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Zushi
Kevin Chang’s yanagi slide-slices through the fish’s flesh, its blade gliding through geological layers of fat and muscle so alive they’re still swimming. The knife shepherds the sashimi to the side; then Chang lifts it with metal chopsticks to array it on the tray. If he touches it with his hands the warmth from his…
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For A Song
The brim of Emilio Nieto’s cowboy hat brushes my forehead as we bend our heads together and sing: Another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody. Closing our eyes, we reach for the harmony that belies the words. I got some money ’cause I just got paid…. Nieto is singing and strumming to an imaginary…
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Mike Jabbur
Mike Jabbur’s hands slide over the column of clay, compressing here, pulling there, his fingers scissoring to stretch open the top, the clay contorting in its spinning dance. He pulls a disc of plastic from his rack of tidy tools and presses in the swooping swirl that makes his mugs bend and twist like bodies…
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