherical

Priests and scientists were set at odds

Men refute, when evidence is empirical

One man clings to reason, one to gods.

The dawning day is limpid, lustrous, lyrical

The day behind us never comes again

Each hour we co-exist is yet a miracle

For all that live, despite the works of men.

One step forward, two steps back

The ancient wheel of fortune turns and turns

We trace a circle, never a straight track

What insight one man gleans, another spurns

What one man lacks, another has to spare

And miracles abound for us to share.

B.R. MAHER 2/2022

(Opening line prompt by Rick Bass, from “The Fireman”)

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Brook Maher cont.

Ceramic tile, 4x4"

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Joaquin, digital photography, 2019

Taken of my husband, who was then just my boyfriend, right before the pandemic began when I was teaching him about photography and how to use a digital camera. We had taken a drive over to UNM Taos so he could learn how to shoot in natural lighting.

Caitlyn Martins

Caitlyn Martins is currently a Pre-Business Administration student at UNM-Taos. Her incessant curiosity fuels her creativity, and her past formal education in art helps to refine it. She has experience as a photographer with a focus in photojournalism, accessories and jewelry, and portraiture. Her past experiences living in the fashion industry have currently brought her into the realm of digital marketing with a focus in branding. She is happily married to her husband, Joaquin, and they have a puppy named Luffy. 

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Caitlyn Martins cont.

Solemn Escalator, digital photography

An empty escalator hallway spoke volumes of the dedication to the learning process going on around me. The level of silence proved that I was surrounded by people who strove to achieve an unspoken level of excellence.

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Caitlyn Martins cont.

I wrote this poem about myself from the perspective of my husband watching me sleep and the thoughts running through his mind. - Caitlyn Martins

Pink and Blonde Hair

She lays beside me, her pink and blonde hair illuminated by the moonlight
And I wonder if she dreams of me.
What does that soft smile upon her face mean?
Her breath is light as her tiny body shifts to one side, facing away from me.
I wonder what is bringing her such serenity and peace in the dark of night
Is it me?
But who am I but just the man who captured her heart
She was 24,
And the world seemed like such a dark place for such a bright soul.
Who tried to take that light from her?
But it was those who she held close to her heart and cherished with her entire being.
She takes a breath again, and shifts to place her head on my chest
Her earrings clang against each other before I feel their pressure
 And I fear that one day I might accidentally take the light that shines so brightly

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Caitlyn Martins cont.

Converse, digital photography, 2017

During my final weeks living in NYC, I had a wish that time would just stop, and I could continue to be able to wander the city streets whenever I pleased. All I would wear was converse as they were the most comfortable shoes to travel the city in.

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Caroline Yezer

Caroline Yezer is a ceramics student who moved to Taos from Boston in 2018.  She is a cultural anthropologist who has taught classes on post dictatorship Latin America and Indigenous rights.  Prior to Botson she lived in the Andes mountains of Ayacucho Peru.

Carved bottle, wheel-thrown ceramic brown stoneware with white inlaid glaze, 5x5x4", 2022

I threw the bottle on a pottery wheel then carved facets on the surface and highlighted the texture with opaque glaze for a mid century look. Doesn't it look like iced cake though? That part was unintended, but there's something mid-century about an iced Bundt cake. Maybe I'm just hungry.

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Caroline Yezer cont.

Kraken plate, hand-built white ceramic sgraffito stoneware with black underglaze transfers & glazes, 12x1x1", 2022

The plate is white clay with black underglaze on top that has been carved.  I used hatching on the image of the kraken to give the plate a line drawn story book look. The clouds are also line drawn underglaze transfers. I hope the viewer fills in the image & narrative with their own imagination. I see an ocean underneath the leaping kraken and the doomed ship that is likely off to the right, in the Kraken's view.

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Caroline Yezer cont.

Sailor & Octopus Canister, wheel-thrown stoneware with black underglaze, 12x6x6", 2022

I had this image in my head of an octopus reaching out to a sailor. I carved it on this canister that I threw on the pottery wheel in a reverse perspective using sgraffito.  (The reverse perspective makes it look like a negative & otherworldly). What was the octopus's intention? Was it a love affair, a friendship.... or was someone going to be lunch?  The octopus's arms are uncurling & just about to make contact, and the sailor is just about to notice.  Will he be cool or terrified? I love that the moment is frozen forever and we'll never know.

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Un ou Deux, mixed media, 12x9", 2022

Look at this image long enough and you will see two faces. Or is it one? I love playing with dual images leaving final interpretation to the viewer.

Charlotte Shroyer, Ph.D

Growing up in a rural area outside Columbus, Ohio where she loved to run her feet through the cornfields, Charlotte Shroyer found the world of books which led her to a world far from the cornfields. A B.A. in French, an M.Ed. and Ph.D. in language and learning disorders prepared her for an academic career,--first teaching second grade, then French in elementary school, and special education diagnostic methods at the University of Maryland and Gallaudet College. Shroyer has also served as Executive Director of a school-to-work program in San Francisco for physically disabled youth. Her foray into the art world required many years for the seed planted in an elementary art methods class to germinate on a serendipitous trip to Taos. Today she writes, paints, and is scheduled to teach a Navajo style weaving class sponsored by Oklahoma State University at the Doel Reed Art Center. Shroyer has won national and international awards for both her painting and her writing. She lives and works in Taos.

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Charlotte Shroyer, Ph.D cont.

A Motley Crew, oil on canvas, 36x36", 2020

The motley crew of my imagination, each member with its own story and mission, is always ready to spring into action. Come day or night they appear as if by magic to help me with word and image.

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Charlotte Shroyer, Ph.D cont.

A Motley Crew of the Imagination

“A Motley Crew:” my crew of mind and imagination waiting its turn to spring into action an indefinable action unknown in and for its entirety but movement forward in some way. Images of the mind taking form as life around us takes form—sometimes amorphous, sometimes focused, but most of the time unknowing as to where the final destination will be. The ridiculous, the sublime, the weird, the colorful all searching in their own ways to become members of the crew of individuals amassing power in their entirety while still trying to maintain individuality of their members. Male, female, homosexual, bisexual, transsexual—the psyche’s imagination doesn’t care. Each in its own right, each in its own way—creating a whole, a whole of color, light and life. Where it all leads is unknown.

Imagination within and without and unscathed, untouched until it ventures into the world to be seen with a sometimes judgmental eye by the artist and by the world. Such is the way of this crew. Such is the way of the artist working his/her way through the neurons of the mind searching for connections whether of the intellect or of the heart, but desirably of both. Tortuous, exhilarating, tiring, but always ready for more. Lit from within and without, sometimes simmering until the pot boils, then searching for the damper so that all can congeal into a final form. The artistic process—hard to describe, difficult to control, but knowing that the power of the mind goes beyond algorithms. Out into the the universe on its rays of light, curtailed by the universe’s dark holes, but always renewing itself into a motley array of imagination and creativity as it puts itself into a visible form, a newborn babe of the magical imaginative universe.

Out and back again. How many trips must the crew make? Day and night into the clouds, reeled in at times by the rational brain only to free itself into a roaring rearing bronco of the mind. At some time the rough rider must ride in with lariat and try to rope it into some form of normality, but just as the bucking bronco rears, kicks, butts those trying to tame him, so does the imagination rear up again in an even more frantic mode searching for liberation on its own terms.

Call in the Motley Crew, each with its job, each with its own personal story and character.  They all work together to channel the energy into new creative forms perhaps never seen before.  My crew works every day, sometimes even at night to create forms of the mind--forms that may change, may take on new appearances while continuing to be the forms that want to be a part of me, to take up residence,  to disappear and redo themselves, sometimes to just lie in solitude, but always ready to come to the fore when the motley crew beckons.  Charge on, Motley crew.

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Charlotte Shroyer, Ph.D cont.

Dreams of Spring, monotype with pen, 6x4"", 2022

Colors around me, birds in flight, dreams of flowers dance in my head as spring with all its promise of beauty and joy appears in this expressionistic monotype.

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Charlotte Shroyer, Ph.D cont.

Not Alone, monotype with pen, 8x8", 2022

It may have seemed as if we were alone during this time of pandemic, but the natural world was always with us. Animals on land and sea and in our homes were there to comfort us.

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Chris Flanagan

Chris Flanagan is a Film and Digital Media Arts student focusing on animation. They are currently taking a course with Kelly Clement on documentary history, theory and practice. Last semester, they took a course with Anna Case-Hofmeister on the various tools and tricks of the Electronic Arts; their final project was a series of mixed-media animations, which were compiled and showcased here. 

The Tower, mixed media/digital video, 2021

A tower filled with odd residents, descend it and meet them all!

Page 49

Christina Norton

Christina Norton will have two Bachelor degrees by the Fall semester in Psychology and Art Studio. She won second place in the Undergraduate Art show and decided she needed a degree in Art because of the win. She has a minor in English which is another love. She is proud of having a learning dis-ability because she sees it as an ABILITY. She does not like the name disability because she is differently -abled. She can visualize an object and turn it in her mind to see every perspective. English has always been a love of hers and she did try to earn a degree in English, but felt there were too many rules to follow, and the reading takes longer for her. She has decided to turn in an English work to you to honor the love of the written word. She has worked on producing a newsletter and found out that words are harder to come by than visuals.  She wrote this while she was thinking about the future of the world and the essence of what it means to be human. This is the transcendence of the soul and the realization that even the Earth has a spirit.


A clear and voiceless accord within the void of real being

The emptiness in a body as you sing to the moon and dance with the stars

I bless this earth with each footstep

I sing this with every smile

This is living stepping as a soul

This is dying as my body breaks its mold

Must I go back?

Must I awaken?

My tears shine as my body is breaking

The eyes are the window to the souls

And the soul is the well to eternity

Death is but a doorway

Life is but a course

I understand my place now

All is driven- by loves force


I look within this mirror of mine and find a hidden soul

A soul that knows no rhythm or rhyme a soul that knows no foe

Although it is here day to day and since the beginning of time

I cannot tell this soul of mine from the dirt, flesh, clay

I hope it knows the reason why it is trapped beneath this skin

I hope this soul sees the beginning as a reason to begin

Page 50

Cindy Brown

Cindy Brown is a freelance writer living in Taos. She writes about the outdoors, health, history, home, and culture for The Taos News and is the author of the Taos Hiking Guide. Cindy is a graduate of the Holistic Health and Healing Arts program at UNM-Taos. 

I step trembling

Loss closes one chapter and opens another

The book falls open on grief

Next page is freedom

Not chosen

But given

Now seen in its fullness

A glimpse of the life possible now

I step trembling onto the new path


Wild trail

High, steep, and twisted

Snow slides across the path

Almost impassable, dangerous

I’m alone here

Solitude that soothes and heals me

Escape from the dark moods all around me

Trying to swallow me up - piece by piece


Soon the long slow snowmelt will begin, revealing the solid and fertile ground beneath

Again I’ll take root and bend up towards the sun

Page 51

Beauty in a Cloudy World: Balloon, digital photography, 2022

I took these during 2022 spring semester in photography class, Taos Pueblo was closed at this time due to the Corona Pandemic. It opened my eyes to the simplest things in life. There is Beauty in this Cloudy World.

Crucito Concha

Crucito A. Concha is a full-time UNM-Taos student, he is a Native American from Taos Pueblo, who has struggled with alcoholism and substance abuse. He wanted change in his life so he enrolled at UNM-Taos, and received his Certificate in Construction Technology the fall of 2021 while in the middle of the Corona Virus Pandemic. He knew the importance of education and the role it played in his life; it was part of his recovery process. He is continuing with his education and pursuing an Associate of Applied Science degree in General Studies. Along his educational journey he is acquiring a thorough knowledge of the various branches of Literature, Science and Arts. Through all of this, he and his significant other, who is also a full-time student at UNM Taos were blessed with a baby girl born in December 2021. They also have an eleven-year-old daughter. He feels he is truly blessed with his new lease on life. He knows education has changed his life for the better. Do something to change your life. He would like to share his story, as it may come across somebody who is at a crossroad in their life or needs that inspiration to change. You can do it.

Page 52

Crucito Concha cont.

Beauty in a Cloudy World: Pueblo Girl, digital photography, 2022

Page 53

Crucito Concha cont.

Beauty in a Cloudy World: Deer, digital photography, 2022

Page 54

Crucito Concha cont.

Beauty in a Cloudy World: Taos Pueblo, digital photography, 2022

Page 55

Damian Uribe

Damian is twenty-four years old currently pursuing a degree in Physics. Damian enjoys traveling, outdoor hiking and riding his motorcycle whenever he has free time. Damian is currently in the United States Air Force (USAF) and works full-time, while attending UNM part time. He aspires to become a pilot within the USAF when he obtains a bachelor’s degree which he is striving to complete in 2-3 years. One of Damian’s passions include photography. Photography has brought him closer to the outdoors, exploring beautiful scenery, and made him think creatively critically for the next best picture. He also has goals of having his photographs be “hung on the walls of somewhere fancy or even published in a magazine”.

Beauty Reflects, Cannon Rebel T5I 58mm lens, 2022

This photograph was taken while at Taos Ski Valley. This particular day was very busy, cold and full of sunshine.

Page 56

Damian Uribe cont.

Barbed-In, Cannon Rebel T5I 58mm lens, 2022

Barbed wiring lining a fence in Albuquerque, NM.

Page 57

Damian Uribe cont.

Forever Lost, Cannon Rebel T5I 58mm lens, 2022

This statue was at a park, in Albuquerque NM. It was a full-moon and lit up the night sky perfectly.

Page 58

Damian Uribe cont.

Freeze, Cannon Rebel T5I 58mm lens, 2022

Along the route to Taos Ski Valley, a small stream was nearly frozen within the woods.

Page 59

Daniel Tredwin

Daniel Tredwin was born in Leeds, England. Yorkshire: North country, home of the Bronte sisters, battleground of tribes and empires. He emigrated to the U.S. when he was twelve years old.


Stand up, consolidate your mind

Apprehend all there is to save

A way for every will we must together find

A way to ride our entire histories cataclysmic wave

We must suffer catastrophic instruction

And sustain it distinct in our mind’s eye

We must retrace unblinking the terrible deduction

Or- yet again the millions will die

We must learn this and learn that

And nail down the lessons hard and fast

We must fall and spring up like a cat

Or- we simply will not last

We must not learn too little and find out too much

We should not have unleashed what we could not contain

We should not have spilt out vitriol and such

Continue and there’s nothing but death and pain

We must keep excluded middle in land, belief and act

We must keep ground and never fail in having clear cause

Not trouble at all if we cannot face or change fact

Nor if we cannot do away with all our ancient laws

SO: will courage for the last choice be death and disgrace

Will grace for the delivery of your deed

Will will to put behind your face

And be true to all of humankind’s need.

Page 60

Daniel Tredwin cont.


Because the sea won’t listen to me. 

Some say we should be and act just like fire or water

But going only the way of the flow or the flame will now lead just to slaughter 

Human being you are an arrow making force multiplier

Unleash with care knowing water and fire

Let power come and gather it from every source

Intelligently direct it, even when giving all recourse

Even if there be no current or source anywhere

You must spark and spring forth and you must dare

Fall gently mostly like sometimes the rain

Do not deluge the defenseless or always pool your pain.

Strike quick like lightning, gently be brightening

In these dark times in great need of enlightening  

Cooks our food, powers our lives we know it as fire

But use it as we do and it has become something dire

We must be more than what exists in the natural world

Die or find an alternative deep within us furled

Water drowns out and strikes down to the ground

It capillary climbs up through trees to the air

It must do so and leaves us usually mostly sound

But to do so always it simply does not care

Saturate with babbling doubt and you are a fool

It is not human and it really does not make a tool

It will rise implacable, ensue inferno and much slaughter

And what those remaining will cry will indeed be- mostly water.

Keep on burning all your various kinds of fuel

When it all runs out we will have the ultimate duel

Exhaust our earth, spew poisonous fume

A melted planet shall be our doom

Know that you contain all only your own blood

Know that around again and suffusing it goes

Know to come on like a flood

One that self-containment knows

Can we pool, cohere and direct our own history?

Or always burn and flow downhill and there ends the mystery?   

Not always from the clouds and not always downriver

Plan, draw, aim and shoot now one just arrow short in your quiver.


Not always going downriver not always from up

Plan determine let loose easy now but keep a full cup   

Page 61

Daniel Tredwin cont.


We have no other possible way

Than to shape the many phase and so elusive day-

Plan to seize the day when you drink your warming morning tea

To pluck and form your particular ice crystal from out the entire sea.

Seize my day, master my I

Or dissipate, gone with a sigh.

Seize the day or it will melt away, buffet me about

Leave me for dead, drowned in inexhaustible doubt.

Nothing might take me but I have a day to make matter

Indecision please leave:  I will dissipate or shatter.   

Was it difficult to do- the structure of possibility to seize?

Is it difficult now to buy anything you please?

All human need and desire defined by money

Wealth will amass and seize the very names of ‘milk’ and ‘honey.’

