Spring Water Please Wash Over Me

Towards the top of the mountain the tangled road widens and I park my truck. Each trip I tell grandpa the same thing. ​“You just sit here and I’ll fill them up real quick.” ​Each trip he spits back, “I reckon surely I got one more in me.” ​Grandpa shuffles from the bed of my truck to a spring coming off the mountain. He has a gallon jug in each hand. The plastic is stained from the hundreds of trips they’ve made to the spring.​ The old man insists he can fill the jugs on his own so I smoke a cigarette and stare at the usual paper bags and dope needles clogging the ditch.​ The spring water trickles down a small face of slate rock. The first jug fills slowly. So slow I wonder if there’s even e

Leaving "Colonizers" in the Dust

“100 Ways White People Can Make Life Less Frustrating for People of Color.” Simply take that title, switch the phrases “White People” and “People of Color,” and try to imagine the backlash it would receive. This was the title of an article released by Broadly – affiliate of Vice – that surfaced on my Facebook page. Even as a woman of color, I was agitated by much of the piece. While the list touched on some important issues, the author certainly had to stretch in order to reach 100 points. This wasn’t my first time seeing a list such as this one – berating white people for their mere existence – and I am sure it will not be my last. ​ The article was shared many times and there was no sign o

Nihonga- Paintings by Jamie Welch

Artist's Statement: Often, I find myself at a loss for words and need to search for ways of expressing myself by other means. In my eagerness to express myself, I begin by exploring and translating my most vulnerable memories through the appliance of pigment on paper. With my art, I do not wish to simply recreate and replicate objects or places, but rather, I hope to discover the unconscious and ambiguous connections that drew me in and inspired me to give these moments a physical and lasting form.

I-70 East 7:55pm

There’s something in me that wants to run. A feeling that runs deep down past my feet into the roots and amongst the earth I seek to be a part of. ​ Who told you God wasn’t everywhere around you? ​ Because what I see, when I look at a tree line across a field of Color, is salvation. ​ And if I would start running towards it with the hopefulness I have in my heart that a secret was hidden in the stumps, just maybe it would actually be there upon arrival. A secret from God so strong that it would muster up all the tears I’ve tried to cry, but couldn’t pour out all these years. ​ Who said I couldn’t run? Because when I look at my skeletal, I have legs all the way up to my chest, and the only s