
“Womb” by Zinnia Hansen
September 14, 2021
Do you remember when that tickling in our stomachs had a name? It was called God. The flowers bloomed to God’s rhythm and we danced in our underwear. Our families burned weed and bras and incense an...
A Blog of Seattle Arts & Lectures
Do you remember when that tickling in our stomachs had a name? It was called God. The flowers bloomed to God’s rhythm and we danced in our underwear. Our families burned weed and bras and incense an...
by Gabriela Denise Frank “If you’re going to have to figure out new things, artists are a good group to be with,” Alicia Craven, SAL’s Director of Education, noted.
Every year, Seattle Arts & Lectures’ Writers in the Schools (WITS) program holds the Elaine Wetterauer Writing Contest to celebrate the wisdom, creativity, and heart captured in student and te...
By Rebecca Hoogs, SAL Interim Executive Director It is my great pleasure to introduce Alberto Ríos to you. He is the author of fourteen books and chapbooks of poetry, three collections of short stori...
Roberto Contreras, of Licton Springs K-8 School, read this poem to open our 2020/21 Poetry Series event with Alberto Ríos on Friday, May 28, 2021.
Our utmost congratulations to the 2021 Elaine Wetterauer Writing Contest winners and runners-up! Every year, Seattle Arts & Lectures’ Writers in the Schools (WITS) program holds the Elaine Wette...
By Donna Miscolta This essay is part of a series in which Seattle Arts & Lectures partners with Poetry Northwest to present reflections on visiting writers from the SAL Poetry Series. On Friday, M...
By Rebecca Hoogs, SAL Interim Executive Director Natalie Diaz is the author of two acclaimed collections of poetry: When My Brother Was an Aztec and Postcolonial Love Poem. She is a poet, a scholar an...
In April, a group of students from Big Picture High School had a soul-enriching conversation with Robin Wall Kimmerer, in which they discussed writing, attention, and care and nurturing for and from t...
Gears of time, cogs of life home is the trees rushing by as I speed down a mountain, the scent of pine sap as I leave the ground, the shocks of a downhill bike absorbing force as I slam back down to e...