If all human desire is privatized and monetized

Money won’t just cheapen what just must be prized.

If money is used to seize and define all

Some privileged will pile power enforcing the forces of fall.   

Difficult: try to Carpe Diem

My day into so many errands smashed

Difficult in my wallet to fit ‘em

Contract and coin from quid I’ve cashed.  

Difficult to do it: seize the multifarious, maddening day

When paying for it piecemeal with lucre you lack is the only way.

Money is a promise and now an utter riddle

Seize control of it or we will dance macabre sans fiddle

Money is a virtue

Money is a vice

Money is for what you do 

Within the crazed crystal cascade of dancing dice

Seize the day when they already have you

Dancing their dispatches, giving you no clue-

What is being made and above all for whom?

They grip and cast with our hands: our doom.   

Difficult: the Day to hold

When its already to someone else sold

The aristocrats seize and no one else has   

Everyone’s voice as good as poison gas

Nobody to engage but there’s nothing to trust

Hard to grab when everything seems bust.  

I think what he meant that Ancient Writer

Was than infinite potential to be still mightier

To find, choose and make some fine crystalline forms

Your pieces of ice, make them nice and avert the coming storms. 


Everything de facto even what’s de jure

Throwing us all into lonely fury

We will seize your stick along with your cheap bait

Not without a fight will your greed be our fate.

I think what he meant, that Ancient Italian

Was to break make, stake your own diurnal stallion 

Well, now the whole world is raging rabid, foaming filth at the mouth

Seize it stat or it will be gone like that: 

In its way on its way

Like and unlike the ice in the south.

Difficult:  Carpe Diem

In a world so wealth wise univocal

Difficult: the pieces up to pick ‘em

When the value of our money is anecdotal.

Page 62

Daniela Cervantes

Daniela Cervantes is a Honduran-born filmmaker. Graduated from Vancouver Film School, she is attending Directing 1 at UNM. Daniela has starred, directed and acted in more than nine short films and has won three awards for her productions, including best actress for Hola Padre, Nice to Meet you, and two Impact Awards for the documentary Hide & Seek. She is currently living in Taos with a cat and on the verge of making more productions.

Hide & Seek, short documentary film, 2010

As the director, I interview 3 men of different ages on how it was growing up gay in high school, while having to remain in the closet.

Page 63

Danielle Staveley

Danielle Staveley is from Albuquerque, New Mexico, and is studying to get her Bachelor Degree in Mechanical Engineering from the University of New Mexico. She is expected to graduate in the Fall of 2024 and hopes to find an internship in Albuquerque within the next year with Sandia National Labs. In her free time, Danielle enjoys visiting Ute lake, hanging out with friends, roller skating, playing sand volleyball, and spending time with her boyfriend and family. Several days throughout the week, she works at Lowes home improvement store to earn some extra spending money. Recently, Danielle has taken up a class in photography and is learning all the different ways to adjust her camera to create the best possible picture. She has surprised herself with her newfound ability to find beauty in the smallest parts of life. She enjoys photographing in black and white because she believes the pictures are sharper and shadows and highlights are much easier to see. Being able to create bolder shadows and brighter highlights produces the perfect contrast for any photo. This class has opened Danielle's eyes to the world around her and has made her more curious about the landscapes that she finds herself in. Danielle hopes that from this class she can gain the knowledge to be able to take photos of her life and the world around her so that she can look back and keep them as memories of past times.

Chompers, digital photography, 2022

This is Lexi and the only way shell let me photograph her is if she is bribed with food. I used a faster shutter speed in order to capture her motion with no blur.

Page 64

Danielle Staveley cont.

Bike Boy, digital photography, 2022

Pictured is my boyfriend Brandon on his mountain bike. I adjusted the exposure of my camera in order to see the texture in the clouds while also keeping the picture light enough to see Brandon.

Page 65

Danielle Staveley cont.

Shuffled, digital photography, 2022

For the photography class I am enrolled in we were tasked with photographing things in motion. Our goal was to either try to capture the motion blur of the movement or take a still shot of the motion.

Page 66

Danielle Staveley cont.

Birthday Boy, digital photography, 2022

Taken at my uncle's 60th birthday party. I adjusted the exposure of my camera to create the best contrast between the light from the candles and the shadows behind him.

Page 67

Dave Wasserman

Dave is a retired minister in the Presbyterian Church (USA), a summer visitor for 30+ years and now a full time resident for the past three years.  His current passions are climate change, sailing and photography. And his photographs reflect his many travels. Dave is the Volunteer Coordinator of UNM-Taos' Science on a  Sphere visual dataset resource on Earth Science and Climate Change (located in the STEM building).

Sunset Over El Valle, digital photography 2011

There's magic in the setting sun, looking west, sun lighting the underside of the clouds.  The combination of a saddle silhouette and evening light can be amazing.  Valle Escondido, Taos, New Mexico.

Page 68

Dave Wasserman cont.

Light Beam inside Upper Antelope Canyon, digital photography 2011

As the noontime sun rolled over the surface of this slot canyon, the moment arrived when, with a handful of sand tossed into the air, the light beam was captured. Page, Arizona.

Page 69

David Mapes

Produced by students of UNM-Taos DMA, this was a great collaboration!

Messy Business 1, short film 2022

A gallery owner/artist inadvertently causes the death of an artist he represents and decides to conceal the deed which leads to a discovery making the gallery owner rich. Film Noir meets the art gallery business, filmed in Taos.

Page 70

Domiana Vigil

Domiana Vigil is a Sophomore at UNM with a 4.19 GPA pursuing a degree in Art Education. Domiana is currently taking Art History, Drawing 2, Intro to Art Education, and Introduction to Race, Class and Ethnicity. Domiana grew up in Questa, NM and Taos, NM, she attributes her want to become a teacher to her Grandfather Phil Vigil jr, he did not have the opportunity to continue education past the third grade. Domiana is an artist in every sense of the word, she cares deeply about her creativity and expression. She has an astute sense of objectivity, she takes constructive criticism well and is always willing to take her work to the highest level of formal and conceptual refinement. Domiana is the type of person who cares about others around her, she offers both technical support and conceptual support to her peers in a kind and caring manner that speaks to her patience and her understanding of the importance of collaborative art making. Domiana wants to continue the trend of helping and communicating to others through art; it is the path she treads that shows who she really is, which is an artist and a teacher at heart.

Still Alive, charcoal, 24x36", 2022

This is a simple still life in which only black charcoal was used. The paper is sanded in some places to create the highlights and lighter tones.

Page 71

Domiana Vigil cont.

Town Wizard, graphite, 25x19", 2021

I love drawing old wizards and warlocks. This town wizard seems bored so he destroyed his town and is moving on to the next.

Sense of Self, graphite, 25x19", 2022

This is a self portrait, I took it upon myself to represent myself the way I want to be represented. The vibe I was going for was “forest witch” because it seemed fun.

Page 72

Domiana Vigil cont.

Grandma’s Day, expo/stop-motion, 2021

his video was for my Grandma Rosalie LeBlanc, it depicts her feeding my brother magic snacks. My Grandma raised me and my brother, she truly is the best Grandma ever!!!

Page 73

Domiana Vigil cont.

The Lenses-that paint the world black, mixed media/stop-motion, 2021

This is a video stop-motion where I used different materials to tell a short story of growth.

Page 74

Dominic Fraire

Dominic Fraire is a visual artist from Las Cruces, New Mexico. He strives to bring his ethereal visions into the eyes of his audience in hopes of creating a relationship between the viewer and the art itself. He expresses himself through digital mediums such as graphic design and film as well as physical mediums such as painting murals as well as small scale work.  

For Me, experimental video, 2022

This is a sneak peak of an experimental video created for the poetry of Aleja Grajeda. We wanted to capture the growing pains of life and what it means to love yourself through them. This project was created by Dominic Fraire, Morgan Coleman and Brandon McLamb.

Page 75

Eric Kienzle

Eric is currently a student at UNM-Taos in pre-science with plans of transferring to Adams St. for a degree in Wildlife Biology focused more on fish and waterways. 

Fishing in Northern New Mexico, digital photography, 2022

The Rio Grande Gorge is just another amazing place here in northern New Mexico with amazing trout fishing.

Page 76

Eric Kienzle cont.

Fishing in Northern New Mexico, digital photography, 2022

The Rio Grande Gorge is just another amazing place here in northern New Mexico with amazing trout fishing.

Page 77

Eric Kienzle cont.

Page 78

Ethan Rushing

Ethan Rushing, A student here in Albuquerque at UNM. Taking Post Production course online at the Taos Campus. Making interviews in this course, and wanted to submit one to a film festival to get the feel of it. Ethan plans on submitting a lot more videos in the future. Right now he is lacking some of the equipment needed, but is still learning a lot making-do without the expensive equipment. 

The Pro Mechanic, digital video, 2022

I did a short interview with my friend Danial Hill. We discussed his love for turning wrenches and working on his own vehicles. We had some fun with it and tried to squeeze in some funny stuff! The video is 87,650KB in size, and was cut down to meet a Production classes requirements. This video was created on 3/5/2022, all shot and edited on the same day. I wish to encourage those who maybe turn away from working on their own vehicles to try it out and see that it is not so bad!

Page 79

Ethan Rushing cont.

Tyler Wosin Interview, digital video, 2022

I did another interview with one of my childhood friends. Tyler is in love with everything about the outdoors , but most of all, fishing!  The video is 80,367KB in size and was also cut down for class requirements. This video was shot and edited on 3/13/2022, I wanted to maybe reach out and relate to folks with this video. Showing how the outdoors can be a hobby just like anything else!

Page 80

Fatima Pamela Rigsby

Fatima Pamela Rigsby has been an artist for most of her 72 years. The initial focus at the College of Marin was on drawing and oil painting with occasional experimentations in other media. In 2005 she began printmaking studies with Gary Cook at UNM-Taos and has been printmaking exclusively since then. She is a member of Pressing On - Contemporary Taos Printmakers and has been showing her prints at their yearly exhibits in Taos since 2009. She continues to take printmaking classes at UNM Taos as there is always something new to learn.

Guardian, monotype, 16.75x10", 2021

A guardian spirit watching over us in the time of COVID.

Page 81

Fatima Pamela Rigsby cont.

Black Mesa, San Ildefonso, monotype, 10x14", 2021

Chapel at the base of Black Mesa at San Ildefonso Pueblo, NM.

Page 82

Feliz Mondragon

A poem about a young New Mexican girl trying to discover who she is. 

My New Mexican Woman

As the New Mexican sun played a never ending game of tag with the moon, I watched my mother tentatively as her hands worked hard to peel fresh chili. She worked quietly and efficiently. The women in my family are soft spoken yet silently powerful. They only raise their voice when they have to. They make you feel warm on days when gray clouds cover the skies and the raindrops make the chamisa smell sweet. Some would think I would fall in line with the women that grow gardens in people’s minds. I like to think I’m much more like my father who’s strong and bull headed. I am more than what people bargain for. Since I was young I learned to stand up for myself and the culture that ran through my veins. I found it hard to bite my tongue. Especially when I knew I was right, or maybe I just wanted to be right. 

I had always been taught to stand up straight, never speak too loudly and always obey my elders. I must have broken this rule a thousand times, for I have always had a bad habit of slouching. Like the way the branches of a willow tree bend down to kiss the ground beneath it. But I’m nothing like a willow tree. I must have realized this at an early stage in my life; although I do not remember this. I knew I was different than the women in my family. But I’ve never been ashamed of being like my father. A part of me always wanted to be sweet, gentle and outgoing. 

I was nothing like the soft beat of my mother’s heart, nor my grandmother’s hard working hands. As soon as the sun rolled over the hills, they’d wake to sing Spanish lullabies to their flower beds each morning. Their souls belonged to no one but God. I wanted the devotion they had, whether it was in between the corn fields or in between the pages of a Bible. I just simply wanted to belong and to serve a purpose. 

I tried to travel down a narrow-minded road with one destination fixated in sight. When I watched humming birds fly by or gazed at the night sky, I could find a million different ways to describe the way its wings fluttered or how the moonlight coated my skin. I experience the world for what it is, not for what people believe it to be. To live is to feel deeply, and I’ve always been a temperamental faucet. I was somewhat ashamed of that quality. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t felt anything at all; it caused puddles to turn into tsunamis and a spark to become a forest fire. I'm an open book with some pages missing. I didn’t want anyone to read those chapters. 

Page 83

Feliz Mondragon Rigsby cont.

I didn’t know how the women in my family came to be like milkweed dancing softly in the spring air. They were always so poised and brave. I desperately wanted to be like them, or to be someone else entirely. Perhaps I could be a young aspiring novelist in northern Italy falling in love with the world around her and writing about how lovers tip-toed across planets to get to one another. But I wasn’t. I learned to accept that. But there were still a million little things I could change. Maybe it was my cactus needle attitude or the fact that I was ashamed to be from a small town that had nothing to offer me. I wanted to feel my culture roll off my tongue and be proud of it.

Not until recently had I learned there wasn’t such a thing as perfection. I just needed to be comfortable in my own skin. To live is to not only feel deeply, but also to grow with the changing seasons. This would mean shedding your September skin, taking chances and making mistakes. The women in my family are undeniably beautiful, because they have accepted who they are as a person. I think over the course of eighteen years I’ve come to accept that I am not my mother or my grandmother. I am all of the women in my family. Like a jigsaw puzzle, a piece of each of them lives in me. 

I cut my hair days before graduation. It wasn’t easy hiding freshly cut bangs underneath my black cap. Something so simple as cutting my hair gave me the sense of liberation I had always searched for. I think that windy, May morning of graduation was the best I’d ever felt. I think back to that day now as the scent of roasted green chili rises into the air and travels to tickle my nose. It reminds me that who I am is exactly who I was supposed to be.  I don’t think I’d ever want to change that. 

Page 84

Frankie Chamberlain

Frankie has lived in Taos most of her adult life, spent decades nursing in the ER at Holy Cross hospital. She now works part time at the Mogul Medical Clinic at Taos Ski Valley and has a small farm in Talpa where she & her husband take care of their dog & cats, irrigate and tend fruit trees and alfalfa fields for her horse Barney, whom she rides regularly in the mountains during the summer. She studied painting intermittently over the years with a number of respected local art teachers and as a perennial student has consistently attended classes at UNM-Taos, with a Certificate in Graphic Design. After a long hiatus she has decided to restart her artistic endeavors and see where it takes her. She is currently taking painting and drawing classes with Sarah Stolar

Red Wheelbarrow, pastel on paper, 16x14"

By the side of an old shed in northern New Mexico mountains

Page 85

Frankie Chamberlain cont.

Orange Chapel, pastel on paper, 16x14"

Adobe chapel in a northern New Mexico community

Page 86

Frankie Chamberlain cont.

Winter Creek, pastel on paper, 14x16"

Early winter mountain creek scene in late afternoon

Page 87

Frankie Chamberlain cont.

From Remember by Joy Harjo

..."Remember the plants, trees, animal life

 who all have their tribes, their families, their histories, too.

Talk to them, listen to them. They are alive poems."

I talk to my animals

They talk back, in their ways.

I talk to my plants

Who needs more water?

Are you ready to be picked?

I talk to my food

Are you done yet?

Do you need more garlic?

I talk to my fire

Do you need another piece of wood?

You are hot!

I talk to the birds

Why are you making all that noise?

You have a beautiful song

I talk to my hay bales

You are heavy! Let's put you here

I talk to the water

Come on - go this way, cover up this dry spot

Nourish these trees

I talk to the people I loved, who are dead.

You would love this

I miss you

Come back

House with a View, pastel on paper, 11x14"

Adobe home with view of Taos mountains

Page 88

Giovani Gutierrez Madrid

Giovani Gutierrez Madrid is attending UNM-Taos in hopes of becoming a registered nurse. He is starting his Bachelor's degree and is currently taking ENGL-1120-800, Biology, and Statistics.


Time is something that we can not keep, buy, or take. 

Time is a point of measure that sneaks by, but it is the most valuable in our lives.

Not too many people will know it and still ache,

Time doesn't wait for anyone, doesn't matter what drive you have.

Doesn't matter who you are, or how much money you generate,

To time factors don't matter because every day is another half opportunity gone

Time will always keep going and will take everything through the gate.

The most valuable artifact that humanity has is a timepiece,

Because a watch will tell you how many hours of the day remain.

We must seize all opportunities, 

Because we don't know when or if we will have the chance again.  

We must start to appreciate everything around us.

Such as family, health, youth, and the things we live through,

Because every day is one less out of view.

The most valuable wines are the oldest,

The reason being is that time gave them a better flavor. 

The time and effort we put into any activity focused on will give usability. 

The experience will favor our abilities, 

Our knowledge will have a serious rise, 

For these reasons, we must start to develop our values 

Because time will keep going by,

It will be in our hands if we stand up and be wise.

Everything great takes time and takes immense work.

As we know Rome wasn't built in a day,

To be a doctor or a colossal tree takes decades 

Of intense effort to make a dream come true.  

If we want to succeed in this world 

We must start changing now.

