By Noah Humphrey (@knowaknow on Instagram and Mirakee)
You see the gracious work
The wondrous mirrors
The display case, wrapped in diamonds
Cultivated from the pressure you cannot understand
Or press onwards to cultivate in your own hearts
For you are afraid
Afraid, to venture toward that creativity
Afraid, to be rejected by the ones you love
Afraid to add your own image into that mirror
To call it friend
To call it a loved one
Family, acquaintance, teammate, individual, groups
A multiple faceted lie you carve into art
And you must embrace it, time and time again
To crowds who won’t hear, or cheer, to the face of the
broken man that lies dormant at the heart of a man’s misery
To face the blues of life within the empty repeating craft that
is the pen
And you cannot see your own gracious work no more
Because the one that loved the artwork itself became the
one most disillusioned to its gaze
I want others to see the horrors behind the mirrors
To grasp that the shattered glass behind every broken mirror
Gives more attention to the mirrors people need to see
To open minds, to close blinds, on the vessel that is
and forever will be the writers block of poetry
Enjoy staring at the mirror of stagnance
Artist Bio: "Hello, my name is Noah Humphrey, a 4th-year Religious Studies major with a minor in Holistic Care. I want to use poetry as my second voice to represent South Central LA, to portray my experiences, and to uplift others through my inspirational and quirky poems and creative works."
Pretty Little Mirrors was featured in Art Block Zine Volume 5; Issue 2 titled, Out of the Spotlight
To find more similar art, check out what we have in store by clicking here
When I was a baby lion, I did not know how to survive
I depended on you for that jungle to thrive
And I was confused when you ventured into the sunset
And I'm not sure if that was ever a regret
Because I ventured on my own, looking for a bone
Searching for you as I was your minor clone
And when I reached the hill tops for the view
That's when I knew, that our relation was through
So I decided that it was better to go in the other direction
And make my name a combo of fear and protection
I didn't need you, I was the perfect being on my own
Defend the lion kingdom and established my throne
I ventured the world in exaggerated amounts of luxury
And the jungle, yes they loved me
But when they all slept, I buried into my heart and wept
My image messy, and my actions unkept
All I wanted was for you to return
And not leave me in the burn
Of all the world, my life was twirled
And all I wanted was to be next to you curled
On My Own was featured in Art Block Zine Vol. 4, Issue 1 titled, Normal.
To purchase your copy Normal, visit our store here.
By Jeremy Arias
We sat in a circle on the floor drinking bitter punch and crunching chips like it was our last supper. My bag of chips erupted as I tore it open and accidentally called the attention of salivating mouths. Of all the chips in the party, how could I be the only person to have spicy?
“Can I have one?” A stretched finger enters my vision and points into the bag. I budge,
“You’re gonna have to share those bro,” a stern hand sticks out from the formerly friendly faces. I pass the bag to the left and everyone grabs a few chips and drops a bit from their own bag. By the time it gets back, I have the jungle juice of chips, barbecue, cheddar, sour cream, and even pita chips all masqueraded in my spicy lime bag.
A silence hung around as our mouths crunched in harmony.
“Did you guys hear Enrique’s dad might lose his store?” Francisco broke the silence and thousand yard stares in the room. There was a pulse of tension following his words.
“That can’t be true, I always buy my chips there!” Brandon blurted from across the circle as he raised his bag in the air. “I bought these on my way back from school.”
Side conversations took a moment of breath.
“That doesn’t mean his store is doing good, what if he has to pay rent?” Who was it that said that? I can’t remember.
“He does,” Francisco answered. “I overheard him talking to who I think was his landlord, and he seemed mad over money he hadn’t paid him.”
“But he gets so much business being next to the school, everyone goes there,” Michelle rebutted. “Are you sure they’re not betting on the World Cup again? You remember what happened last year!”
“Oh, yeah!” The room smirked and took a breath.
“Why don’t you just ask Enrique?” Brandon asked.
“Because he’s not here!” Francisco shouted in frustration.
“If he did lose the store, it wouldn’t be long until someone else opened a new one there,” Michelle added.
“It won’t be the same, Enrique’s dad knows us and likes us. This one tie I was taking some chips, an ice cream, and soda, and he didn’t even charge me,” Francisco recalled.
The bag of chips in my hand was from Enrique. I shared my chips with him earlier that day during lunch and he thanked me with a full bag after school. Was it true that he was going to lose the store?
I finished eating my chips and washed it down with a cup of punch as we changed the conversation to our teacher’s dating history and speculated what their miserable futures would look like.
