We don’t know where it goes. We don’t really care. When painting alla prima, you work back towards yourself. Oil based, wet-on-wet. Translated Italian: first attempt. Coat the canvas with magic white or phthalo blue. A single point of yellow, spread by the almighty fan brush, becomes the sun, the harvest moon. Clouds swirl and distant mountains rise from the borders, always outward in. Continue…
Winter 2015 Release Reading
This Saturday, February 21st at 7 pm, Portland Review celebrates the release of our winter issue with readings by local contributors. We would like you to join us! Featuring poetry and prose by: Chrys Tobey, Gabe Herron, Zachary Cosby, and Katharine Blake McFarland. Hosted at Ford Food & Drink (2505 SE 11th Ave., Portland, OR) http://www.fordfoodanddrink.com/ Free entry and open to all ages! New issues…
Blue Nude
after Matisse You have pencil-scarred knees, foot-soles. Bones and flesh round as worry-stone. If I took that right arch as if to rub clear the sweeping marks, you would press into my firm grip.
Spring 2015 Call for Submissions
Dear writers, artists, and friends, Portland Review is now open through February for a new batch of submissions for Spring 2015. We are looking for exceptional fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and art (full-color images included) to publish in our print issue and on the web. Accepted authors and artists receive one free issue, discounts on additional copies, and our unending gratitude. As usual, we do not accept unsolicited,…
Butterflies
It started with butterflies. Wings splayed and restrained. Proboscis coiled, but dormant. The softness, hardness, softness as the pins popped the abdomen, the innards, the felt. The crisp crack of Styrofoam. The tints of them, powdered on his every finger, cleansed with warm water and Ivory soap. “Good boy,” Dad would whisper, prodding, prodding under his nails until everything washed away. [This flash fiction piece…