If only we could conceive more time but,

Time is something that isn’t waiting for anyone.

Page 89

Air Raid Warden     

World War 11 was raging on.  We were into our second year of  fighting  our enemies, the year 1943, and I was  an employee of the Quartermaster Depot, filling out requisitions for our docked destroyers on the  Hudson River, resupplying  their needs.  My position was to refill their holds with 55 gallon drums and 5 gallon blitz cans.   I felt so proud holding this position, doing what I could to help our war on to victory……but I truly felt that what I was  contributing to the war  effort was not enough, so I volunteered  my services and became an air raid warden.

I found going to  my first air raid meeting very informative, and joined up.  My assignment  was to be the warden of my block.  I lived in Manhattan, N.Y. on  West 118th St. there were 20 apartment houses on my block, and across from me Columbia University.  Quite  an undertaking, but I felt up to it.   We were 20 wardens in our class—I  learned  that when the first  sirens went off, our job was to  go  outdoors, scan every apartment house, look for light from a window that would assist the  enemy planes their target, go to the lighted apartments, tell the tenant “no lights”, return to my post until the second all clear siren went off.   

We  met  twice weekly.  At the meeting we were told when the practice sirens would go off, so we  could perfect our very important duty.  I felt that I  was  saving many lives if bombers really were to attack.  On the given days I’d hurry dinner, put on my AIR RAID WARDEN  ARMBAND, be ready for the siren’s blast, step outdoors, scan for unwanted window lights, run up to their apartments,  tell them “lights off”,  and when the all clear siren sounded  the end of another perfect day.  I felt so patriotic, so fulfilled helping to save America  in my small way.  It got to  the point where I could hardly wait for the practice sirens to go off so I could once again step outdoors and do my thing.     

We  never practiced Tuesdays, so I went to bed  early.  A day off.  I’m in this deep sleep, dreaming, suddenly, in my deep sleep, I hear this noise, it wakes me and oh my gosh, the noise are sirens , loud, loud, the real thing, the bombers are coming.  And I start to cry, I don”t want to go out there, this is the real thing,  I cover my head with my blanket, so as not to hear the screaming sirens, I’m crying to beat the band, the hell with being patriotic, and crying I run to my Mother, wake her,  tell her the sirens are screeching, I don’t want to go outside.   

“Grace,” in a calm voice she says “go back to bed, that siren is the all clear  siren.  It’s over.”

The next day I stopped by the Air Raid Wardens office and quit. All clear.

Grace Fichtelberg

Grace moved from New York City to Taos, N.M. in 1994, and never looked back. She has always wanted to share her memoirs with, let's say, the world, and UNM 's HOWL has fulfilled this wish. She enrolled in UNM, taking non-fiction writing classes for 15 years, and loved every moment of it. She is now 98, so she has a million more memoirs to share.

Page 90

Haven Lindsey

Haven Lindsey works full-time as a healthcare marketing strategist and is a sought-after freelance writer for a variety of local and national publications. In addition to writing for local publications, her work has been published in Fierce Healthcare, Huffington Post, Modern Healthcare, Psych Central, New York Times, and more. Her popular solo travel series for Texas Lifestyle magazine, ‘Je Suis Seul’, was featured on NPR. She is a regular contributor for Phoenix Home and Garden and her article on Punta de Minta, Mexico was recently the featured cover story for BOLD Traveller magazine, an upscale Canadian travel magazine. Her first book, ‘The Blue Dog and The White Horse’, about the friendship between her dog and a horse, was published in 2021. The second installment in that series of children’s book is due to be published this year along with an accompanying Activity Book. Whether it is poetry, educational white papers, documentary scripts, or articles on a variety of topics, Haven’s writing style has been recognized for its approachability and helping the reader feel as though they are there. Haven lives in Taos with her cat Pine Cone and her dog Gracie. She can be reached at

If I Were a Tree

If I were a tree, I’d like to be

a ponderosa pine, independent and free.

They don’t lie or have egos, they never cause war,

they live for 300 years plus 200 more.

They make me feel safe and appropriately small,

their leaves kiss the clouds, or almost, they’re so tall.

My heart seems to feel and hone in on their vibe,

I wonder if trees can be part of your tribe?

I think they have stories that I’d like to hear,

I know they could teach us to live without fear.

If you were a tree, who would you be?

Would you live in the mountains or perched by the sea?

Would birds sing from your branches, would you be stately and tall?

Or would you be small, stout, and sturdy, refusing to fall?

If in my next life I’m reborn as a tree,

there’s no doubt in my mind who I’d want to be.

I’d be a ponderosa because they’re so real,

I’d want to be able to help others to feel.

They seem humble and wise like I want to be,

I think I would be the best version of me.

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Haven Lindsey cont.

Dear Max

A writer says goodbye to a beloved horse in the best way she knows how

Dear Max,

This is the second letter I’ve written to you. The first was a year ago on the first anniversary of when your owner moved you hundreds of miles away. And now, I write another letter to you. It might be the last. It might not be. This time I sit with tears of love and memories streaming down my face. I have to keep wiping my eyes just to see to write.

You died today. You were 29.

I hadn’t really known a horse before meeting you, Marley, and Sunny. I remember the first time I walked up to your gate – you were nearby with Sunny and you saw me standing there. I was trying to pretend a horse ranch was a place I went to every day, but it was all new to me. You immediately walked over and let me pet you. I was timid. You were gentle. You blinked your white eyelashes at me and despite being out of place with all the wrong clothes for a horse ranch, I felt at home.

I had moved to Texas because I was barely surviving in Maine. Every other kid I saw reminded me of the one I had lost. It felt as though the Universe was playing a cruel joke. I would hear the name Justin and tears would come to my eyes. Sometimes without thinking I’d slow down or pause, my subconscious mind thinking I saw him on the street, only to be reminded again and again. He was gone. It was the same with my ex-husband, the tall, handsome financial advisor with the midwestern charm who lied and deceived me. For 26 years I had thought he was my best friend. I was wrong. I couldn’t stay there surrounded by painful memories. I was concerned I was running away but I soon learned I was running to.

No one knew my story in Texas and that provided me the space I needed. I spent hours grooming you, walking with you, and telling you my story of loss so deep I didn’t have words. I had feelings though and that was all you needed. You were patient as I learned how to use the brushes and combs. You’d hold up your leg when I struggled as I learned to clean your hooves. You taught me you preferred carrots to watermelon. Sugar cubes were your favorite. You showed me how to be around horses, to trust them, and learn to guide, and be guided, by them. You laughed at my reaction the day we saw the armadillo – I think it was that moment when I recognized that horses smile and laugh. I’d never laughed with a horse before and it was the first of many. I watched how you responded to the changes around you, always out of your control, yet you were not bothered. It was though you lived on a higher level. I wanted to live there too. 

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Haven Lindsey cont.

You inspired me to adopt Gracie because I wanted to share the experience of being on a ranch with a dog. She was afraid of you at first. Gracie was afraid of everything at first. But within a few visits, she stopped running for the safety of the car and instead, ran to you. I’d watch as you would nuzzle her, talk with her, teach her, and I watched you, the retired forgotten roping horse, spring to life. Our ever-increasing visits became the highlight of my week. I think it was the highlight of yours too. Gracie grew up with you and Sunny. She was there when Marley got sick and right after he died.

I always knew I wasn’t a fit for the big city of traffic, pavement, and crowds of people, but I fit in with you. You reminded me that I was meant for a simple, quiet, and peaceful life. I told you how I had discovered northern New Mexico and how that was where I was meant to be yet I doubted I could have ever left you behind. Cold rainy days, sweltering hot summers, the Thanksgiving holiday I spent making sure you took your medicine and received attention when you were sick – there was no place I would have rather been. New Mexico would eventually happen but there with you was where I was supposed to be.

I never knew if horses understood time or clocks but I reasoned you would understand moons. I never left you without telling you how many moons it would be until my next visit. Nine moons were the longest I was ever away. Most of the time it was just a couple. Sometimes I’d return sooner than planned and the first thing I said was, “I know I said three moons but I was able to come sooner.” It was always about the moons.

The day your owner moved you to another barn hours away, I knew our moons would be endless. I said to you then, “No more counting moons, Max.” We had to say goodbye. “We will always see the same moon no matter where we live. From now on, all of the moons are ours.”

Last night I went to bed after watching the nearly full moon rise from my home in northern New Mexico. I awakened around midnight and couldn’t sleep. But it wasn’t like a restless night’s sleep I had experienced before. I felt heavy and sad. I felt alone and lonely. I was emotional and I wasn’t sure why. I reasoned it was due to the magical, mystic full snow moon. As I lie there awake, feeling deep emotions, I talked with you and Sunny in my thoughts. I asked Sunny if she still had her winter coat on and shared how I love her face with her winter hair. I asked you if you saw the big moon in Texas and wondered if you were in your barn stall or outside. I missed you and my heart felt heavy. I awoke feeling exhausted.

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Haven Lindsey cont.

I moved to Texas without really understanding why. I scheduled a puja on a full snow moon without understanding why. But I soon came to learn why I moved to Texas and this morning, I understood why I planned a puja.


You helped my heart heal and you showed me what it was like to live a life of patience, wisdom, and acceptance – attributes I needed to feel whole again. You taught me how to live on a higher level. You loved me and you loved Gracie and you welcomed us both. You inspired me to write my first book and another one is on the way, which had already been dedicated to you.

Until our next lifetime, Max-a-million, every full moon and all the ones in-between, will be ours.

With love,

~ Haven

And then I switched on my phone to see a text message sent the night before. You were dying. And it all started to make sense. My first thought was accompanied by a slight smile, “Of course, you’re dying, Max…you’re letting me know and you’re leaving on a full moon. The biggest possible moon. You’re leaving on the snow moon – there’s no way I can miss it. You picked the biggest, brightest one.”

You died this morning. In January, I had written ‘Full Moon Puja’ on this day in my calendar. I didn’t know why I did so, I’d never done it before. But something compelled me to block time for a puja on this evening as the special full snow moon rose. I even mentioned to a friend the day before how odd it was that I had planned to do so.

Artwork by Heather Bergerson

Agave Bull Horns, installation, 2018

Page 94

Grace Under Pressure, projected short film, Accordion, Bird Brain, Heave, Strain, Rend., 2020

Heather LyNn Sparrow

Heather Lynn Sparrow thinks of her photography as unfinished inventories of fragments: family, friends, objects, bad timing, a secret history of mythical rock and roll figures, naked mothers-to-be, muses and maniacs; the most elegant way to describe something deeply disquieting.  

Her photo rituals are improvisational sites in which they invite participants into an unorthodox dimension of reality, while encouraging them to confront personal issues in an orchestrated photographic theater. Nourishing the imagination,through photographic ritual, the constructed and the ready made are used to encourage the subject to move into a space of empowerment. Behind Heather Lynn’s lens she becomes a provocateur questioning our identities and the lenses we see our world through. Evocative and raw, Sparrow’s work points to stereotypes of difference, which are hidden in plain sight, these images make visible what is overlooked. Wheatpasted or projected in public, large scale, interacting with these images, adds a third dimension to the art. By combining the real and the ideal, fear is nothing more than an obstacle that stands in the way of progress. Heather Lynn Sparrow’s process has always been grounded in honoring human rites of passage, through photographic ritual. 

Heather Lynn Sparrow lives in Taos and is a freelance photographer and instructor of photography for 20 years in the public schools. While completing her BFA-studio with Honors Thesis in Photography at UNM ALbuquerque, she enjoys painting with Sarah Stolar at UNM Taos.

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Heather Lynn Sparrow cont.

Pieces never tell the whole story.
glass still breaks;
its pattern unseen in fragments
but no less visible.

She’s got her side. He has his.
Cuts can be on the surface,
unremarked, or slide sleekly along fault lines...

and a camera’s eye to show you
what you’re looking for.

Mind Your Mirrors, multipurpose copy paper, Scotch tape,
coffee, complications, confrontations, wheatpaste, 10x8', 2022

Page 96

Heather Lynn Sparrow cont.

Dirty Bird,  ink, stripper heels, wheelchair, objectification, shrunk wills, 2016

Page 97

Jaclyn Armijo

Jaclyn Armijo resides in the Pueblo of Santa Ana. She attended UNM - Main, Gallup, Taos, and Valencia campuses in-person and online. Her major is Family Child Studies, Bachelor degree. She loves to be with her family, paint, draw, pray for everyone, in-take vitamin D from the sun while watering her beautiful grass and trees.  Drawing and painting are soothing, relaxing, and rejuvenating. She's a LOBO for Life! 

Empowered & Uplifted, colored chalk, 2019

Being able to see bilateral symmetry representing each other with similar feature, shown in two color tones.

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Jaclyn Armijo cont.

Basking in the Sun, watercolor, 11x8.5", 2021

This is me in my favorite hat "Basking in the Sun" on the beach. Life is soothing and relaxing; nothing could be better!

Deep on the Ocean Floor, watercolor, glitter pens, 12x9", 2021

Mother Turtle leading the way for her bay turtles to follow and learn.

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Jaclyn Armijo cont.

Palms Out, watercolor, 11x8.5", 2021

Palms at sunset reflecting on pink waters with black background. Vibrant in cooling pink surreal.

Page 100

Jana Greiner

Jana Greiner is a practicing installation artist whose art relies heavily on form, concept and material. The variety of materials used include fiber, recycled materials, pvc, mud and clay. Jana is a graduate of the UNM-Taos Fine Art Department. They identify as a queer sculptor and interdisciplinary artist that has been working with needle and thread since they were a child. Drawn to the traditional idea of textiles being ‘women’s work,’ Jana uses this life-long skill to create art that challenges that perspective. When deconstructing the social constructs of the feminine persona, they often use irony, humor, and sensuality to challenge the viewer’s notions on female stereotypes. 

Listen to Your Mother, video, wind, Cerro de Taos, sculpture : recycled 4” electrical conduit, bailing wire, rigid insulation, cyanotype fabric, fiber fill., 2020

Video clip of a soft sculpture installation playing in the wind. The word “listen" dances out of the conduit embedded in the earth reminding us to listen to nature and our surroundings, featuring the 2 peaked volcanic mountain Cerro de Taos.

Page 101

Jay Econom

Jay Econom is a perpetual student living in Taos, New Mexico. After serving in the United States Marine Corps he worked as a Stage Technician in the Portland, Oregon, and Greater Los Angeles, California areas. He has had a lifelong passion for photography, as well as for learning all that he possibly can. He enjoys working part-time, reading, watching anime, and spending time with his two rescue dogs, Homer and Joe. Jay often rides aimlessly on his motorcycle looking for new and interesting subjects to photograph.

Our New House, digital photography, 2022

A black-and-white photograph of shadows from the exposed rafters of a house under construction.

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Jay Econom cont.

Untitled (Bone and Wood Sculpture, Taos, NM), digital photography, 2022

A black-and -white detail of sculpture found off Callejon Rd. in Taos, NM

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Jay Econom cont.

Untitled (Detail of Statue at St. Francis de Asisi Church, digital photography, 2022

A black-and-white photograph showing some of the detail on a marble statue at St. Francis de Asis Church in Ranchos de Taos, NM.

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Jay Econom cont.

Fix Me, Please, digital photography, 2022

A black-and-white photograph of a 1971 VW Squareback waiting for renovation to begin.

Page 105

Jennifer Blake

Jennifer is a student at UNM-Taos, taking art classes, Design for Green Building, and Sustainable Food and Farming; with the intention of going into pre-science in the near future. Jennifer is on the autism spectrum and art, nature, and permaculture/regenerative agriculture are her main special interests. 

Appaloosa and Prickly Pear, oil and gold leaf, 16x20", 2022

Appaloosa horse with local flora, Prickly Pear.

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Jennifer Blake cont.

Jackalope, oil and gold leaf, 10x8", 2022

A legend of the southwest, with features of the desert jackrabbit and antelope that live in Taos and the surrounding desert.

A Full Moon in the Desert, oil and gold leaf, 10x8", 2022

A common sight wandering through the desert cow country, a reminder of life and of death.

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Jennifer Blake cont.

Argo and Chamisa, oil and gold leaf, 16x20", 2022

A horse once owned by my father, which I have ridden through the desert Chamisa in Taos many times.

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Joan Eichelberger

Joan is a student of ceramics continuously learning from materials, glazes and critiques.

Cone 6 ceramics

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Joan Eichelberger cont.

Cone 6 ceramics

Page 110

Joan Eichelberger cont.

Cone 6 ceramics

Page 111

John Grassmick

John is 16 years old, turning 17 in a couple weeks. He loves to play basketball and guitar in his spare time. His team just won districts for the first time in  over a decade. He is a junior in highschool and is taking two college courses this semester at UNM-Taos. He is taking calculus along with English 1110. He is loving his english class a lot more than he thought and he is enjoying the writing more than he ever has. He hopes to keep his UNM career going after this semester as well.


