buried and unburied photos of friends, Ohio, and friends in Ohio
A collection of words and pictures shared with Tunnel in the past couple of months,
Curated by Amelia Anthony, created by individual artists.
Slideshow from LAX protests.
Latest photoset from Alex Muñoz.
Photographs by Alex Munoz Music from Ohad Gilbert ABOUT THE ARTISTS: Alex Muñoz is 18 and currently attends PCC. See his other work on Tunnel here. Ohad Gilbert is 14 and makes experimental electronic music. He started working on his first album during English class 8th grade rather than doing work. Check out the rest of his music on his bandcamp here.
Artwork by Eric Anaya Profile by Amelia Anthony I recently witnessed Eric weave straightfaced through a busy Saturday night in Little Tokyo, holding up a fresh pastel drawing of an alien (see below). People reacted as they always do: some laughed, smiled a bit cautiously, gave him a blank stare, veered away. He was unfazed and continued his way to The Smell, flashing his sketchbook to passerby. It was a fascinating not-quite-social experiment, and a most quintessential Eric Anaya move. He can be characterized by a single earring, a possibly-sly grin, and seemingly boundless charm. Despite an endearing ego, Eric is never be boring to be around; he is rarely in a bad mood and is always bleeding ideas. He calls himself a “progressive,” not in the political sense, but in the way he’s always on the go, antsy, hyperactive. A recent epiphany left him with a careful grasp on the universe and a knowledge of exactly what he wants to do with the rest of his life: make music and kiss cute girls. Eric …
A few weeks ago, I was going through old photos at my grandma’s house. Each drawer I opened seemed to be hiding sheafs of memories, like a flock of paper cranes ready to take flight. Even in the middle of boring suburban New Jersey, I could find fifty years plus worth of history and stories and emotions. It makes me wonder where else old histories might be hiding. What other memories lie forgotten in the drawers of our minds? _________________________________________________________________ home summer is the taste of watermelons. i grew up in the warm sepia glow of lamplight at night, the vague sound of distant fire trucks that somehow tell me everything is alright. the air conditioning is too cold, the fan’s face rotates its gaze around the room, protecting me, reminding me that i am where i belong. outside, the cicadas join a sound that is already in my head. (i translate every touch from japanese, i try my best). summer means long, hot nights where i lie flopped on …
TEI SPEAKS: ” thank you so much for lending your eyes to my pictures for a few moments of your wonderful colorful day i hope some of these things may have caused you to think fun or weird thoughts and i would love to listen to you in any way that you may want to share things you want to share at any time!!” Tei Park is an A1 hooman bean and one of Tunnel’s rolling artists. You can check out more of her work here, and find out more about our rolling artists/becoming a rolling artist here.
Images courtesy of Ashley Jimenez Six Things You Will Learn About Being American-Born Chinese by Rona Wang When you are seven and the kids at school pull up the outer corners of their eyes, call you chink or gook, you will not get it. You will not understand why they sneer at your lunches and your clothes and your punctured speech. At eight your favorite after-school television cartoon will feature a Mandarin-speaking character but the voice-actor only speaks gibberish, with the subtitle “Speaking Chinese” in bold underneath, as if that’s good enough to fool you. You learn this is how your language is perceived: a string of nonsense. You are nine and your mother still stumbles over vowels, cannot spit out her words without dipping them first in foreign tones, and you are embarrassed. Don’t be. Be proud of the courage it took for her to cross an ocean into a foreign land which told her she didn’t belong, which told her to go home. Be proud of the tenacity it took to survive the winters of …
RAIN by Alice Xu The sun burns cold in October & the cloth curved between my thighs catches rain. Beneath my palm: Rosalie’s cross. Bible once beneath. My body, spread out on sapped autumn oak. The cusp of middle-aged rust, rusting like last year’s sycamore leaves. I dream of Louis rubbing his neck & churchyards emptying their stomachs as the sun waits for a funeral. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Alice Xu is a high school senior who adores Jane Austen and her novels. She currently serves as a Co-Editor in Chief for her high school’s literary magazine, a Genre Editor for Polyphony H.S., and an Editorial Intern for The Blueshift Journal. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Textploit, Phosphene Literary Journal, The Riveter Review, and elsewhere. Photographs by Hana Tyszka Illustration by Eric Anaya