Andrea Danowski I was going to start off with the story my dad always tells about how he almost knocked over a Giacometti once. I don't know if it was the one that recently sold for just over a hundred million dollars, but it was one of the Walking Man bronze sculptures. My...
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I need a camera, to my eye, to my eye, reminding which lies I’ve been hiding -Wilco, “Kamera” Many of my pictures are copies of my dad’s photos. Others were given to me by friends, or posted to their facebook accounts, but the majority are my own, for I am interested, like...
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“Tell me exactly how you did it,” she says. I covertly look to the right and to the left—as if a Star Trekesque escape pod will suddenly appear and I will
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It’s getting dark when the road curves into Moab. My twenty-two year old daughter is with me on my cross-continent divorce odyssey. Six weeks ago, her dad told me our thirty-year marriage was over and my life feels as stark as the landscape that surrounds us. I’ve made a reservation at a swank place
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Two Hawks Quarterly Issue 2 – Number 1 – Summer 2008
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