Feeding Time

            There I was. Face to face with the devil. Standing behind the fence at 2’3” and ice cold eyes, he stared back into my scared, seven year old soul. His stance was as if he was ready to pounce at any moment. He shrieked, which scared me, so I backed off a little bit. We stood there for a couple more moments with locked eye contact. He screeched again and it felt like he was informing all of his posse what was about to go down. I counted down in my head, “ten, nine, eight.” I realized that was too short of a countdown so I started over. “Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen.” My legs were shaking and drenched in sweat. Not the sweat of a hot day but the sweat of terror in my body. “Twelve, eleven, ten.” I prayed that this time would be different. I prayed that maybe this time I would get out of there unscaved. “Nine, eight, seven.” I could hear my heart pounding through my chest. I slowly lifted my arm up to reach the latch. “Six, five, four.” The voice inside of my head was telling me to turn back but I was already too far in that I couldn’t stop now. I screamed, “THREE, TWO, ONE.” I opened the latch and made a run for the food container with the devil close behind. When I got there I flung open the lid and scooped out his food. I threw it into his food bowl as fast as I could, shut the lid of the container and fled to the exit. I made it outside and closed the latch, locking the devil inside with his food. The adrenaline was pumping through my body as we locked eyes once more. Then I headed back down the trail to my house so I could get some cool refreshing water after that intense event. As the adrenaline started to wear off, I began to feel a stinging sensation on my right leg. Curious to what had happened I looked down to find a massive hole in my shin. Blood was running all down my leg and pain started to rush through my body. I screamed for help. “Mom! Mom!” She came running, worried about what happened. She looked down at my leg and said, “Oh that's nothing. Walk it off.” This made me upset but I wiped my tears and walked the rest of the way home. 

            When I got inside I looked at my battle wound and made a promise to myself. I promised that I would never let the rooster get the chance to hurt me again. My chore each day was to go feed our family rooster. He was a mean, old, grumpy rooster whose only goal was to dig his beak into my skin. I had had enough of this. It had been going on for many months and I was tired of it. So I decided the best course of action would be to ignore my duty of feeding the rooster and let him starve to death. Being a child of strict parents would make this one of the worst decisions of my life.

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John Grassmick cont.

The next day rolls around and my family starts it as usual. We all gathered to eat some delicious breakfast. After we finished we said good-bye to my dad as he went off to work and we started our day of homeschooling. My mom sat us down, gave us our assignments for the day and we got to work. As I worked on my multiplication tables, the pain in my leg reminded me of my chore. As a dumb seven year old I ignored the feeding for the day. Later that evening, as I played with my legos, I heard the loud shriek of the rooster and I got a pit in my stomach. I started thinking to myself, “maybe she will find out I didn’t feed him and she will go feed me to him.” I was nervous but I kept my promise from the day before. Six ‘o clock rolled around and my dad showed up from work. This got me excited because when dad got home that meant it’s dinner time. For the moment my mind has drifted away from the rooster and more toward the scrumptious smell of spaghetti and garlic bread. Dinner was amazing and I had forgotten about the rooster all together.

            Then, the moment I feared hours before had happened. A couple hours after dinner, while I was playing tic-tac-toe with my brother, my mom asked me if I did all of my chores. “Yes,” I said with a shaky voice. She looked at me with laser focus and asked again. I was too far into the lie at this point so my response again was yes. She started to question me and asked things I could only answer if I did my chore. She asked, “what time did you go feed him?,” followed by, “before lunch or after lunch?” I was only seven so I mixed these up. I said “Ten thirty; after lunch.” She looked at me and told me to go feed him immediately. With no hesitation I headed straight outside. 

It was already pitch black outside and I had to use my flashlight to be able to see where I was going. It was around eight thirty and very cold outside. I made my way down the trail, teeth chattering and singing a nursery rhyme. As I got about halfway down the trail to the chicken coop I heard a strange noise coming from my left. I knew our beehive was there but I had never heard this sound before. It almost sounded like humming but very low pitch. My stomach dropped as I heard it and I slowly walked toward it trying not to make any sounds. As I got closer to the hive my breath started to get softer and my heart started to slow down. I got over to the hive and shined my flashlight on it to see what the noise was. As I looked at what was in front of me, my heart started to pump super faster and I let out a huge scream. Standing only a few feet away from me I saw a massive bear eating honey from the hive. I dropped the flashlight and made a run for the house. When I got inside I went straight to my dad and told him I saw a bear. Me, being seven years old, he didn’t believe me at first. After some convincing he went outside with his gun for safety. Sure enough there was a black bear eating from the beehive right off the trail. My dad shot it two times with rubber bullets to scare it off. It ran away and we never saw it again after that night. In the end I got taught a very valuable lesson. When it’s feeding time, it’s feeding time. It could be the difference between a rooster peck and being mauled by a bear. 


Page 113

John S. Whitman

John S. Whitman is an artist living in Taos. His partner is currently attending UNM-Taos.

less and less, digital photography, 2022

A formal study of line, color and proportion. Or maybe it’s just a snapshot of a garage door.

City of the Dead

A ragged square of silk,

furled and tightly knotted,

containing a sliver of razor,

a dark shard of glass

and a small, dense stone.

Try to unravel it to smoothness

till it sops with your blood,


A tiny planet of pain.

Place it in your mouth,

where it swells, stopping your


Carry it through the day,

the common, ordinary day.

It soils your clothes.

It drenches you.

Reach for a glass but find

your hand holds instead

a small, knotted, bloody wad of silk,

the glass on the table still…

as you dully mark the thin blood

dripping from your wounded hand.

And again:

a thick, thick sheet of silk,

with no contours, no detail,

featureless, dusted white

with the coolness of lost memory;

this shrouded over your head…

you remain beneath,

so still

your breath wastes in your throat, 


Page 114

Joseph Fitzgerald

Joseph is a retired physicist who has been in photography and drawing for many years. Lately he has been trying oil painting. He enjoys the physical process of applying oil colors to surfaces and sometimes even likes the image that he has produced.


Self Portrait with Mask, oil on gessoed board, 20x15", 2022

A study in monochrome for a self portrait using a mirror.

Page 115

Julia Salmons

Julia is a young queer woman living in Taos and attending UNM-Taos to obtain her Associate degree in the DMA Program. Although she spends too much time binge watching tv shows, she also likes to write, take pictures and paint, but she loves all art and simply wants to create. To create is to live. 


Behind the scenes, digital image, 2022

Behind the scenes perspective of a short film created and directed by UNM Taos alumnus, Isaiah Galante.

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Julia Salmons cont.

As It Was, digital image, 2019

A simple reminder of our old lives.

Medusa’s Revenge

Sunlight streams across the floor,  

I lick my bottom lip and taste blood. 

The events of the night before

Washed away within the flood. 

I remember being powerful, 

I remember standing tall. 

Now I’m treated like a flower

With my back against the wall. 

But not this morning, 

As I stare into the sea. 

A new me is aborning, 

Evermore, I will be free. 

My right eye is still swollen, 

From your fist, a kiss tattoo

Between my thighs, something was stolen. 

Blood pools there too. 

Your eyes are glassy and dim, 

Your breathing finally ceased.

On my own I couldn’t tame him, 

so I became the beast. 

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Julia Salmons cont.


I wish I could be free from my human form.

I want to swim with the trash in the hudson river,

and bathe under the heat waves that warp desert horizons. 

I want to burn and melt in russian winters, 

And freeze in pacific ocean depths. 

I want to be a missing sock, 

I want to be longed for, mourned for, then left. 

I want to be known by all and remembered by none.

I want to lie under your bed, waiting to be found. 

I want you to rejoice in my presence. 

I want you to feel me in every room you’re in.

I want to be the scented candle on your dresser, 

and the fog on your bathroom mirror.  

Burn me, wipe me away, but love me

Just for being there. 

I want to be every party that you wished you could attend.

I want to be the disco ball,

I want to hang high above your head.

I want to be the drink in your ex best friend's left hand.

I want to be the credit scene at your favorite movie's end. 

I want to be the flies that you slap against your thigh

I want to be your hair, that you can’t help but dye.

I want to keep your underwear,

I want to call you mine.

I want to be the theater that you sang in at age nine

I want to be the only home you’ve ever known,

I want to be the vines that grow around your throne.

I want to be the flame that crafted your best ring, 

And I want to be the guitar to which you sing.

I want to be the city where we met, 

I want to soak in subway fumes and choke on cigarettes.

I want to be the dim-lit alley where you met your favorite band.

I want to be the Oscar, clutched tight in Leo’s hand.

I want to fill your lungs, 

I want to get you high, 

I want to cradle your life in the palm of my hand. 

I want to feel your strife. 

I want to burn holes in your borrowed hoodie,

I want to keep you warm. 

And I want you to think of me,

when you hate your human form. 

Page 118

Julia Salmons cont.

Half of my Heart, painting, 2022

Go to New York City to fall in love with living. Go to Taos to fall in love with the world.

Page 119

Julia Salmons cont.

Four, digital image, 2018

"Please picture me in the weeds, before I learned civility."

Page 120

Kathryn Hayden

Kathryn Hayden has been behind the lens for over 20 years. She has been photographing the New Mexico landscapes, wildlife, people, and "Taos Quirks" for over 10 years.  In this time, she has displayed at local Taos galleries, as well as other locations in area. Kathryn has been chosen for juried shows and events. She is a current Board member of Taos Fall Arts Festival, past Board member of Taos Gallery Association, and member of the Taos Artist Organization.  Her studio and on location work includes numerous local businesses, as well as the official photographer for the Taos County Chamber of Commerce.  She recently contributed to Taos Hive Smithsonian project, and lone photographer for the national Centers of Rural Innovation project/Taos.

Faith - Chimayo, textured photography/archival pigment print on fine art paper, 20x13" and 13x9", 2018

Visiting El Santuario de Chimayo, I was most moved by the altars outside of the church.  To me they each had their own stories of faith, prayer, devotion — highlighted here by the Raider baseball cap.  I added texture and style to highlight the color and story that spoke to me.

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Kathryn Hayden cont.

Taos Drumbeat, fine art photography/archival pigment print on fine art paper, 20x20", 2019

I was chosen as photographer for the last Taos Pueblo Pow Wow in 2019. My goal was to capture the small visuals that are part of ritual and tradition.Depicted here are the beating of Taos Pueblo drums that were part of the Grand Entrance. Because of Covid and closure of the Pueblo these are last images from the Pow Wow, so especially appreciate capturing this and other images.

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Kathryn Hayden cont.

Blue Sky Cathedral (El Rito), fine art photography/archival pigment print on fine art paper, 17x24", 2021

One of reasons I like to travel the backroads of surrounding areas around Taos and other Northern New Mexico is to discover scenes that are not well known or depicted.  Many of these areas have rock formations that are not typically thought of as landscapes of the area — but to me are magnificent texture and composition of nature especially when framed by the incredible blue skies … and for me a quiet place to contemplate nature and spirit.

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Kathryn Hayden cont.

"Enter the Adobe” (off Taos Plaza), fine art photography/archival pigment print on fine art paper, 12x18", 2016

One of the hidden doorways that to me depicts historic Taos - and New Mexico.  The old Adobe structure with simple wooden door.  With mystery of what lies beyond.   I find there is much art in the everyday if stop to look and see the overlooked/hidden spots that are throughout the area.  And want to highlight the historic Taos — not just the usual tourist spots.

Page 124

Induction Ceremony Photos of Kayl Rainer, Taos Pueblo Celebratory Clothing, 2021

Kayl Rainer is beaming with optimism and joy as he has just publicly announced the President of UNM-Taos Student Government Association after being elected for the 2021-2022 academic school year. 

Kayl Rainer

Kayl Rainer is a Pre-Science Major at UNM-Taos and getting ready to graduate. He has been on the Dean's list almost every semester, part of Phi-Theta Kappa Honor's Society, Trio-SSS, and a full program member of the Climate Change Corps (CCC). As you can tell he is very involved around campus. He has served as the First Native American Vice President on the UNM-Taos Student Government for the 2020-2021 academic year. He is also the current First Native American President of the Student Government of UNM-Taos for the 2021-2022 academic year.

Men's Northern Traditional Style Beaded Knife Sheath with handmade French Knife, Native American Beadwork, sheath 8x2', knife 13x1.5", 2017

This knife is worn on the left side of my waist and used as a secondary weapon and is beaded on both sides of the sheath.

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Kayl Rainer cont.

Men's Northern Traditional Style Beadwork Set, Native American Beadwork, 2017

I learned how to make beadwork from my father; With his guidance, I created my first set of beadwork I would wear as part of my Pow-Wow regalia.

Kayl Rainer

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Kayl Rainer cont.

Men's Northern Traditional Style (Lefthand) Beaded Cuff, Native American Beadwork, 10x6", 2017

This cuff is worn on my left forearm with fringe that hangs down and dances as I move.


She was so full of life! So happy and enjoyed so many things down to a small breeze. Her name meant Sunshine and rightfully so as she was so radiant. A girl his same age that he instantly had a connection with. They would constantly have deep conversations or laugh together, always positively charging each other like an atom with no electrons, and when they were apart, they missed each other.

They would often exchange letters for the fun of it, often filling oceans of never-ending paragraphs. He always smiled when he heard her voice, saw her face, or read her words. He couldn’t help but be attracted to her just for her looks, but because of her love for everything big and small. She cared about life so much and though she had seen a great many hardships, she always persevered. For once he saw a future with her, in a way that he had never conceived before and he was stricken.

He knew he wanted to spend every day happy with her. Not just as a lover, but a best friend too. He couldn’t wait anymore and one day built the courage to tell her his true feeling’s. He texts with an opener, but to no reply. “Well, she’s probably busy.” he thinks, but then a long day passes with no reply. “This is weird, she never keeps me waiting” he says to himself. With hope he decides to wait another full day, but to no avail.

He messages her, writes her, and calls her but was met with silence. Without seeing or hearing from her he begins to worry. “Did she ghost me?” he thinks. Days, turned to weeks, weeks turned to months and months turned to years. His emotions went from confusion to sadness. He was so certain nothing could kept them apart, then it hit him. The only thing that could separate them. He later found out she had passed away. Most likely due to Covid-19, since a vaccine hadn’t been developed yet. He felt the sad confirmation in his heart and knew it was true.

Every year he still wishes her a happy birthday and tells her what has been going on in his life, despite an “active 3 years ago” sign. Today is her birthday, the 24th of March. It’s been years and my heart still calls for her. Hold the one you love and appreciate them to the fullest extent cause in a flash it can be taken away.

- Kayl Rainer

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Kayl Rainer cont.

Men's Northern Traditional Style Beaded Armband Set, Native American Beadwork, 9x2", 2017

These armbands are worn around the bicep of my arms and meant to replicate armor.

Page 128

Kenyon Olsen

Kenyon is an aspiring Digital Media Arts student with dreams to work for well established film company.

My Grand Father John Rainer Jr., digital video, 2022

A brief Intro to a Native American flutist legend my grand father, John Rainer Jr.

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Kenyon Olsen cont.

Battle Brothers, digital video, 2022

When two brothers obsessed with becoming the greatest fighter ever, cross each other at a supper.

Page 130

Lake Albrecht

Lake Albrecht's work is inspired by the 19th-century Impressionism movement and other geniuses of modernity. In the late 80s and early 90s, she was represented by Carson-Shapiro Art Gallery and McGrath & Brawn Art Consulting Firm in Denver, who installed several of her paintings at Marriot Hotels in San Francisco, CA and Tokyo, Japan. She taught art at the university level and studied under national and international watercolorist Betty DeMaree both in the US and overseas. After moving to Hawaii in 1993, she won the ‘Nani Hana No'eau’ and ‘Windsor Newton’ awards along with acceptances into the Japanese Chamber of Commerce Art Exhibitions. Lake switched gears to academia for a period while raising a family but now has returned to the art world as of 2018. In 2020, Lake relocated to Taos, NM and currently exhibits her paintings at TAC Gallery. Her love of the modern French masters, especially Toulouse-Lautrec and Degas, and the southwest landscape has inspired the use of movement, pattern, and textures in her work.

Rio Grande, gouache, 14x11", 2021

An impressionist painting of the Rio Grande river in Taos New Mexico, a magnificent landmark of the west, exploring the play on light and shadows, and the dramatic contrast of sunlit cliffs of red, pink, yellow and orange against a turquoise river.

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Lake Albrecht cont.

Hillside Sagebrush, oil, 12x12", 2020

A New Mexico impressionist landscape portraying green sagebrush and white clouds against a blue sky capturing the interplay of colors, textures, patterns, and movement inherent to this scenery.

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Lake Albrecht cont.

Mohave West, acrylic, 11x15", 2019

A southwest impressionist painting inspired by the endless golden hills of the Mohave desert, with gatherings of sagebrush stretching out towards the horizon in contrasting hues.

Hillside Sagebrush, acrylic, 8.5x11", 2021

An impressionist, colorful abstract landscape of the high desert and buttes of New Mexico, painted in the colors of summer with open skies and sweeping vistas of sagebrush.

