Month: January 2013

“Like Swimming Horses”

“Like Swimming Horses”

Stephanie Mercado is a Los Angeles artist. She received a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in painting and drawing from California State University Long Beach in 2007. She has exhibited nationally and internationally since 2006. In 2008 she traveled to Europe and studied painting independently, 

“Octopus Maiden”

“Octopus Maiden”

Stephanie Mercado is a Los Angeles artist. She received a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in painting and drawing from California State University Long Beach in 2007. She has exhibited nationally and internationally since 2006. In 2008 she traveled to Europe and studied painting independently, 

“The Game”

“The Game”

Stephanie Mercado is a Los Angeles artist. She received a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in painting and drawing from California State University Long Beach in 2007. She has exhibited nationally and internationally since 2006. In 2008 she traveled to Europe and studied painting independently, inspiring her to create the current body of work that merges historical European painting with contemporary issues concerning identity construction, displays of wealth, imperialism and the pursuit of the American Dream.

“Wolf Creek”

“Wolf Creek”

The creek-bed is littered with salt and silt and chicken wire. At one time, the cattle could stand   on their own. The fencing rust-eaten but still thick with heat. You stayed with the children   until they fell asleep. I tried to explain how 

“November Snowfall”

“November Snowfall”

A heavy snow was falling outside the windows of the lecture hall, great clumps of soft white snow. The late afternoon sky was pale silver, darkening to pewter gray. Elizabeth wondered how long it was going to take to dig her car out in the 

“Chicken Dinner”

“Chicken Dinner”

My grandmother would cook us dinner, chicken, acorn squash, and ice milk for dessert. She was diabetic and had flat blue ceramic bowls of stale candy wrapped in plastic and foil in her apartment. My grandfather would drive us places like the zoo at Central Park or sleigh riding at Delwood Country Club and wait in the car until we were done. She never let us ride in taxis and always carried tangerines in her purse. She would order extra chicken legs from the butcher for dinner. “I ordered extra chicken legs from the butcher just for you, Carolyn, because I know you love them,” she said. She would suck the bones of her chicken and pile them on her plate. Then she would take my bones and then my sister’s bones and then my grandfather’s bones and suck the marrow. If my parents were with us, she would suck their bones too. The bones balanced in a big heap on her plate. She wore big gold rings and licked wet chicken juice off her fingers. Then she would make coffee. She would push her plate to the side to make room for her ice milk dessert and her coffee with milk and sugar that she drank from bone china. Sometimes a sucked bone would fall onto the table, and she would pick it up and put it back on the bone mountain. She would pour her hot coffee so it would overflow, and then she’d slurp it from her saucer. She left brown coffee rings on the white tablecloth. I often wondered about all those boneless, legless chickens, wobbling like Weebles.

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