An altogether arguable list of the Valley’s Top 10 defining art “movements.”
Hot Topics, by design, are meant to court a little controversy. We expect it when we’re writing about hot-button, politicized topics like education, immigration, gun rights, etc. What we didn’t expect was for this month’s topic – defining art movements in the history of the Phoenix metropolitan area – to be such a lightning rod. As a staff, we drafted a malleable, preliminary list of local art movements and then took it to the experts – art history professors, museum curators, gallery owners and even the artists themselves – for commentary, enlightenment and editing. We were quickly schooled on our incorrect use of the term “movement,” since some of our nominees are better defined as a “discipline” or “genre” than a specific school of artists in a particular time period. We concurrently received a crash course in Valley art history, something we don’t remember getting in primary school (not to drag that controversy into this one).
Boo! This Halloween season, PHOENIX magazine rounds up the angriest, vainest, freakiest, most altogether scary Arizonans.
Sure, zombies are scary. Backwoods axe-murderers, too. And hotels built on ancient Indian burial grounds? Always good for a fright.
But you know what really makes our blood run cold? Gun-toting brain doctors. Dirty Scottsdale. Polygamists.
To be sure, Arizona has given America the heebie jeebies hard and often over recent years, from the blood-stained saga of Jodi Arias to the underage sister wives of Colorado City. So, in this season of vampires, killer clowns and sexy-pirate Halloween costumes, we pay our respects to the Arizonans we’d never want to meet in a dark alley. Figurative or otherwise.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the verbal-sparring championships of the border! In this corner, wearing blue trunks and fighting for reform, are pro-immigration forces. In the other corner, wearing red trunks and fighting for border security, are pro-enforcement factions. And in the middle, weighing 800 pounds, is the “gorilla in the room,” accompanied by 60,000 children from Central America...
Has Arizona declared war on public education?
During the 2013-2014 school year, Peoria Unified School District superintendent Dr. Denton Santarelli held a series of “open chats” with administrators and teachers at each of the district’s more than 40 campuses. They were voluntary, after-hours, and Santarelli didn’t expect high attendance – people are busy, he figured. To his amazement, each discussion was packed with educators. After answering questions from students all day, they had many of their own.
As the sun sets on Jan Brewer’s governorship, PHOENIX magazine looks to the past to put her work in perspective. 22 Arizona governors in all. Ranked for your edification.
Was Jan Brewer a good governor for Arizona? A bad governor? A fair-to-middling governor, maybe in the league of Ernest “Stumpy” McFarland? Meaningful questions to ask as she winds down her historic two-term governorship.
John Conneally joined the Navy in 1976 and spent five and a half years aboard an ocean-going mine sweeper. After his service, he enrolled at ASU and joined the Navy Reserve for an additional five years. It was 1981, and the future looked bright. He went on to have a career as a computer programmer, got married and had children, and bought a house and a boat.
But 14 years after his discharge from the military, everything fell apart. “I was once a high-dollar COBOL programmer, but when Y2K ended, guys like me became a dime a dozen. I lost my home, my wife, my kids, my truck, my boat and my dog in a few months,” Conneally, 55, says. “I remember standing in the Salt River bed one night, owning only the clothes I was wearing, and screaming at God.”
The dearth of male volunteers for Big Brothers Big Sisters of Arizona reflects a gender disparity in Valley volunteerism at large. Where are all the men?
The unmistakable sizzle of meat hitting hot oil buzzes through the room as eight pairs of big hands help eight pairs of little hands gently present the chicken breasts they’ve just gleefully pounded to the olive oil-coated pans in front of them. The chicken browns to a pale caramel and the little faces look up into the big ones with pride.