Page 133

Linda M. Velarde

Linda was born and raised in Velarde, NM, with a family history of 424 years of farming. She has been a long time environmental, social justice and cultural activist. Her activism encompasses our current situation with climate change and climate justice. Her passion for these issues run deep in the belief that the world is global and the need to be reflective in our actions and mis-actions. Linda's poetry reflects this passion in written word. Her advocacy for Bilingualism is also reflected in my writing both in English and Spanish. Our world is united in the reflection of diversity through written word and speech. Linda is also an Aztec Dancer, Captiana Malintzin of Danza Azteca de Anáhuac, here in Taos that reflects her commitment to a spiritual practice through dance, prayer and song. All of her life has been an interaction of community, place and people through many avenues of work in many communities nationwide and internationally. Life lived through, love, peace, hope, justice and unity.

¡Prefacio a Ojalá que si!

Ojalá sea una palabra con que se denota el vivo deseo que suceda algo. La expresión ojalá demuestre por parte de quien la pronuncia la esperanza o el deseo ante la realización de algo. La expresión ojalá sea de origen árabe “ma sha Allah” que significa “si Dios quisiera.”

Ojalá que si en nuevo mexicanismo tiene mas énfasis en que va a suceder algo con el favor de Dios.  

Preface to “ojalá que si”

Ojalá directly translated to “hopefully,” ojaláactually derives from an Arabic expression: “ma sha Allah,” which means “should God will it” (ما شاء الله‎). Ojalá is a word used when you really hope and wish that something will happen—almost as if requesting divine intervention.  

Linda M. Velarde, c/s

Derechos del Autor

Page 134

Linda M. Velarde cont.

Estamos en el Ojalá

Ojalá que:

Ojalá que, si acabamos con el COVID 19, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con el racismo, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con la desigualdad,

Ojalá que, si acabamos con la injusticia de la justicia,

Ojalá que, si acabamos con el sexismo, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con la homofobia, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con el femicidio, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con las fronteras de no fronteras,

Ojalá que, si acabamos con su estatus inmigratorio, 

 Ojalá que, si acabamos con palabras que ya no sirven, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con la percepción de somos extranjeros, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con mas es mas, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con no hay suficiente,

Ojalá que, si acabamos con niños y niñas enjaulados, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con que somos mejores que otros y otras, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con diferencias, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos  

Ojalá que, si sobrevivimos COVID,

Ojalá que, si sobrevivimos los desacuerdos de los acuerdos, 

Ojalá que, si la humanidad entiende su rol en el mundo, 

Ojalá que, si la humanidad entiende que no estamos solos, 

Ojalá que, si la humanidad aprende compasión, 

Ojalá que, si comprendemos que hay mas allá, 

Allá en el no saber, 

Ojalá que, si acabamos con el Ojalá.

Linda M Velarde, c/s

Derechos del Autor

Page 135

Linda M. Velarde cont.

Zozobra 97 Años

De 50 pies, Zozobra nuestra marioneta esta para aliviar la inquietud de la vida diaria, tiene 97 años de sacrificio, 

Luchando con el Espíritu del Fuego que se materializa de la buena voluntad colectiva de todos los que anhelan un mundo mejor, 

Es un baile, 

Zozobra mueve, grita, exhuma, baila, para el bienestar de todos,  

Su gigantez muestra la necesidad de abrazar las penas de sus ciudadanos, 

Las llamas comen los papelitos en la caja de penas junto a Zozobra, para aliviarnos de asuntos personales, 

Quema, quema, quema, para destruir lo que ya no necesitamos, 

Dificultades, penas, ansiedad, malestar, mala suerte, maldad, enfermedades, malas hábitos, mal de amor, 

Disipar lo innecesario, 

Y todo el papeleo sube en fuego y humo desapareciéndose cuando Zozobra cae en la furia de las llamas ardientes, 

Los danzantes tientan a Zozobra con sus bailes de fuego, 

Y al fin en las rojas llamas y los fuegos artificiales, 

Zozobra se quema con aquello que no necesitamos, hasta el mismo, 

Y una vez mas, por un tiempito, aunque sea,

Hay un suspiro de alivio,

De esperanza, 

Y empezamos de nuevo,

¡Que viva Zozobra!  

Linda M. Velarde c/s

Derechos del Autor

Page 136

Linda M. Velarde cont.

Oda al Rio Grande, Rio Bravo

¿Cuántos cuerpos haz visto cruzar, rio?  

¿Cuántos cuerpos han quedado en tus brazos de ahogo?  

¿Cuántos cuerpos han salvado con su agua quitando sed?  

¿Cuántos cuerpos han bañado en tus brazos?  

¿Cuántos mujeres han lavado rapa en tus orillas?

Con las olas grandes y bravos, historias para cantar.

Rio Grande, Rio Bravo la falsa frontera que cruzan con

tu bendición o maldición, 

¿Cuántas historias nos puede contar?

Rio Grande, Rio Bravo ya no mas eres rio,

Eres el crucero de la suerte. 

Linda M. Velarde, c/s

Derechos del Autor

Page 137

Marisol Duran

Marisol is currently a student at UNM-Taos.

Millicent Rogers view, vine charcoal, soft black pastels, white soft pastels on white paper, 18x24" paper, 2022

This landscape drawing was inspired and created in the parking lot at Millicent Rogers Museum in El Prado. If you’ve ever been there, you know the view of Taos Mountain is outstanding. I sat in the early morning to create this piece of art, so the lighting was perfect. I made this piece for my Drawing I class with Sarah Stolar, it was an assignment but so fun to create.

Page 138

Mary Pencin

Mary is a retired veterinarian, taking painting classes because painting makes me see the world differently, and because time stops when painting.

Great Dogs, oil on canvas, 24x36", 2022

My 2 faithful rescue dogs who went to clinic and veterinary calls with me for years. This was a class assignment for a "painting with three heads."

Page 139

Mary Pencin cont.

Still Life With Skull, oil on canvas, 20x24", 2021

This was a month-long assignment in beginning oil painting class - very challenging for us beginners!

Page 140

Mary Pencin cont.

Self-portrait in the manner of Harding Meyer, oil on canvas, 240x24", 2021

An assignment for beginning oil painting class. Really fun to work in someone else's style when you don't have one of your own yet!

Page 141

Mary Pencin cont.

Cousins at the Beach, oil on canvas, 20x24", 2022

My daughter and her two young cousins were getting to know each other at a family reunion.  The subject made it very easy to paint.

Page 142

Maximillian Knyazev-Julinski

Maximillian is a newcomer to Taos, having spent his whole life rolling around in the green hills of New England. He is currently enrolled at UNM-Taos pursuing his Associate of Arts in Pre-Business Administration and hopes to continue his academic career at Anderson School of Management in Albuquerque.

Hand-built Trails, digital video, 2022

A trail I hand built with my brother Kyle in the Mesa of Taos, Summer 2021

Page 143

Maximillian Knyazev-Julinski cont.

Untitled, digital photography, 2021

Riding down Wheeler Peak slowly but surely

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Maximillian Knyazev-Julinski cont.

The Great Blue Hills

Even though I have been living in Taos, NM for two years now I still miss the green and lush grass of New England. If it is a particularly sunny day in Arroyo Seco or if I visit the Mesa then I can’t help but compare the difference between where I am now and the previous place I used to enjoy. If I close my eyes on one of those days, I can still picture my favorite place with frightening accuracy.  

The wind blows. It is always windy around here. I do not know whether it is from the nearby highway or just a sign of changing times. Overhead the leaves of the many trees are rustling. One more month and there will not be any leaves left. Already the leaves are turning into those beautiful shades of red, yellow, and orange that so many people come to see. The clouds are moving quickly just like the hundreds of thousands of people of nearby Boston. On the ground, squirrels are busy preparing for the coming winter while Earthworms are making mini–Big Dig projects in the New England Loam. I open my eyes and at once get a sensory overload in the old-growth forest. As I hop on my mountain bike and start pedaling, I am reminded of this place’s importance to me and many other millions of people.

The name of Blue Hills Reservation comes from, like many other things, the Native Americans. Massachusetts, the state that houses the park, is named after the tribe that lived in the area for hundreds of years. The name Massachusetts roughly translates as “near the great blue hills.” When the European explorers arrived in the 1600s, among some of the first things they saw from the water was this blueish hue on the slopes. The color is caused by a form of Riebeckite granite, which is a mineral that usually forms in dark-blue, elongated, and fibrous crystals.

In his report to the Mass. Parks Commission as landscape architect Mr. Charles Elliot, the creator of the first public beach and public park in the United States, called Blue Hills, “a park such as any king would be proud to call his own, a public forest possessed of vastly finer scenery than any of the great parks of Paris can show, a recreation ground far surpassing in its refreshing value than even London’s Epping Forest.”

The land Elliot was describing is wide and diverse: including marshes, swamps, upland, and bottomland forests, meadows, and bogs. The land also has residents like the extremely rare, endangered, and only rattlesnake found in Greater Boston - the Timber Rattlesnake. In addition to snakes, other colorful animals reside including coyotes, wild turkeys, white-tailed deer, and turkey vultures to mention a few. Naturally then in 1893, 7000 acres of land 10 miles south of Boston was purchased by Massachusetts Parks Commission as one of the state’s first areas dedicated to public recreation.

The reservation is home to sixteen structures that are listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The Blue Hill Meteorological Observatory is one of those structures. Founded in 1885, it is the oldest continuous operating weather recording station in the United States. The observatory is built on top of the Great Blue Hill, which at 635 feet is the highest point south of Maine that is within 10 miles of the Atlantic Ocean. The observatory was instrumental in advancing the then-brand-new field of meteorology and was the scene of many of the first scientific measurements of the atmosphere. Today, the site provides meteorologists with observations, recordings, and essential information on Climate Change. Students learning about the climate come to the observatory because the site and the surrounding landscape have not changed much in the past hundred years, providing a unique insight into our changing climate.

Page 145

Maximillian Knyazev-Julinski cont.

The Blue Hills also has a lot of meaning for me and my family. For many summers, almost every other day, we would go out for a few hours and enjoy nature. It was a much-needed break from our tight apartment located right in the city. We would sit on a park bench and count how many Mercedes or Maseratis drove by, filled with one guy who was finally done with work. After we counted to one hundred, we would go on a six-mile bike ride together.  Somedays we would meet with other homeschoolers and have study sessions and fun group projects. I was also part of a high school mountain bike racing team and I would go with my team into these woods and burn off calories and obligations. The woods allowed me some solitude where I could forget about school and the city and just be free.

 All these memories fade away as I ride along the tight, twisty, and technical singletrack that snakes its way up to Great Blue Hill and my favorite trail. The trail starts as a punchy climb up the hill and only gets harder as I go up. The scenery change is immense. One starts in an old-growth forest filled with pine, oak, and maple, then the trees change to small shrubs as one works their way up to the top of the hill which looks like a bald man’s head. At the summit, one is rewarded with perfect views for hundreds of miles, from the White Mountains of New Hampshire to the little hills of Rhode Island. With a telescope, one can identify 125 different cities and towns. You can see the city of Boston and its many highways that encircle it like a serpent. 

Sipping my water, surrounded by the blue granite, I am reminded of a famous story involving the hill. On April 1st, 1980, Channel 7 in Boston aired a special bulletin stating that a 635ft hill in Milton, Massachusetts known as the Great Blue Hill had erupted and that molten lava and ash were raining down on nearby homes. Footage was shown of lava pouring down a hillside. The announcer explained that the eruption had been triggered by a geological chain reaction set off by the recent eruption of Mount St.Helens in Washington. An audiotape was played in which President Carter and the Governor of Massachusetts were heard declaring it to be a serious situation. At the end of the segment, the announcer held up a card that read “April Fool.” However, people took the story too literally and the damage had been done. The Milton Police were flooded with panic calls well into the night. One frantic resident had even carried his sick wife outside to escape. Later the station apologized and fired the producer responsible for the prank. Although the story does have some truth to it since thousands of years ago, the hill used to be a volcano that erupted and collapsed forming the current hill.

The wind blows hard and I suddenly wake up from my daydream. I say goodbye to Boston and the beltways that are now clogged with the evening rush back home. My bike tires kick up loose rocks as I launch off, going back down the hill. My eyes are scanning ahead and my brain is flashing warning alarms. This is no place to get caught up thinking. I brake hard into a turn, smelling sintered brake pads and feeling amazing. The ten miles downhill are some of the best minutes of my life, no worries, no responsibilities, just me on my bike and huge water bars which I pump and skyrocket off. Soon the downhill is over and I shoot out onto the old highway. It used to be one of the only ways out of Boston carrying thousands of cars on its four lanes. Now it just takes me to my next adventure. 

Page 146

Maximillian Knyazev-Julinski cont.

Untitled, digital photography, 2022

The imposing New Mexico sun shines through the clouds casting light onto the mystical Wheeler Peak.

Page 147

Maximillian Knyazev-Julinski cont.

Untitled, digital photography, 2022

A stunning sunset on Wheeler Peak with the moon rising over reminds us of the coming night,

Page 148

Untitled, digital photography, 2022

Angels, ethereal messages, waves of an Awakening to illusions cast behind the blinds of my bedroom window.

Meredith Kemp

The Meredeath Kemp is an extraordinary organism. They move about constantly, location is never to be exact. One of their many destinations, though, is at UNM-Taos where they are working towards completing a construction certification. The pictures they have submitted are seemingly normal sights and objects, just taken from uncertain perspectives.  

Page 149

Meredith Kemp cont.

Untitled, digital photography, 2022

A different perspective on the blankets from childhood, somehow, the rocky mountains.

Untitled, digital photography, 2022

A wet and sandy horse.

Page 150

Lidded jar, clay, 6x5x5", 2022

Wheel-thrown with Sandia Red clay fired at cone 6.  Rusty red glaze on red clay imparts tones of green, black and red due to the iron in the clay.

Merle Derse

Merle Derse has been a dedicated ceramics student at UNM since 2015.  She works primarily on the wheel making utilitarian and functional pieces.  Her favorite firing technique is Raku, which lends a beautiful blend of metallic and earthy tones to the finished vessel.

Pinch pot, clay, 4x3x3", 2022

Raku fired, this handmade finger repousse pot captured the glorious colors of two glazes- Alligator and Messenger crawl.

Page 151

Merle Derse cont.

Petite Vase, clay, 6x3x3", 2022

This wheel-thrown vase is Raku fired with a clear crackle glaze on the inside and outside rim and Alligator on the body.  A copper ring is created where the two glazes meet.

Classic vessel, clay, 7x5x5", 2022

This wheel-thrown vase is Raku fired with a natural black, carbon-trapped background accented with drips of Rick's turquoise.

Page 152

Michael (Spud) Rollheiser

Mike (SPUD) grew up in a suburb of Chicago. He developed an interest in photography while serving in the U.S. Army. While getting his B.A. at the University of Illinois at Chicago he taught photography and darkroom to 6th, 7th and 8th grade students at a middle school. After he graduated, he spent 35 years in the computer/networking industry. He retired to Taos in 2015 and resumed his love for photography. For two years his work was displayed at the Amore Gallery Taos. Currently he creates images for his enjoyment.

Angry Sunset, digital photography, 2021

Taken from a friend’s house who lives in El Prado. First photo I ever took in Taos after I moved here on 01 January 2015. 

Page 153

Michael (Spud) Rollheiser cont.

Valles Caldera, digital photography, 2018

First visit to Valles Caldera. Discovered this vista with stream leading into the image.

Page 154

Michael (Spud) Rollheiser cont.

Wet Cows and Mud, digital photography, 2016

Taken on 31 Mile Road between Espanola and Abiquiu during a thunderstorm and downpour. To be safe from lightning, I had to take the image from the window of the car we were in.The rain softened the image.

John Dunn Bridge and Fisherman, digital photography, 2015

My first visit to the John Dunn Bridge with a friend. The water was as still as glass.

Page 155


Natalina is a multidisciplinary artist who has taken numerous continuing education classes at UNM-Taos. In 2019, Natalina exhibited a solo show including large scale ceramics, paintings, wearable artwork and calligraphic art containing over 1000 love letters throughout the Atrium Gallery and Department building.

Looking, digital photography, 2021

This piece, "Looking" comes from Natalina's latest body of work, Planes, Trains and UFOs, a collection of sounds and visual artwork exploring the intersection between philosophical and scientific concepts.

Page 156

Nathan Oswald

Nathan Oswald is an Associate in Pre-Science student. He finds censorship disconcerting, but is unintimidated. He misses print versions of everything. The trees don't agree with him on this and other subjects.

Take This Personally

March 22, 2022

Readers of Howl likely understand the impact and importance of free expression and the arts, but I feel compelled to highlight the distinct power of this publication. This magazine presents the community an annual opportunity to participate, to be exposed to the artistic expressions of our neighbors, and to personalize those impacts and imports. The title of this literary magazine is a double entendre, referencing the call of the lobo, but also paying tribute to Allen Ginsberg’s pivotal 1956 eponymous poem. For those unfamiliar, Ginsberg’s enduringly popular opus was famous not only for it’s merits as one of the great works of poetry in the twentieth century, but also for the controversy, and worldwide discussion on freedom of expression, and the redemptive values of difficult subject matter that the poems publication (and it’s publisher’s trial for obscenity) generated. This community and publication celebrate and maintain those values. It is my opinion that while Howl’s “family friendly” submission guideline could be confusingly ironic, it is an opportunity to examine current social mores as they effect these freedoms.

