I feared seeing my estranged, conservative father, but it was a risk worth taking — I’ve spent my whole life trying to forgive my father for destroying my mother. Theirs was a spectacular ’80s divorce. I’ve been furious ever since. It was he who shattered my mom into a million pieces. It was he who pushed her off the precipice of sanity into the dark…

Written by Mary Jo Smith, Photographs by T. Chick McClure I love potatoes. I love them fried and mashed and roasted of course but I also love them for how they look. All misshapen and bumpy, just plucked from the earth. …

I’ve lost access to my mom behind an ever-expanding tsunami of STUFF. She is a collector of things. But, not for curio cabinets. My mother lives inside a mountain of trash, dogs, cockroaches, and filth. She is insulated, befriended, comforted, shut-out, shut-in, imprisoned, and rendered invisible by STUFF. She is…

“Words” is an assault that begins to communicate the artist’s experience of his body and its physical attributes of gender being entirely unlike the way in which he experiences himself within. …