your art here
front artist: amanda sandlin
AT WILD WOMAN
AMANDA SANDLIN is a self-trained artist, designer, illustrator, and voice of the At Wild Woman. Her art centers on personal experience, often as a woman exploring the wilderness of both inner and outer landscapes. Equal parts wanderer and homebody, you can likely find her in the studio, outside climbing boulders, or cuddling her dog, Dewey.
lucas richards & giulio d’amore
THE MAKINGS OF MAD MORTIMER
Dear Friend and Colleague:
It is years now since I retreated to my mountain fastness, this remote laboratory far from civilization, thinking I could find here a higher truth, some cosmic principle from which all have sprung. I have indeed made many discoveries that may yet shake the earth; but perhaps the greatest truth I have found is the primal need for like minds – for companions upon this mysterious journey.
I am lonely! At night I hear the wind howling through the valley and it seems some avatar of my yearning, mad with melancholy melody. You may say that I have you, and I can only express my gratitude for your constant support through our long friendship; but you are not here in the flesh, and I fear this yearning will only be satisfied by the sound of a living voice.
So I have set my mind to the problem. I have laid out my instruments and put thread to needle. It is life that I seek – the animating electrical fluid!
Day after day, night after night, I assemble my beakers and test tubes, petri dishes and cultures, batteries and lightning rods, like a general marshaling the ranks, marching onward to victory. Ever the sounds of bubbling liquids and crackling sparks echo through the lab, and heady scents pervade the air, from such a plethora of ingredients as would baffle the ancients. Plasma and potassium, pinkroot and polonium! Flasks and fur, funnels and floridium!
At times it seems my own mind is spinning out of control, ideas striving to burst forth from my skull like Athena from the head of Zeus. I hear voices – are they my own thoughts? – heart-rending sobs, gleeful laughter. I forget who and where I am, even as my fingers continue to knot and suture.
Nor have these hands labored in vain! Already my work has born living fruit, and I accompany this letter with photographs of my offspring as proof. Yes, they are small, but they are full of vitality, squealing and squirming like happy pups. Shout my successes to the world, if you will!
And if you think this is the limit of my craft, you are mistaken! Like the silver glimmer of light over the horizon near dawn, I sense a greater creation yet to be. Its form shimmers before me, strange in silhouette, rife with potential.
Enough! I have spent too much time writing this already. I must work!
With warmest regards, your friend,
Dr. Mortimer J. Mortimer