Let us celebrate those who have previously carried the torch by whose light we now read. Many current and past residents of Taos have dedicated their efforts and material resources to the creation and furtherance of educational opportunities, historic and cultural preservation, and to a host of institutions and iterations that have culminated currently as UNM-Taos. Beginning with Taoseños like Padre Martinez, who lent his press for the initial printing of the state’s constitution, through benefactors like the Harwoods and Klauers, to luminaries like Frank Waters, D.H. Lawrence, Helen Blumenschein, John Nichols, and Corina Santistevan. This intact legacy continues today with you and I.

The institutions, opportunities, and heritage available to Taos residents in 2022 are the culmination of a long and complicated history of generosity, lifetimes of labor and legacies intended to provide opportunities for growth and enrichment to Norteños. As a beneficiary of these proud traditions, donations, and investments, I feel a personal responsibility to honor the gravity of such a magnificent medium. Personally, I am constantly inspired and enriched by this legacy of participation and generosity. Any reader who has taken the time to arrive at the end of this letter can likely sympathize. I encourage and remind you to honor, respect and amplify the gift in these pages, on campus, and throughout El Norte. Take it personally. Give it personally. Howl aloud with pride.

If memory serves me, I made my first submission to this magazine fifteen years ago, as an itinerant poet and drunkard armed only with a New Mexico public school education, a head full of Ginsberg (and other beats), and a lack of fear, sense, and direction. I was rather clueless to the proud legacy I was involving myself in. Today I submit as a student, curious and optimistic at what the future holds for myself, my fellow contributors, and my likely doomed species. Viva del Norte.

Page 157

Nathan Oswald cont.


Nobody wants to read effing poems

this isn’t the twentieth century


poems had their day in the sun

Baudelaire has been dead for

one hundred and fifty four years

Poems were wonderful

when the world was a tremendous ship

moored to and dwarfing an aging wooden dock

That ship is departed, the dock rotted through

the allegory for the state of things

has spread wings and flitted away

now lives in a rooftop greenhouse

staffed by robots

unfettered to the seasons, recycling a finite water supply

sometimes the sun is too strong

and the robots open rooftop vents

allowing the allegory to steal away

to a new home in a new time

Poetry, a book sans illustrations

printed in magnificent calligraphy

sits closed and slumbers soundly

on a shelf heavy with artifacts of ancestors

bound histories of dreary men

men who would be baffled at our explanations

for the content and data

those musty old books have morphed into

for the flashes of light which answer our fingertips

Content and Data, who often lie to us

about the location and condition

of the allegory of the world

lies which fail to even anger us

while Helen of Troy, Helen of Argos,

Menelaus’s Helen

dances invitingly on our little screens

writhing happily under our caressing trigger fingers

a perfect body now Venus, now Jezebel, now Salome

Still Baudelaire turns to dust

ships sail on

the allegory migrates to new nests

Helen dances on for us

forever within our grasp

someone has forgotten to wind grandfather’s clock

Nobody wants to read effing poems

Page 158

Peter Schwathe

Peter is currently a student at UNM-Taos.

Work in progress, water soluble ink based colored pencils and colored ink on paper, 24x32", 2015

An old potter perfecting her craft.

Page 159

Peter Schwathe cont.

Old steelworkers dream, water soluble ink based colored pencils and colored ink on paper, 18x24, 2015

Drawn from an old Soviet era propaganda pamphlet.

Page 160

Peter Schwathe cont.

broken things, watercolor colored pencils and colored inks on paper, 18x24, 2020

Looking up at the failing skylight of a crumbling building at blue sky and clouds.

Page 161

Peter Schwathe cont.

windows, water soluble ink based colored pencils and colored ink on paper, 18x24, 2020

An abandoned dance studio looks out on snowy tree branches.

Page 162

Price VINCENT Valentine

Price Vincent Valentine is a visual artist who attended UNM-Taos and was granted student studio space to explore installation art. Since attending UNM, Price has been awarded a room in Judy Chicago's Wo/Man House 50th anniversary, opening in Belen this summer.

From the project "Heavy Frosting', detail of canvas surface in installed space, 2022

Page 163

Rafa Tarín

Rafa Tarín is a gender non-conforming queer xicanx self-taught multidisciplinary artist raised in northeast los angeles with deep new Mexican/Indigenous Mexican roots. Their work explores the cosmology of their ancestors and attempts to bring forward the messages they carry for us today. They are a transformative arts educator working with northern New Mexico youth in the disciplines of visual art, puppetry, stiltwalking, poetry and devised physical theatre for the past 18 years. parenthood is one of their greatest creative endeavors.


because Gloria

to live in the borderlands means i

am neither

indigena negra hispana

ni guera, soy pocha xicanx


caught in the crossfire of legislated hate

learning to love 

the geometry i see in the mirror

in the borderlands

i am the battleground

ni de aqui

ni de alla

barbwire demarcations

slice my code switching tongue;

cuando vives en la frontera

biological functions

are calculated maneuvers

i am a liar a perv an intruder

a fake;

to live in the borderlands means i

put sriracha on my tacos

dislike frito pies

drink green smoothies

answer in english;

living in the borderlands i fight hard

to stay rooted          cultivate tenderness

in this wellspring of rage

etch my truths across chasms

in ink and paint

be a bridge;

i am the future of borderlands

both and boygirl daddymama

butch fem-inista

who dreams technicolor re-evolutions

with laughter good food and dancing

heart stitched together with band aids

and kite strings

tightrope walking

and no net.

to thrive in the borderlands 

i transcend the suffocating constructs

resuscitate coraje 

own what’s mine

speak my name

build a new table.

~rafa tarín~

las tres, Montage, acrylic on illustration board, 25x11", 2016

love relationships are sacred, complex and liberatory.

Page 164

Rafa Tarín cont.

land   mark

the body is not an ignorant animal. 

there is a long string of me-s 

from coyolxauhqui to this moment

bound together by fraying lines 

like patio bulbs

the clear and bright

interspersed with differing shapes of color

some bulbs blasted into shards

some missing altogether

so much cut away.

to do    this 

i have to gather 

all the exiles 

and refugees

the parts banished 

the parts fled 

the defiled 

with and without consent 

nourished on twisted definitions of love 

truth vanishing in the gas light

this body? 

a battleground       a betrayal

my gentlest 

bits                  offered up

to a hollow touch 

extracted incubating gems

scavenged with fingers 

hooked and shredding 

did you know you were stealing my light?

what parts were you missing?

it takes time to inhabit 

skin blown open 

tend the wound

suture connections

i am re-claiming 

this home       body   

this home       land

it is not an adventure

it is a necessity

the sum of me

some of me

some of me 

i can never recover

some of me 

i want nothing to do with

some of me

isnt my reflection 

some of me

too familiar

some of me

encouraged to flourish

some of me


some of me


some of me 


some of me 


some of me 


i am 


this home       body   


an incremental migration 

traversing an insatiable hunger 

for the view 

out of the mire 

pushing against the underbrush 

reaching  for a patch of clear blue 

heart beating larger 

against this tight cavity

that holds me together 

there are smalls things 

peeking from

dark places 

generating waves of light

refracting trajectories 

the edges of me within reach

i need to know 

what am i good for

say these things out loud

lay the words down

til heavy drops 


light ripping open

a bruised exhale

how do i resuscitate

when grief lives in lungs

left gasping in an un-welcomed occupation

resisting dismemberment

is a fulltime job

i carry my secrets

tucked neatly against my body


into a random assortment

of mal adaptations

violence is the texture of my sorrow 

Page 165

Rafa Tarín cont.

the circumference of this 

is beyond measure

i cast nets out

collect the scattered detritus

floating fractions 

ancient and alone

i trace the jagged edges 

of volumous things 

impossible to hold

i am the one who 

is wronged here

wrong body

wrong name 

wrong language 

wrong memories

too much

and not enough details


the epicenter of

circular navigation 

always recalculating

eyes close at dawn

after a night of fitful sleep 

guilt feasting on the entrails 

of what these hands of men

have fabricated

and what i let my self become

when demons overwhelm me

i want to feel free on the inside 

where i find myself       alive

in a landscape of reflected light

a crust of fractals 

where thorny succulents rage

roots firm but gasping

just below 

the surface 

expanse of exhalation              i let go

there is a space big enough to hold me

beyond ridges

where the wind can lift me

and release into

heart beating hard 

against the only mother 

that knows how to hold me

dirt pressed against 

fingerprints and skin

body sparkling

with mica    fire agate 

and quartz 

rolled smooth by generations of tears

fringed with dried grasses

and skeletons of used to be trees

my bones know the touch of her breath 

my skin thaws  

and i re-member 

i am my abuelita’s child

a hybrid inheritance

wild hair 

digging fingers

gripping roots and hunting snails

who answers to mijo in english

trailing brisk navy blue keds and cigarette smoke 

thru 1970’s downtown LA 

pissed soaked streets 

trading crumpled paper transfers 

for bus rides

lime paletas in the blazing summer sun

correle! she tells me


what does it mean to belong?

is it the space between interlocking fingers 

an exhalation of breath

the rhythm of laughter 

the sound of your name spoken 

in familial language

the smell of salve

on the wound

a stump of earth bone 


shame severs 

the “I” left adrift 

in darkness 

invited home  

for the harvest 

i feast on my flesh

 to prove i am worthy

the only life raft 

is the one that i am weaving 

imperfect and porous 

(what we hold 

holds us)

my daughter 

deep breathing her dreams

beside me

mirrors my 8-year-old face

eager eyes pulse beneath eyelids 

manifesting future through darkness 

her heart        and body protected

we are raising each other 

creatures belonging 

to the land 


the single celled

the rooted    the many legged

the winged

the ones that crawl upon bellies

the four-legged runners

the two legged

kneeling and marching

Page 166

Rafa Tarín cont.

named by many tongues

each inhabitant belongs to every other

each breath 



rushing like waves      or

navigating darkness alone

guided by starlight 

and memory

dodging disaster

disease & death

stories told on the wind 

or in birdsong

transforming frequencies

in veins

and in footsteps

we belong beyond


of small imaginations 

our bodies

are galaxies

sent here by herstory

born from this over and over

the root             and the flowering womb

that springs from it

like the axolotl regenerating

we know who we belong to 

and who belongs to us

lengua madre

they want to separate us

cut out our tongues

but we are more

than the monstrous deeds

of the human hearted

hacking at terrestrial limbs

chaos vs equanimity

kaleidoscopes against our bodies

all of it we wear 

on our physical selves

war on our physical selves

where are our physical selves?

our resilience

is pre-determined

we were bred to survive.

this body?

is a compass 


the longitude and latitude of grief

to places unknown but imagined


beyond language

a vestibular system

traversing space

spinning and spinning





for something to hold

something to hold me

this body the ground 

guiding me home

~rafa tarín~

this is our home, this thin edge of barbwire (homage to gloría anzaldúa), aerosol and acrylic on canvas, handmade steel frame, 20x16", 2016

“i want the freedom to carve and chisel my own face….” – these are the words of the queer xicana feminist scholar and writer gloría anzaldúa.  she explored xicana identity within the context of a colonial and bordered existence. as a xicanx/indigenx identified gender non-conforming queer raised in the southwest i relate to her struggle to claim and name her indigenous roots in a land fractured by colonial reality.

Page 167

Rafa Tarín cont.

love p0em for a friend

for bmh

i remember about you

all wide mouth laughter and dreaming

a light heart and forgiving eyes

the kind 

only a little sister could have

that unconditional love makes

you show up for the punchline

even when it's directed at you

and not very funny

strength formed from disappointment and fortitude

a beautiful unbreakable back

that sometimes bends too much

i wish you could see what i see

and maybe you do

what do i know

so little time to observe

after all these years

but you are who i left you

somewhere in there we are both


who recognize kinship

in resilience and sadness

some part of us refuses to be fully eliminated

we come from manos kneading masa

blasted oldies

and suavecito jamming lowriders

tequila shots and barking dog sunsets

on dry grass hillsides looking down

on old neighborhoods 

forgotten by politicians

neo discovered in the new world of gentrification

you cant afford to live in your neighborhood

despite a fulltime job with benefits


end of the day bag lady busrider

gatherer of provisions

beyond weary

the besos of your mijito 

reminding you 

why you wake up everyday

5 year old lips on repeat

i love you mommy i love you mommy i love you mommy

we walk the hills together at night

pinching succulents 

liberated from the wildness of untended sidewalk plots

added to your magical concrete apothecary


you know all about it

mestiza born and bred

with murals in your veins

winding indigenous hills 

pueblitos conquered and choking on smog

tu sabes your lengua

your splanguage

like music from deep in your bones

that rocks skirted hips 

on wide flat feet

rooted nopalitos surviving on dust


you don’t see what i see

your beauty

i could never tell you to put down your pipe

we do what we do to get by

ritual becomes addiction becomes reflection

Page 168

Rafa Tarín cont.

momentarily we find ourselves

in the shadows of smoke rings

feel healed

just for the duration

of our in breath

and out breath

re-member our dreams

let go of what we are not

not enough mother

not enough daughter or sister

not enough committed full-timer

not enough dancer or painter

or otherwise etcetera etcetera

maker of bad decisions 

and all around malcreada

nothing generated out of love

is badly formed

you do not need permission 

to be yourself

all flor y canto

all lipstick and eyeliner

crimping your eyelashes

in my rear view mirror

for that alone     i love you

we are our reflections

wild little sisters

who broke out 

from the constricted framework 

trying to snuff out 

our vision

i have your back      always

despite distance of miles and years

our her stories 

etched into the codex 

of our LA xicana with an x 


sueños de nuestra abuelitas

te veo

free spirits   

we are making it         our own way

carving the roadmap

into our horizons with strong hands and calloused fingers

parallel and intersecting

at the crossroads 

i will wait for you

with this poem, a paleta

and your dreams.

~rafa tarín~

auricle of healing, mixed-media on wood, 28x21", 2014

based on the auricle acupuncture chart, this piece reflects that for me complete healing begins with a healing of the heart.  we are a sum of our parts whose experiences reverberate in our “home bodies” physically assimilating our trauma. a healing of the heart contributes to physical and mental wellness.

Page 169

Rafa Tarín cont.

divinity transformation, mixed-media on wood, 43x32", 2015

this painting of my daughter Tonahli at 3 captures the sacredness and transformative capacity of girl children within the context of gendering humans.  embedded in the background of the painting are words used to describe girls like “sweetie, babydoll, cutie, angel, bossy etc…..”.  going down the painting the words change to language describing women such as “bitch, bossy, frigid, controlling, girls, feisty, airhead, cunt, hysterical etc……”. these words accompany cutsie images typically associated with girls including hello kitty, la la loopsy, the little mermaid, hearts, a ballerina and a unicorn. our society doesn’t honor personal preferences.  we label, box and subscribe “norms” to our children, norms that perpetuate patriarchal relationships, limiting our understanding of self.

Page 170

Ria Burnett

Through printmaking and mixed media artworks, Ria Burnett records her experiences, real and/or imaginary.  She often works in a series, striving to compose a visual poem or a choreography.  While documenting the personal, she also hopes to make connection with a larger human understanding and contribute visually to our greater shared experience. Burnett's sources of inspiration include nature, various geographies and cultivated landscapes all of which engage her senses, mind, and spirit.  These varied and accumulated encounters over a lifetime continue to transform the artist, describing journey and creating narrative. In her visual reflections, she enjoys the juxtaposition of varying scales, often considering the grand and the minute simultaneously.  Likewise, she finds naming a moment calls to mind the timeless. These particular images are part of the Shadow Suite series Burnett created in 2021.  Burnett has long been fascinated by the transience and specificity of shadows which she sees as a form of kinetic art.  Originally documented as photographs, shadow images have been transformed in the monoprint process to recollect the passing of light and time during a day's cycle. Burnett's immersion into printmaking began when she arrived in Taos in 1990.  She has studied with several accomplished printmakers including faculty at the UNM-Taos campus.  Currently she works in her home-based studio. Impressions of nature she has enjoyed in the Taos area since making this her home. 

Under the Ramada, Sifted Suns 11:53am, monoprint, 8x8", 2021

This image is part of a series exploring the transience and specificity of shadows.  Each image in the series recollects the passage of light and time during a day’s cycle. 

Page 171

Ria Burnett cont.

Exhaling Clouds, Mist Rising on the River 8:14pm, monoprint, 8x8", 2021

This image is part of a series exploring the transience and specificity of shadows.  Each image in the series recollects the passage of light and time during a day’s cycle.

Shadows Swimming Upstream 4:35am, monoprint, 8x8", 2021

This image is part of a series exploring the transience and specificity of shadows.  Each image in the series recollects the passage of light and time during a day’s cycle. 

