The language of tea is a universal one. For me, tea is synonymous with starting the day, with quality time, and perhaps most importantly, with home and family. I’ve always found other cultures most fascinating in their everyday rituals—my own included—and found myself wondering if the ritual of brewing and serving tea could be a portal to understanding cultures different from my own...
She had been full of stories, once upon a time. Each one a fresh drop of paint on a generational canvas, adding, defining, creating a legacy. Now in the twilight of her life, those stories dwindle. Every day her palette shrinks, she has fewer colors to choose from, and the brush shakes in her hand....
Cover of the Fall 2021 edition of I, Enheduanna by digital artist Ren Riley featuring models Rachel Robins, Kavya George, and Symantha Vega
In fall of 2020, perched in a grungy armchair as rain droned ceaselessly against my office window in rural England, I started a magazine. Through those hazy days of Covid isolation, the project became my lifeline--a connection to the friends I missed back in the United States and a way to meet new artists.
One year later, I can no longer accurately refer to I, Enheduanna as, “my magazine.” Today, we’re a growing community supported by seven dedicated writers, artists, and editors. We’ve solidified...
In the summer of 2020 as the COVID-19 pandemic surged, Julieta Gomez-Frittelli, a PhD candidate in chemical engineering at Stanford University, felt like time was slipping away from her until she turned to an age-old craft. “I was whiling away hours in a listless inability to focus, so I decided to...."
This foreboding light
shines bitter and broken
on those dreaming relentlessly
beneath the unforgiving sky...
Judah sheds his old life the night of his debut at the Majlis of Elders. The night is a dark canvas, poised for change. It’s befitting for Yalda, the longest night of the year and the eve of solstice. A row of lanterns sputter to life on the stage. Shadows dance and flicker, carving Judah out from the darkness before bathing him in a circle of warm, golden light...
“I was on the last flight out of Paris. That was eleven months ago,” recalled Romanian-American musician and filmmaker Ingrid Serban, “It’s been quiet. I spent a lot of time alone with nowhere to go other than where my bicycle or my feet took me...I wrote songs, talked to crows, discovered ruins and baked bread...I was sad a lot and laughed some too. I dreamed dreams and wrote more songs."...
