visual & literary arts || cultural events

Stain'd Arts is committed to uncovering the washed out wonder of the world. Seeking expressions of all kinds, in kind, and kindly but mostly honesty honestly, however dirty, however rough on its edges or insides (if its truly true to you) this is the breaking of the air brush, the truthful touch up, the you moments, the you seeing me moments, love in every quiet way, all the things you think and see (all the things you share and say). Strength in our vulnerability, insight through our scars and stains.
We all have them. We all make them.

Why not share them.

Stain'd is for us to challenge the habitual thoughts and actions of our time and place. It is for pushing back on the numbing comforts of our first world (consumption) and moving instead towards creation, unfamiliar representations of beauty, the baby and the blood. This is for the discussions we don’t want to have or don't know how to have and for bringing them into the room anyway. This is for celebrating the moments when no one is watching
(or when only you are).

This is what you make.

We are currently accepting submissions in visual art, poetry, fiction, creative non-fiction, six word stories, interviews, anything and everything in between.


This is for:

Molten cake and blood stained panties.
                                                                           Grass, scars, spitting.

Yellow teeth and the sloppy baby, oh baby
                                                                                            (and the love stains too)

these are the places from which we come, these are the stains that make the sinthome.
For the marks left and gone (some forgotten but not lost on the gods or anyone), the sweat
the divine sense of madness,
the grease from hair and the hot meat of others and oil, green chile and war
                                                             (and love all over again).

gas dust trash
piss pens paper
the sewers, the strip mines, and the rain
the mirrors and sinks

                                                                                 (and when no one is watching)
                                     This is the dirt in our decadence.
     The dead skin ecstatic in the air.
The sun shines on and there is light (there is meaning when we choose to make it) even in this land of loud noises and big machines growling (pleasure, poor pleasure), and yes, some bullshit, but light all around, a big beautiful mess of a world all around, filled with music and hands and some kind of howl, she smiles, he smiles, he cries, she cries, even in the dark because to lack one lacks both and this is where we find its silent reflection shouting

and you can too.