Page 172

Ria Burnett cont.

Remembering Places I’ve Only Imagined 4:12pm, monoprint, 8x8", 2021

This image is part of a series exploring the transience and specificity of shadows. Each image in the series recollects the passage of light and time during a day’s cycle.

Page 173

Sabine Core

A new world emerged for Sabine when she started printmaking at UNM-Taos. It brought  her the opportunity to bring together other art forms she had been using into a new and playful way via the creation of new colors, layering, and the exploration of texture. While finishing her BFA in Studio Art, she also delved into painting, serigraphy, ceramics, and jewelry making.  It’s a joy to her to see colors emerge as they are created through overlapping and how they play off of each other in the same field.  Art making is a fascinating language that she finds liberating at times, containing at times, and always meaningful. 

Raku Vase, raku ceramic, 6x3", 2012
The texture is created by ashes and heat during the raku process.

Page 174

Sabine Core cont.

Slo-Mo, monotype, 16x15.5, 2013
This monotype is made with stencils and oil based inks. I rolled colored inks on stencils for the first drop, then used a large roller for the second drop and moved stencils around to create space for the first layer to peek through.

Groove, serigraph, 10x9.5, 2013
This Serigraph, or silkscreen is created in multiple layers using water based inks and stencils. I created transparent colors by mixing clear ink with colored inks so that each overlapping area would create a new one.

Page 175

Sabine Core cont.

Meeting Place, oil on canvas, 30x40, 2013
This oil painting is created through layering and oil sticks. Some of the lines and layers were created with medium mixed with oil paint to create a glaze.

Page 176

Sally S. Savage

Sally S. Savage is happily retired in Taos. She has gone through the Digital Media Arts program and started a freelance photography and videography business. She composited the images in Howl as part of her Digital Techniques class in Spring of 2022. She calls the collection "Calico Caricatures". In them, she substituted various elements in each original photo with fabrics, most of them typically used in quilting.

Ramon, digital photography

This is a high school coach for the Taos Tigers. Can you guess what the school colors are? I replaced his clothing with several different fabric swatches. His shirt is actually black; his sweat pants are really solid gray.

Page 177

Sally Savage cont.

Dave, digital photography

This is the assistant librarian at the UNM-Taos Library.  He likes purple and green, but outwardly he's monochromatic. As with the other images in this series, I composited this picture with PhotoShop. For each of them, I replaced traditional backgrounds and picture mattes with the images of fabrics that I photographed in a fabric shop.

Evie, digital photography

Since she is an avid gardener, I composited her with various images of flower fabrics. To integrate her image into the composite, I isolated some flowers from the background layer, and overlapped them on the bottom of the frame.

Page 178

Sally S. Savage cont.

Sally, digital photography

I shot this self-portrait in my driveway. To emulate aristocratic portraits, I draped my chair in my gold silk coverlet. The camera represents my freelance photography business. The Blue Morpho Butterfly is the symbol of my company, Dreaming Butterfly Productions.

Page 179


Sarah Parker currently teaches Special Education in a small Northern New Mexico elementary school.  Her passion lies in radio production, print making, and interactive community art projects. She has produced independent pieces for community radio stations in Southern Colorado and Northern New Mexico since 2005. Parker’s commitment is to the importance of our communities’ voices, and the dissemination of these voices into the wider population.  She uses interactive art projects to begin conversations about community and our roles as individuals in that greater community. Our stories are what connect our common experiences and distinguish our unique perspectives.

Time, video art, 2021
This piece takes a comic look at our lives constantly searching for time to exist.

Page 180

Sarah Parker cont.

Falling Up, animation 2021
Falling up is a compilation of different animation styles: hand drawn and erased on paper, hand drawn in Procreate, and animation created in After Effects.

Page 181

Sarah Parker cont.

Humans Love Land, digital media art using glitching and sound, 2022
This piece was created by changing the code in recordings from the internet.  The change in code creates a glitch. The piece implies that humans are the glitch on the earth.

Page 182

Seana Coats

Seana fell in love with pottery after taking her first ceramics class at UNM-Taos during the Spring 2017 term.  She is fascinated by the many different ways that clay can be formed and fired.  From hand building and wheel throwing to raku and electric firing, she finds that clay is a never ending wonder.  She has been enjoying taking the Ceramics II and Yoga for Wellness courses this Spring 2022 semester.

Kohiki Bowl, red iron stoneware, 3x7x7", 2022

This bowl was wheel thrown then white kohiki slip was applied to the outside walls of bowl and stretched by hand to create cracks in the slip.  It was then fired in cone 6 oxidation with Sage Green glaze on the inside and red iron oxide wash on outside.

Page 183

Seana Coats cont.

Round Lidded Jar, red iron stoneware, 3.75x4x4", 2022

The jar and lid were wheel thrown and a hand built knob was attached to the lid.  It was raku fired with alternating wavy bands of Messenger Crawl and Alligator Crawl glazes.

Page 184

Stephanie Moller

Stephanie Moller's family, comprised of musicians, opera singers, dancers, inspired in her the longing to express their stories, as well as hers, through the performing and fine arts.Stephanie's first form of artistic expression was through ballet. She studied Ballet and Theater Arts at the University of Alabama and went on to teach ballet and creative dance at the acclaimed Irina Makai School of Ballet in Chicago. After moving to Wisconsin, Stephanie took up printmaking and enrolled at the University of Wisconsin in Stevens Point where she earned her Bachelor of Fine Arts in Printmaking. She studied all disciplines of art at the  UW. Stephanie was awarded a memembership at the Gallery Q in downtown Stevens Point, where she helped establish the project " Verse and Vision " a collaboration of Wisconsin Artists, students, and poets. This projects produced two books that intertwine poetry with art. Stephanie has lived in Taos for the last seven years.She practices her printing techniques at the UNM Taos studio, where she has been inspired and enriched by the teaching and mentoring of Jennifer Lynch and Gary Cook and the company of fellow printmakers. Stephanie is actively engaged in Pressing On a Show of Contemporary Taos Printmakers every year. She sings in the St. James Episcopal Church choir and is active in the St. James community

Cloud Dwelling Triptych,
mixed-media collagraph print
34x30", 2020
This Collagraph was inspired by the novelette “ Tower of Babylon” by author Ted Chiang.

Page 185

Stephanie Moller cont.

Feather, soft ground intaglio etching, 11x14"
This soft ground etching attempts to capture the fluid, lyrical, transparently of a floating feather.

Memories, mezzotint, 11x15"
This mezzotint engraving is inspired by the magical histories of the Cathedrals of our world and the many forgotten stories of our ancestors built them.

Page 186

Teresa Lara

Teresa Lara is a Certified Occupational Therapy Assistant (COTA) from Los Lunas, New Mexico. She works in the local school district in addition to an outpatient pediatric clinic in Los Lunas. She works with children ranging from pre-K through High School, and has worked in the OT field for 7 seven years now. Working in this field consists of working with disabled children of all ages and behavioral problems carrying a caseload of 40 plus students between two schools. Ms. Lara has always been interested in photography. Amongst other things/hobbies, photography is on the top of the list. She enjoys taking pictures of different landscapes, objects, and things that are meaningful in her life. She has never taken a photography class before, but has always been interested in the skills it takes to become a good photographer. Ms. Lara has always taken pictures everywhere she goes whether it’s on her personal phone or camera. One place Ms. Lara would like to go explore and take pictures is Alaska. She is known for taking different landscapes and nature pictures and feels that Alaska would be one of the perfect places to be able to accomplish that.  

Sleepy Man, digital photography, 2022

The best sleep is obtained in the mountains.

Page 187

Teresa Lara cont.

Trophy Kill, digital photography, 2022

Hunting is about the journey and memories that you cherish forever.

Winding Time, digital photography, 2022

Life, Hope, Serenity, and Resilience.

Page 188

Teresa Lara cont.

Cowboy Hat, digital photography, 2022

Home is where you hang your hat.

Page 189

Thomas Allen

Tom is a returning student at UNM-Albuquerque while living in Taos. For 40 years he was a global traveler, vagabond, builder, father, and story teller—in no particular chronological or preferential order. When the pandemic changed the world, and academia went 100% online, Tom recognized the perfect moment for him to realize a dream and seized the opportunity to finish that degree started in 1977. His academic appetite is satisfied with International Studies. Returning to undergraduate academia after four decades has a special set of rewards and challenges. Tom had not kept pace with technologic advances for online learning platforms in that long period of time, so while not completely computer illiterate, the learning curve has been steep. What quickly became evident was that knowing how to shoot, edit, and submit videos is a very basic learning tool as well as a communication method required across all disciplines.

The One and Only, Steve Stahl!, Zoom video recording with stills and video added, 2022
Steve and I were ship mates on his Dory, the "Cañyonita," in Sept. of 2021.

Page 190

Thomas Allen cont.

A Chat with Jono Manson, Zoom video recording with stills and video added, 2022
Jono is a friend who has had a long and storied career in the music industry. His path has been anything but straight, and continues to be incredibly interesting.

One Minute with Tennant, Zoom video recording with stills and video added, 2022
Tennant is my son and lives in Manhattan. He has had a love for music since very early on, and started piano about eight years ago.

Page 191

Timothy Pilgrim

Tim is a community member of Taos. He has been published in Howl several times.

Ruined, buried, lost

Weighed down, hollow, on caprice,

I flee east — Utah, Blanding,

check in, try to eat at Yaks —

won’t serve the masked. Drive south,

hike brushy draw to shrouded ruins

near Butler Wash. Overhang, high,

cut so deep breezes swept away 

summer heat. Clean clay walls, 

vast windows facing west, ceilings

ancient Hopi could stand upright in.

A cavern behind, huge, room enough

to dance. Path down to willowed stream,

fire pit, wide — ten ears of corn 

could roast side by side. Elders believed 

this place would last would last forever — 

until the cliff collapsed. Dwellers

went to sleep, their bellies full, safe

from raids, certain of another dawn. 

Midnight, a quake, maybe rain,

or sandstone under strain. The wall 

came down, buried children, parents, 

lovers, dogs. They lie below, still,

I gather pottery shards, place them

face-up in a line, peer into cave.

I recite their lives, see spirits rise

from darkness, scream in black wind, 

chase me down the flume. Alone,

motel room, I pace, brood, rue

old ruins, mostly mine, unearth 

fresh gloom. Finally, sleep. The dead

come to life, plunder my dream,

bury me, leave me behind.

Page 192

Victoria Chavez

Victoria Chavez is currently enrolled in the Early Childhood program. She is working toward receiving my AA as well furthering her education to become a lead teacher. Currently she is taking my last ECED course/ Practicum and English 1120.

The Thrill of the Hunt

Three A.M., I’m woken by my phone flashing and vibrating coming from beside me. I quickly roll over to turn off my alarm. I walk to my bathroom and stand in front of my mirror rubbing my eyes and begin throwing myself together. I paint my face, straighten my hair and before I know it my fiancé Tim is rushing through the bathroom door “are you almost ready?” I then ran to my room throwing my hunting clothes and boots on as fast as I could. As I am getting ready, I hear my front door open and close repeatedly.  Tim is making sure we have not forgotten anything.  As I walked outside, I looked up to the sky, I saw that it was navy blue with millions of diamonds twinkling across the sky with a waxing crescent high above. We jump into the vehicle, and I hauled ass through the back roads to get to Ranchos to pick up my father-in-law (Mario) and my uncle (Mike). 

I was speeding on Highway 518, flying through Talpa so that we could be the first ones to the gate, on opening morning. I hang a left, it takes us up the bumpy dirt road, everything in the back is sliding and bouncing around. I step on gas, picking up the speed because I know any minute the sun is going to peak over the mountains. I pull over to jump to the passenger seat, I look out my window and I see the silhouette of pine trees surrounding us, while driving it looked as if the mountains and trees were on an escalator. 

The sun starts peeking over the mountain as we come to a winding S turn and Tim shouts “babe there’s a turkey!” I jump out of the vehicle with my heart jumping out of my chest, pumping, and loading my gun. This turkey looked like a rock right on the side of the road as it played dead. I slowly creeped up and I got a good look at this hen, she got up on her feet and took off gliding up the mountain.

We finally got to our destination, and Tim kept telling me to be ready, to keep my eyes peeled and my window down. My eyes were watering from the cool breeze as he drove about 15 miles per hour, I felt like a child getting sleepy by the drive. But deep in conversation my body jerks from the brakes. Tim is pointing forward telling me “There they are babe you better get off and run” I look forward and I see over the hill four Toms, one was strutting around. As we saw them, they saw us. I jumped off the vehicle and took off running after them. They were about 150 yards in front of me, running straight up the valley. So many thoughts were running through my mind, my heart was racing, I could feel it pounding on my chest as if it could pop out at any moment. I had to control my breathing and strategize a little because these birds had a head start. I got to the point where we first saw them, and I started to feel a little discouraged thinking they were getting away, but I didn’t give up! I kept praying that I wouldn’t break an ankle by stepping into a prairie dog hole. I kept running straight up the mountain and decided to run up more at an angle, there were thousands of pine trees and oaks getting in my way, however, I never took my eyes off the turkeys.

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Victoria Chavez cont.

While I was still running, I put my gun up and took a shot and I could see that they were still running through the trees. I continued running straight up a little more till I got to a small clearing, so I decided that this was my only shot before I would lose them in the pines and oak shrubs. My hands and fingers were numb, I came to a complete stop and picked my gun up, held my breath, and took my final shot.  All I could hear was my heart pounding and a weird flopping sound tumbling down the mountain. By then I only had a little more run in me, my adrenaline kicked in as I ran up a little way, I could see the turkey tumbling down flopping its wings crunching through the leaves. By then I could not even feel my feet, but I knew he was down. I stopped running, turning around to see our vehicle racing up the road with the windows down with my guys hanging out the windows and my honey yelling “Fuck yea she got him” out the window as it echoed throughout the canyon. Before I knew it Tim was running straight up the mountain, meeting up to me standing next to my Tom. I could see the excitement in his eyes as he picked me up and kissed me. I grabbed my Tom by its legs and threw him over my shoulder as I walked down the mountain with a smile for miles. Halfway down the mountain I finally met up with my father-in-law and uncle, I could see their excitement from a mile away. They congratulated me with a hug and a high five and quickly went to see how long the beard is. I prop the turkey on the ground where it was covered with thousands of pine needles, pinecones, pinon, and crisp leaves from fall that covering the ground like a blanket. 

I quickly looked up to the sky taking in a long deep breath thanking God, the morning sky was so beautiful it was pink and orange it reminded me of sherbet ice cream then suddenly I came back in focus to smile for the camera. 

I stop for a second reminiscing on my turkey hunt the year before. It was an epic failure, I posted up behind a pine tree silently waiting for my honey to call in a Tom. He sat up the mountain two or three feet away from me throwing calls. As we are looking downwards, we hear the turkey gobble from a distance. I quickly got on my knees patiently waiting for the Tom to come up to the canyon. My heart is pounding, my knees have pine needles poking through my attire. Then suddenly, I hear him gobble close by, I hear my honey saying “shoot, shoot” I peek around the tree, and I see nothing. I hide again, this time facing him whispering “Where is he” He points so I look again with my shot gun loaded ready to aim. My honey strikes another call and this time the Tom gets suspicious, startled, and begins to run. I pointed my gun and turned to see my honey running with his shot gun, I put my gun down and BOOM the first shot went off and shortly after another round went off followed by my babe yelling “Fuck Yea.” I ran over to where the excitement was, he had the turkey by its legs, and it was still flopping its wings. I bent over and grabbed a big piece of basalt and cracked it over its head until he went limb. After congratulating my honey and taking pictures I had to joke around with him, I said “thanks for killing my bird.” laughing away on our drive home.

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Yvonne Pesquera

Yvonne Pesquera wrote the first draft of this story in May 2021––on the day she read in the Albuquerque Journal about New Mexico’s ranking as 49th in the nation in literacy. People in powerful positions often typecast Spanish-heritage laborers as “illegal Mexicans.” But that’s a false narrative. In fact, U.S. citizens are the majority demographic for laborers. And what goes unsaid and unexamined is that many Americans turn to labor because the public school system has failed to teach them how to read and write beyond an elementary level. Yvonne experienced this illiteracy phenomenon firsthand over the course of two decades. She served as a volunteer literacy tutor in New York City, Boston, and here in Taos at UNM’s Taos Education and Career Center. Additionally, Yvonne has published essays about her literacy tutoring experience in The America Magazine and the Chicken Soup for the Volunteer Soul book; with her key theme being: Illiterate Americans are U.S. citizens who have been robbed of the right to a functioning public education. Yvonne has been accepted by UNM’s Anderson School of Management––and begins her Online MBA Program in Summer 2022. She has selected “Diversity in Leadership” as her specialty management track.

Do You Want More or Less?

Cecelia wasn’t some hot, young woman. But her shapely curves held up well in middle age. Which is why, no matter how she strived for modesty by layering a cotton tank under her polyester blouse, hungry men still eyed the puckering fabric in her cleavage. Just like the lunch customer seated at the picnic table across from her grill. 

