WELCOME

Written by: Tamar Simone Weir In my early 20's my entire extended family decided it would be a good idea to get together, in a foreign...

Written by: Tamar Simone Weir In 7th grade, my small arts middle school decided it would be a good idea to take a field trip to the...

Written by: Tamar Simone Weir I remember the first time exploring my queer sexuality with another woman, she looked at me at a party,...

What can be used as a dildo?

Written by: Tamar Simone Weir. October 13, 2024 I woke up one Saturday morning, the sun blindingly bright, running late in my silk dress....

Written by: Tamar Simone Weir. 2020 As a child I was constantly told by my parents to be who I wanted to be. They encouraged me to...

Written by: Tamar Weir October 10, 2024 Artist of Image: Tarn Ellis jazz was playing in the background i dont remember what song and even if i did would it matter? breathing she said the more you relax and open the faster this will be repeating this mantra my mama told me crying in the sterile brightly lit bathroom no words were necessary just tears communicating through walls being held by the softness of fear what does it mean to be entered? and to submit to the sensation?

As I delved into what we call "art" I unpacked the messages of being a "good artist" and of the labeling we and others place onto people....

Brown sweet yucky-ness, it’s sticky and it was icky and wasn’t fragile and fruity-red or popping-pink. Brown wrinkled textured...

Written by: Tamar Simone Weir. Dec 21, 2020 Still sleepy, she comes to the small house by the street with the school. By the fence. By the water tower originally built on this land, marked with a bright-colored green on the clearly accented edges. Covered with a bright white, recently re-painted, “adding that authentic cottage look”. She gatherers her items. Her hands always full of something. This time she carries her mother’s painted and acrylic stained jacket, a pot full o