Photography from Ryan Fairfield’s time at The School of the New York Times.
Photos from Tunnel’s fall 2017 open mic.
Avant-garde artwork from LA based artist Serge Serum!
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 …