The balding man said with a Texas accent, “Leave those burgers. Come sit with me.” His wedding band glinted as he patted the bench suggestively. 

Cecelia forced a service smile and jabbed her long double-pronged fork toward the plastic pitcher in front of him. “You’re turning red. You should drink more water.” 

She fixed her eyes on the flames and pretended to concentrate on flipping the meat. Cecelia’s jaw hardened. She wanted to tell the customer to fuck off, but she needed this extra income to cover Fermé’s half of the rent and utilities.

When word got out last week that Cecelia’s husband Fermé had left for some bruja in Farmington, John the Old Cowboy (as he called himself) popped his head into La Comida’s kitchen. Among the crush and rush of the lunch ticket orders, he asked Cecelia, “Want to work the Saturday lunch shift on my chuck wagon?” 

Cecelia looked up, wiped her forehead, and nodded––and went back to sprinkling queso on enchiladas. She knew the old cowboy as a regular patron who showed decency to the waitresses. 


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Yvonne Pesquera cont.

The grease crackled and spit in the open flame grill. But different from the poor vent job at La Comida, a fresh pine breeze from the Columbine-Hondo Wilderness cooled her face. This was a good work situation. She should feel fortunate. But man, all she could feel was numb.

After the horse hands rode the customers back down the mountainside, Cecelia took her time in the late afternoon light at the trailhead. She washed and dried and arranged the cookout gear into the plastic tubs with care. John the Cowboy handed Cecelia a wad of cash and tipped the brim of his Mexican Palm. “Back next Saturday?” he asked. 

“Of course, I have nowhere else to go.” She had tried to be lighthearted but ended up sounding like someone with no soul.

When Cecelia drove onto the two-lane mountain road that would lead her back to town, her eyes welled up. She longed to be home, take a shower, and give herself the privacy to really break down. But her phone rang and she veered toward the yellow line and an oncoming rig blew its horn long and stern. She got the car back under control while still scrambling into her purse for her phone. “Please, God. Let it be Fermé,” she prayed aloud. 

It was Pablo, her pig boss calling from La Comida. He oinked and squealed that one of the cooks didn’t show up for the night shift. He said Cecelia had to come in and that if she didn’t, he would find someone else to replace her––permanently. 

“Ja, ja. I’m on my way,” and she hung up on him because she could later claim that the service dropped. But wow, this is her sixth day of working on her feet this week. Going in and chopping up fajitas and stuffing burritos would push her toward the brink of exhaustion.  

Yet, with swollen ankles and an aching back, she did manage to make it through the busy dinner service. Every fiber of her being ached to just get home. She would take two TylenolPM to help her sleep and not feel the ocean of loneliness her bed had become.

But before any of that pain relief could happen, Cecelia listlessly cleaned her kitchen station and the utensils for tomorrow’s breakfast cook. Pablo lingered next to her and with a sudden movement, he reached for a steel bowl on the shelf––deliberately brushing his hand across her breast. 

Cecelia recoiled so fast that the clean spatulas and tongs dropped the tiled floor with a clang. “What the hell?” she asked.

Pablo was a short, overweight man with a deviant smile and a habit of sweating profusely. “I heard Fermé split, huh?” 

She threw her hand up to her collarbone and exerted a force of air. “How dare you,” she said breathlessly. She came to her senses and quickly overstepped the fallen utensils to walk past him. At the coat rack, Cecelia grabbed her pink fleece jacket and zipped it tight to her chin.

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Yvonne Pesquera cont.

“I am ready to go home now,” which was her routine way of asking for her shift cash.

“Oh, you mean this?” Pablo pulled the pay envelope from his back pocket and held it aloft. “Let me ask you something. Do you want more––or less––in your envelope each week? ‘Cause…unless you start giving me more, you’re gonna get less, CeCe.”

“Don’t call me that!” That was Fermé’s nickname for her. Cecelia stepped forward to shove Pablo’s shoulder, but he grabbed her arm mid-flight and slammed it to the sink’s ledge. Bruised and afraid, Cecelia momentarily cowered. But her animal spirit roared up and she flung each dirty dish onto the floor with dramatic impact.

In the commotion Pablo yelled “Stop!” with his hands extended and Cecelia took the advantage of surprise to grab her cash envelope and rush for the back door as waitresses piled into the kitchen howling, “¡Ay Dios Mio!” 

Cecelia openly bawled as she pulled out of La Comida’s parking lot. She knew it would be the last time she would ever step foot in that place. 

Sobbing and shaking, she planned to drive to the Walgreen’s parking lot and call John the Cowboy from there. He would answer her call at this late hour. He would sympathize with Cecelia’s story and express support and moral outrage. And he would offer her a job at his ranch office on Main Street in Red River. It was a bit of a far drive but Cecelia would be in charge of fielding phone calls for cattle swaps and meatpacking schedules. 

But a pickup truck full of drunk teens swerved in front of her and woke her up from her tear-filled fantasy. She laid on the horn like a weapon and they laughed and shot her the finger. 

Cecelia wiped the snot from her nose. “Work in the ranch office––who am I kidding!” she shouted to the windshield. She could barely write her own name. In fact, just tonight Cecelia had barked at the waitresses for writing “quesadillas” and “chimichangas” on the tickets instead of the more clear #1 and #2. 

No, if Cecelia called the cowboy now, he would say something like: “You could start Monday with shoveling the manure.” And because he has a kind heart, he would call around to his friends to see if their wives needed their houses cleaned. 

“Why can’t I have more!” Cecelia raged to no one in particular. And softly asked herself, “Why can’t I be more?” Her chest heaved with heaviness as she fought to gulp hiccups and gasps of air. All the years of disappointment and loss flooded through her––and she had to overcorrect on the steering wheel to stay in her lane.

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Yvonne Pesquera cont.

The pickup swerved in front of her; its drunk driver drifting left and swaying back right. The teens in the back were vaping God-knows-what and obnoxious rap music vibrated the chassis. Cecelia recognized the danger of being behind them so she checked her mirrors to switch lanes. But traffic coursed tightly this evening since a high school basketball game had just let out.

Stuck behind the pickup, she noticed its UNM-Taos sticker and an idea lit her up like a spark: She should go back to school and get her GED.

The random idea stunned Cecelia, but she didn’t fight it. And with many blinks of her eyelashes to clear her clouded vision, the idea morphed into a firm conviction. She had a good head for numbers. And if she had a high school diploma, she could apply at the bank or at the supermarket and sign up for the union. 

Just then, out of nowhere, Cecelia spotted Fermé up ahead. It was actually him! He walked on the road’s shoulder under the amber glow of the street lamps and in the direction of their mobile park. She reached over and yanked the crank to roll down the passenger window. 

“Fermé!” she shouted into the din of the rushing traffic.

Cecelia couldn’t believe her dumb luck. She breathed in the sweet night air. Her chest burned with yearning, her mind brimmed with possibility, and she exhaled with hope––just as the pickup in front of her came to a sudden, deadening stop.

Artwork by Laurel Taylor

Bleeding Hearts Breathe, installation and performance, 2019

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Tano, digital art, Clip Studio Paint, 2021

Zoe Mangum

Zoe Mangum is a local artist and student at UNM-Taos. She began drawing at a young age but recently began drawing portraits within the past couple of years. She decided to start drawing portraits as a way to express her interests in characters in movies, video games, and other forms of media. As a student at UNM Taos she is a Liberal Arts major and is currently expanding her artistic interests with classes such as 3D Modeling and Photoshop.

Mira, digital art, Photoshop, 2021

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Zoe Mangum cont.

The General, digital art, Clip Studio Paint, 2021

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Zoe Mangum cont.

Fresh, digital art, Photoshop, 2021

My first attempt at painting digitally, I chose an avocado since the colours appealed to me and I found them fresh and vivid and wanted to give my take on it.

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Sarah Stolar

Sarah Stolar is the Chair of Fine Arts & Digital Media and teaches Drawing, Painting, Sculpture, and Art Practices. She is an interdisciplinary feminist artist and internationally awarded filmmaker. Sarah grew up in her mother’s art studio and esteemed art school Schain Studios, received a BFA in Painting from the Art Academy of Cincinnati, and an MFA in New Genres from the San Francisco Art Institute. Her work has been exhibited internationally with solo exhibitions at the Harwood Museum, the New Mexico Museum of Art, and BGMoCA in Montevideo, Uruguay.

Hold Me, ink, colored pencil, water soluble crayon, acrylic, block print on Stonehenge paper, 50x 38", 2021

A mixed media drawing about love and support for the interdisciplinary project The Grief Club. 

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Peter Walker is the Digital Media Program Coordinator. He is a filmmaker, photographer and educator. He is also a lifelong student of Aikido, a Japanese Martial Art. Peter grew up in his father's woodworking studio making sawdust. He earned his Masters Degree in Education from the University of Oregon and his Directors’ Certificate from the Asian Academy of Film and Television in New Delhi, India. He honed his filmmaking craft during three years of productions in Malaysia followed by a documentary in Costa Rica. Recently he spent a summer as an Artist-in-Residence at Arquetopia in Urubamba, Peru. He has been teaching media arts for 14 years. 

Under a Rainbow Sky, photography, 2020

This image is a tribute to my Dad. He always had an eye on the sky and a finger on the pulse of the artistic life. Gary Walker 1/29/1938 - 9/27/2020

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Associate Professor Gary Cook has forty years of teaching experience and currently teaches Drawing, Painting, Printmaking, and courses in Holistic Health. Over his career he has taught all levels of painting, drawing and printmaking as well as classes on consciousness, creativity, healing and personal awareness. He has developed programs with visual artists, writers, musicians, dream shamans, dancers and global educators. He teaches for both the art department and the Holistic Health and Healing Arts Program. Four museums, ten universities and fifteen galleries have exhibited his paintings and prints. He earned his MFA at Northern Illinois University and BFA at Michigan State University.

Reaching, monotype print, 30x20"

Everything has a lifeforce called spirit that reaches toward 

the light, the sun... God.

Icepack, oil on canvas, 60x60", 2021

Portrait of photographer, Rachael Jablo.

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Dave Mansfield teaches Motion Graphics and Animation for the Digital Media Department. He is a multi-media artist who grew up in Los Alamos, NM before working as an international recording artist for almost three decades as well as a CGI animator in the rarified air of Hollywood for almost a decade. In addition to teaching Video Production and Motion Graphics, he is also a full-time librarian with UNM-Taos. He has a BFA in Media Arts and Animation from the Art Institute of Colorado and is still actively recording music and creating music videos for his band, Society Burning. In February 2021, Dave released his 8th full-length album on the 30th anniversary of his band. Originally a pioneer of the Coldwave Industrial rock movement in the 1990’s, Dave has continued song writing and filming music videos in Taos, most notably the video Deleting Me Again was featured at the 2016 Berlin Short Film Festival.

Deleting Me Again (Official Music Video), video and animation, 2016

A modern Pygmalion tale for the information age. Written, directed, and filmed by Kiki Shakti. Music, animation and set design by Dave Mansfield.

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Johanna Case-Hofmeister

Johanna Case-Hofmeister is a photographer and multimedia artist based in Tesuque, New Mexico. She holds an MFA from Yale University and a BFA from SUNY Purchase. Her work has been exhibited at the Aperture Foundation, Jenkins Johnson Gallery, and the Bolinas Museum. In her work she employs the use of animal as metaphor to investigate difficult subjects centered around death, abuse, and systematic oppression whether affecting the personal, global, or societal. In opera and theater, she has worked on productions for The Juilliard School, The Metropolitan Opera, and LA Opera. Her work can be seen at

Nuns and Skull, archival inkjet print, 24x30", 2017

Whale-watching nuns and a blue whale skull.  

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Kelly Clement teaches Film Studies for the Digital Media Arts Department. He is a self-confessed movie addict who received his M.A. in film production from San Francisco State University in 1990. He has since produced and directed numerous films, videos and multimedia projects and has taught film classes at Minnesota College of Art and Design and UNM-Taos for the past 20 years. From 1995-2003 Kelly was the co-founder and Director of Programming for the Taos Talking Picture Festival. He has also worked with the True/False Film Festival, the Nantucket Film Festival and the Denver Film Festival. Currently he is the documentary film programmer for the Mill Valley Film Festival and the DocLands Documentary Film Festival.

DocLands 2021 Official Trailer

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Lee Akins teaches Ceramics, Sculpture, and Drawing at UNM-Taos. He was born in Texas, but grew up in Taiwan. He received his B.F.A. from the Dayton Art Institute, Ohio in 1975 and M.F.A. from Southern Methodist University in Ceramics in 1986. He has taught ceramics for more than 40 years. He has exhibited internationally in Taiwan and Japan and nationally including The Dallas Museum of Art. His work has been featured in ceramic magazines including an article in Ceramics Monthly, August/September 2006.

Covered Jar, terracotta, 13x12x12", 2020

Coil built, low fired oxidation, glazes and oxides

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Paula King teaches Intro to Art and a variety of Art History courses at UNM-Taos. Serving UNM-Taos since 2008, Paula shares her love for working with student learners, art-making, and the study of art appreciation and art history through online education. Paula's experience includes teaching studio art, digital photography, image editing, video production, and new media. She delivers art instruction to learners across the state of New Mexico and beyond. She continues to improve the experience of online instruction through research and training, designing UNM-Taos art courses to Quality Matters Standards. Degrees: Master of Fine Art Studio Art / Art History, Universidad de Guanajuato, Mx., Master of Science Studio Art / Art History, Texas A&M University, Bachelor of Fine Art, Studio Art / Art History, University of Texas, Austin. 

Muñecas. Querida Abuelita y Yo, mixed media, linoleum cut, and pastel, 11.5x15.5"

This work was done as a tribute to my Grandmother, Pauline. She supported me in my art and teaching and loved me as only a Grandmother can do.

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Lead Teacher: A. McPartlon 

Student Teachers: V. Chavez and C. Arreola-Ruiz 


The Kid's Campus serves children six weeks to five years of age. We are licensed by the New Mexico Children Youth and Families Department and participate in the Aim‐High quality rating system. We respect all children by treating them as capable intelligent individuals, setting and meeting individual goals based on their own interests and providing a safe and nurturing environment for exploration and discovery.


Over the past month, our class has been studying 'Our Bodies'. We chose to study the body with children because of a provocation we did around, “what is love?” During this study children consistently referred to their heart, the feeling in their heart, and know it in their heart. We wanted to help children explore their hearts and the feeling they have in there.

During the study of the body, we have looked at the different systems of the body. We started with the bones and then moved to the heart and veins. For the past two weeks, we have looked at the organs. Next week we will wrap up with muscles and skin.

With each different system, we started small and then worked our way to the whole body. Children worked together in small groups to trace one another’s bodies. We first used large butcher paper for the skeleton system. Then for the heart and veins, we used clear paper and layered it on top of the butcher paper so that children were able to see how the body works together as a whole.

Throughout the study, we have used many different mediums to help children observe, understand, and represent their thoughts about the body. Through this study, children have been representing their bodies through drawings using pastels, markers, colored pencils, clay, plastic, paint, and paper bags.

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UNM-Taos Kids Campus cont.

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UNM-Taos Kids Campus cont.

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University of New Mexico-Taos 1157 County Road 110, Ranchos de Taos, NM 87557

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UNM-Taos is one of the newest and smallest of the UNM branches, yet in 2011 was ranked as one of the top 25 community colleges in the nation for growth. We boast a sophisticated curriculum and highly qualified faculty. The campus is situated in a high mountain valley between the Rio Grande and the 1,000 year-old Taos Pueblo. Klauer Campus reflects Taos' laid-back style known throughout the Southwest. And it honors the area's connection to the land and conservation efforts; the campus is fully powered by one of the largest solar arrays in New Mexico.


UNM-Taos Department of Fine Arts and Digital Media inspires students to tap into their creative potential by learning practical techniques, exploring alternative methods in art making, and honing their critical eye. The Fine Arts and Digital Media Art programs are made up of a diverse group of students with a range of interests and approaches to art and film. We embrace this diversity and support all students with their degree choice, future goals, and artistic intentions. Students taking courses in Fine Arts and Digital Media discover how art positively impacts their personal and professional lives.

UNM-Taos Department of Fine Arts and Digital Media is committed to engaging students in a rich dialogue on contemporary art and art history. Students learn traditional foundations, contemporary approaches, interdisciplinary practices, and conceptual problem solving. A core belief of Fine Arts and Digital Media is to help students understand the ever-changing nature of art, its affects on contemporary culture, and the discovery of their place in the global art community. 





A project by the UNM-Taos Department of Fine Arts and Digital Media

With support from Academic Affairs and BCAM

EDITOR & DESIGNER - Sarah Stolar

ASSISTANT EDITORS - Amie Chavez-Aguilar and Kathleen Knoth 

For artist contact, email

Rear cover artwork by Julia Salmons

Four, digital image, 2018

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HOWL: THE voice of UNM-Taos