By Tanya Sotelo
To say that this was not the roaring twenties that I think many of us had anticipated, is a gross understatement. The year started off as most New Year’s do with the clamoring on social media of “This is the year that everything is going to change! This will be my year to….!” While the former definitely came into fruition, granted not in the way I am sure most people meant, the latter equally has brought up possibilities that I do not think many considered. If the world had kept its course, I do not think as many people would find themselves in the year 2020 working to dismantle systems of oppression.
The pandemic and the protests against police brutality created the perfect storm of people being out of work and afforded the time and ability to mobilize in a way that frankly I do not believe has been possible in any other time in recent history. I don’t want to say that these events have brought to light the disparities in wealth, education, and health care. That state sanctioned brutality is rare, it’s not and has been a constant injustice that has been well documented to affect minorities and the disabled.
Of course, this is nothing new if you are a person of color, black, indigenous, LGTBQ, disabled or any human who happens to be a minority, this is a place we are familiar with. We are disproportionately injured, killed, and sentenced more harshly than our white counterparts. We know that we are still not equal, we do not have equity and we have inherited the plethora of disadvantages that have been passed down from generation to generation. What is new is more and more people who are not looking away. People are actively working to dismantle racism and prejudice within a much larger scale than ever before. Uncomfortable conversations are being had with friends, family, and colleagues. Relationships are breaking down and being rebuilt or we are finding that they are unrecoverable and are letting go.
We are on the precipice of change and while the media coverage may have slowed down for the time being the momentum and action of the people has not. I am seeing solidarity in so many intersections. I see battle cries rising for other causes, advocates sharing resources. Hurt people reaching out to other hurt people saying I see you; I stand with you, I will fight alongside you, and for you.
Being part of the DSTL Arts family I have seen this solidarity displayed across Concha’s y Café, Artblock and Aurtistic Zine. I look back at the last coffee shop meeting with the Aurtistic team. We shared stories of the microaggressions and dismissals of medical professionals. Between the brainstorming and planning the theme unanimously agreed upon was Advocacy.
While our zine was curated with submissions primarily focused on self-advocacy or advocating for our disabled children, being that our contributors are diverse in all aspects, experiences of dealing with discrimination subtle or blatant is woven into the fabric of the stories and poetry. It is in the lines and brushstrokes of the illustrations and paintings that grace the pages of our offerings. We celebrate and honor the work and creators soon the latest issue will be shared with the public.
As we adjust and evolve as individuals navigating these strange tumultuous waters, so too does Aurtistic. We feel strongly that our Autistic contributors should have an opportunity to not only share their art but they must also be part of the decision making and behind the scene creative process. I am happy to announce the creation of a guest editor position open to our Autistic contributors and followers.
By Jeremy Arias
Cheers echoed for blocks around Mariachi Plaza the last time I was there. There were more smiles, songs, dances, burning sage, and beats of the danza drum. Several weeks of solitude and quarantine have been broken here. We finally broke through the seals of our quarantine after several weeks, not because we wanted to, but because we had to.
I was wondering what the first major gathering I would attend following the COVID-19 Pandemic. I thought I’d go to a concert, getting my skull busted in a mosh pit, or maybe classroom. I didn’t think I would be slapping on a face mask and marching to Mariachi Plaza to mourn the death of George Floyd, an innocent soul lost to the hands of police brutality.
At the protest, members of the community told the stories of their loved ones lost to the brutality of the Los Angeles Police Department and Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. Boyle Heights is a community of many colors, we relate to the struggle in our own ways. People from every corner of the community gathered at Mariachi Plaza not to listen to music and celebrate, but to listen to each other and unite over our unfortunate similarities.
The space that previously brought us together for laughs and cheers now hosted our grief and tears. Together we marched to the streets of Downtown Los Angeles under the stare of riot shields and combat boots. We know. We know they know. Black Lives Matter.
Our current system is biased against us and it is important that we aren’t biased against each other. Yes, all lives do matter, and the protests aren’t limited to black people’s rights. There is a presence of tyranny in our country and we have to look after each other, otherwise we will be divided when the hammer of oppression is dropped in our direction. It might not have been you today, but if we watch each other fall there will be no one left standing to help us back up.
The content displayed here is submitted by various local authors, artists, and more, and is curated by the DSTL Arts Art Block Zine–Editorial Board. Works published here are done so with the permission of all artists involved. Artists hold all rights to their work, and none of it may be reproduced without their permission.