When I was 14 years old, a buddy and I took all his GI Joe figurines out back, positioned them on a tree branch reaching over a creek and executed them with a BB gun. Goodbye, childhood, we thought.

Moments into a media walk-through of SITE Santa Fe’s exhibition Time-Lapse, I’m mentally preparing to retract comments I made about the absence of active culture in museums [The Curator, Nov. 9, 2011: “Where Culture Happens”], when a SITE employee approaches.

David Olson’s mother and grandmother were poets. At dinner, Olson’s father, a Swedish immigrant, would leave a line of poetry under a dinner plate for Olson or one of his siblings to discover and

The trio of artists over at Caldera Gallery consistently opens my mind— by way of my prejudices —to the possibilities in art.

Relaying stargazers’ complaints about city lights, the first half of the documentary film The City Dark risks becoming a platform for a fringe user group, until filmmaker Ian Cheney finally moves from anecdote to evidence, denouncing electric light as a harmful pollutant.

A year ago next month, my girlfriend of six years issued me the ultimatum—marriage and kids or a breakup. I chose the latter, telling her that, as much as I loved her, I couldn’t envision a life with children. She called me selfish, and she was right, but I couldn’t any longer uphold the illusion that I would change my mind/feelings.

“I think hot pregnancy sex,” my friend on FB says, “is evolution’s way of keeping the man in the cave when every other instinct tells him to run, run, run.”

Promising to discover how people really live in our nation’s highly symbolic, deeply mythologized frontier, two Swedes venture to the American West with pen and camera.

I began building a list of places to buy inexpensive, original artworks.

Mariel Nanasi and her assistant at New Energy Economy recently moved into a new office with a corner fireplace and the smell of recently installed carpet.