Ann Klefstad

Sitting thirty feet up in an old spruce tree, on a little metal throne tied onto the trunk, I’ve got quivering legs. My fear is intensified by the knowledge that old spruces are brittle, and this one is waving gently in a fairly stiff breeze. A few hundred yards away, traffic and voices from the … Read more

The patterns in Andrea Carlson’s paintings swirl in the corner of your eye and hold a fierce repose when you look at them straight on. There’s something living in there. It’s not so much complicated as simply un-nameable. In Aadinzookanaag (Spirits), for instance, angular cloud shapes stay just at the edge of resolving into figures … Read more

Duluth has a polo club left over from the days when it was one of the richest cities in America. Old Italian men still play bocce ball in the city’s West End. The Coney Island hot dog stand is the same one my dad went to in 1922, and the menu boards are still up … Read more

Chris Monroe, one of my favorite comic-strip artists, recently recounted the following “Lake Scene” vignette in her Violet Days strip: Every time I drive down this road, I see this little lake through the trees. It is quite perfect, with no cabins and lots of tiny islands covered with pine trees. Each time I see … Read more