The Nat Gold Players Presents…
Box Seats: Originals and Look Who’s Playing God by Albert Johnson

Where: Tome on the Range
When: April 23-25
Times:  Friday 23 and Sat 24 at 7:30 PM and Sunday at 5:00 PM
Tickets: $10.00 adults $8.00 for seniors and $5.00 for students with a valid ID
People can get tickets from Jane Hyatt, LVAC, Tome, …

The face of a man – curiously missing eyes, missing teeth, his brain seemingly evaporated – almost grins from a pedestal in Burris Hall. Spikes protrude from his head, evidence of a piercing gone mad, of the torture of migraine, of a troublesome mauling with oversized golf tees, perhaps, or martini stirrers. Matthew C. Wicker’s, “Stacks,” is both disturbing and hilarious at once. An artist from New York, Wicker is one of over eighty professional iron artists in Iron Tribe.

“I was trying to describe this group of people,” explains David Lobdell, NMHU Department of Fine Arts professor, and curator of the Iron Tribe exhibition, now on display through Friday, March 6. “We are willing to spend our extra money to do this – we’ll drive across the country, drive for 30 hours one way. We didn’t go to school together. I learned it after school, when I was just started out at Highlands. We’re not necessarily friends. We come together out of our mutual interest. The world Tribe seemed to suit the group best, especially for the name of a program that happens in New Mexico.”

A warm pair of soft hands wiped the hair from my forehead. The Pacific Ocean roared from a tiny black boombox, its groan and tumble shifting my reality from winter wind to the promise of summer. I knew her shift of tide and sand, her captured echo of gull, of dried kelp rustling against barnacled moor. It’s been almost five …

The roads of Bernal skirt adobe home and coyote fence, roam past a cottage store where a curly-haired abuela sells you cans of fizzy drinks and bags of spicy hot potato chips. She speaks with a soft voice, with the graceful lilt of her Castilian ancestors. She knows why you’re here, why you let your car wheels embrace the frost-encrused …

by Birdie Jaworski

If you can’t pick who you want for President, you can always pick piñon.
An old woman squats close to the ground next to a short, squat pine. She wears a thick cabled sweater to protect her from the wind cascading across Starvation Peak. Her hands scurry through fallen needles, sifting for tiny elongated seed pods, dumping them by …

by Birdie Jaworski
A Japanese monk lifted an empty teapot, passing an empty cup, ritualistically savoring bitter tea that no longer exists as a chorus of monks sang "though the bowl is empty, the scent glows." Members of the Las Vegas Guild of the Santa Fe Opera leaned forward, let the music, as fine and enlightening as vapor from steaming green …

by Birdie Jaworski
Las Vegas resident Cassandra Ulibarri remembers last year’s iron pour, remembers the blast of furnace heat that warmed her face and hands as she watched a faceless man in protective gear ladle molten metal into hand-carved molds filled with sand. She placed her hand near her heart as she recounted her experience designing a simple tile.
“I came to …