• Readings by Della Watson, John Sakkis and Megan Breiseth
  • CONFLUENCE: a site-specific acoustic installation by Kate Lee Short that examines the way humans subconsciously use sound to process their surroundings and explores the ability of architecture to mirror psychological spaces or states of mind.


  • Readings and performance by Vanessa Flores, Anhvu Buchanan + chapbook release and reading by Writer in Residence Emji Spero
  • ALL WAYS LEAD TO THE MILL: a solo exhibition by Jamil Hellu examining the conflicts that emerge at the intersection of Middle-Eastern heritage and queerness, questioning the complexities and stereotypes associated with his Syrian roots and Arab ethnicity.


AlterLandEscape: sculpture, video and multi-channel installation works by John Tronsor, May Wilson and Centa Schumacher that remap the height and depth of Aggregate Space Gallery’s physical landscape.

from the chapbook save the monsters (2015)

by Nico Peck

i seeped w/ weak indifference

sank below ground

a light

a lantern in a culvert

this land rots

in the heat

till finding day night

and sleep

through storms and earthquakes

i dreamt

the taste of copper

walked under

dry skies

and i

i, when calm and strong

listened to my sleep talk

my rest, low and close

i knew where to go

under high Polaris

clear charnel marked w/ prayer

tame, i sat – quenched & awake

and then my heart filled

then my hands worked at the rock

and the tree

nearby, a heron stood

still and grey,

tree and rock

at work

hands, my filled


stirred w/ thirst

sat wild

and unmarked

the rock &nd the tree

the tree and the rock


the oak and the rock

what is thrown


from my mouth

to save chimera

to save us monsters

the oak and the stone

the stone and the oak

who would be slain

by fear thrown

who would save the trans*

from their subduing
“toward thou I will bend my bow

and speak an oath” – after Pindar

when in the forest & having a dream

of a silvery dragon

emerging or somehow growing out of my torso

the dragon

of my habit, tempered

by old desires left to rot

some say “dragon” comes from the P.I.E. “derk-“

meaning “to see” or perhaps “clear seeing one”

others call dragons worms

but i have felt the heat

of being seen

the burning away of that which does not abet the traveler

an old longing forges rage, yes

“we know to sing reality, when we will”*

o death of death

*from Hesiod

Ben Black, Gillian Olivia Blythe Hamel & Matt Shears

OLD GROWTH: Terry Peterson’s kinetic sculptures on preservation and decay, masculine identity and human inheritance, informed by his hometown logging community

Excerpt from the chapbook Artifacts (June 2015)

by Ben Black


I’m looking at all these dead fish, and they’re looking back at me. That look of horror as I slice them down the middle and remove their heads—gets me every time. That’s why I do it here, in front of the window. Something else to look at, out in the yard. That’s why I listen to the police scanner while I gut—I’ve never gutted in silence so I can’t say the fish don’t say anything, don’t comment on what I’m doing. All I hear is static or human voices talking in numbers. Keeps me from hearing the fish’s side of things. What story would a fish tell anyway?

Sometimes it’s too much. When he brings home a full hanger of them I can already feel my legs ache from the time I’ll spend getting guts all over my arms pulling out bones and piling up heads. Sometimes I think I’ll keep the heads—Put ’em in jars on the windowsill, let them see what I see every day. A change of pace. Something besides the dirty river water and the silty river bottom and the ass of the fish in front of them all day long.

And being in the jars will keep them quiet. If they can speak. Maybe I’ll hear a soft mumble, but it won’t bother me much on most days. Today the police scanner is quieter than it’s been in a while. All I’m getting outside of the gentle flow of static is a few staccato beeps every quarter hour. That’s not enough—I could hear a fish speak easy if he chose to. Turning up the volume only sounds like turning on the tap—more static comes flowing out. I’m swimming in it, immersed in a static river piled up with fish corpses. The water barely has room to slide around us, me and the fishheads, sitting together in the middle, looking for a new view.

Geraldine Kim, David Lau & Andrew Joron

Cringe: a video exhibition of self-reflexive performances, awkward personal narratives, and portrayals of the artist as an alter-ego rejecting social norms

From the chapbook: NO FACE, JUST BOOBS (February 2015)

by Geraldine Kim


Wish it were my clit instead

or just my melting fat

the mess-oh-potamia of it

the unreal red

in hair, eyelashes were looking

I laughed, giggled, whatever

my clit and brownie bits

do not use the term “abduction”

just “fake milk”

Dear Manual,

Listen, nothing ever happened.

She just seemed kind of busty looking.

HIM: When will you stop? (no face, just boobs)

HER: Fat fingers, fat palms.

The best angles: full frontal

the skin we all inhabit

just know how to use tongue

it’s a bow, a bow that’s already been

or, facing camera, you stop labor

(looking down a lot of shirts)

I see your face

Nora Toomey, Angela Hume, Wendy Trevino

MobileInTent: Alta California + Parts Close By, Re-mapping Forms, Trees, Rivers: artists from Oakland, Berlin and Guadalajara push against questions of walls, distribution and ecology.