In the Year of Our Lord 2026, I can’t think of many ideas more audacious than launching an ad-free print magazine. Enter Hellmouth, whose inaugural edition landed with a splash last fall. The publication is the pièce de résistance of a new Knoxville-based nonprofit focused on cultural commentary, experimental writing and visual art rooted in this region.
The magazine grew out of conversations about what’s been missing from Knoxville’s arts landscape. There’s no shortage of events, talented artists and writers, or online promotion — but it can all feel piecemeal. What’s harder to find is a sustained place for reflection, context and conversation: a way to step back and understand how all of this fits together.
I sat down with two of Hellmouth’s co-founders, Editorial Director Sophia Wright and Head of Outreach Jared Gottschall, to learn why they felt compelled to publish on paper, what it’s like to build cultural infrastructure in a rapidly changing city, and what a physical magazine can still offer artists, writers and readers in Knoxville right now.
A Magazine You Can Feel
From the beginning, Jared says the goal was never to reject digital media outright. Online platforms matter, he acknowledges, but they’re also fleeting — unmoored from place, time and memory in a way print isn’t.
“We wanted something tactile,” he says. “It’s good to have that digital feed to know what’s going on, but it doesn’t feel as connected as something that’s made and printed and that you can feel and touch.”
Print, by contrast, anchors itself. You hold it. You keep it. You notice it sitting on a coffee table weeks later and pick it up again. That physicality matters to a publication whose values center on presence and connection.
Sophia points to Marshall McLuhan’s famous dictum: the medium is the message. If Hellmouth’s message is about attentiveness, dialogue and cultural depth, then the form had to embody that, too.
Can our modern goldfish attention spans handle 90 pages? I’d like to think so. The first story of Volume I is a satire titled “How to Read Print: An Instructional Refresher for the Digitally Inclined,” in which writer Claude De Lamater-Brotherton advises readers to first “lock your phone, slide it off the page and onto the floor. Simply leave it there, you won’t need it.”
Thumbing through the magazine, you sense the intention behind its making. A lot of people, from its creators to its contributors, put real care into it and that care is tangible. Thematically, it’s collaged in a way that feels adventurous from page to page, but step back and a braid of through-lines appears.
The idea seems to be landing. The most consistent feedback they hear happens before readers even open the magazine (which is available online here or from local vendors for $20). People pick it up, feel the weight, take in the (commissioned and paid) cover art and light up. “They’re already sold,” Jared says. “It feels different.”
Exhibit A: The first time I encountered a copy of Hellmouth: Volume I, I picked it up, closed my eyes, and instinctively rubbed its velveteen cover against my cheek. Depending on one’s age, print media might feel like nostalgia (hi), or it might feel like a novelty. Either way, the physical experience slows you down, reminding you that attention itself can still be a pleasure.
Filling the Print Media Gap
The idea for Hellmouth began taking shape during the pandemic, as Jared — relatively new to Knoxville at the time — tried to understand where arts and culture coverage had gone after the demise of print platforms like Metro Pulse and The Mercury.
“There was stuff online,” he says, “but it wasn’t unified. There wasn’t a narrative.”
Events were happening. Artists were working. Writers were writing. But there was no sustained place to step back and consider it on the whole. Print, he thought, might still have something to offer. Much like vinyl records, another supposedly obsolete medium that refuses to die.
Through galleries and events, Jared began connecting with others who were hungry for something broader and more visually driven. A small team coalesced, and their complementary backgrounds helped move things quickly from concept to execution.
Sophia came to the project after studying art history in Savannah and Boston, returning to Knoxville in 2022 and searching — sometimes with frustration — for the kind of cultural infrastructure she’d taken for granted elsewhere. “I had to really seek out the gems,” she says.
Weekly meetings turned into production schedules. Influences were gathered. A mission began to cohere.
At its core, Hellmouth aims to be a platform where artists and writers in Knoxville and Appalachia can see themselves, and be seen, without feeling they need to leave town to grow.
“There’s a brain drain,” Jared says plainly. “People finish what they need here, then go elsewhere because there isn’t opportunity.”
But the mission goes further than visibility. Both Sophia and Jared talk about education, not in an academic sense but in building shared cultural literacy. Appalachian craft traditions have long been championed locally, and Hellmouth isn’t interested in dismissing them. Instead, the goal is to expand the conversation: to situate the region within broader artistic, philosophical and even international contexts without flattening its identity.
The word “silos” comes up often in our conversation. Knoxville’s creative scene, they argue, isn’t lacking activity; it’s lacking connective tissue. Coverage tends to be promotional, surface-level, focused on drawing foot traffic rather than meaning. First Friday becomes about spending money downtown, not grappling with the work itself.
That fragmentation is reinforced, Sophia notes, by the city’s car-centric infrastructure. In walkable places like Savannah or transit-rich cities like Boston, it’s easier to slow down, wander and stumble into culture. Here, things can feel transactional and rushed.
One thing I’ve noticed, as IOK’s editor, is that more and more of the things I’m interested in are happening on the fringe of downtown or even off the beaten path entirely. I, personally, am always thirsty for guidance toward the DIY shows, the one-night exhibitions, the readings in borrowed rooms and repurposed corners that don’t always come with a press release or a marketing budget.
That’s part of what makes Hellmouth compelling. It isn’t trying to map the loudest parts of the scene; it’s paying attention to the quieter ones, too.
Why ‘Hellmouth’?
The term comes from medieval art and literature, where the hellmouth appears as a portal — a physical opening between worlds. Pagan in origin, later absorbed into Christian imagery, it’s rich with symbolism and visual history.
“It’s evocative,” Jared says. “There’s ‘mouth’ in it; it’s about giving voice.”
The magazine’s visual identity draws from Gothic traditions: calligraphy, blackletter forms, religious iconography. The question of how tradition carries into the contemporary world is one Hellmouth plans to explore more deeply in its second issue due out this spring, themed around “the sacred.”
Branding was refined by designer Margot Suchet, whose work helped pull the aesthetic into focus. “She nailed it,” Sophia says. “We knew immediately.”
As a nonprofit, Hellmouth is still very much a bootstrap operation. Fundraisers have included events and raves — one at Spacecraft helped fund the first print run. On Jan. 31 Hellmouth is partnering with Rutam for a Studio 54-themed event at Fourth & Gill’s ghost ship of a dance club, Sassy Ann’s. There’s also merchandise like screen-printed shirts and stickers available in the online shop. Contributors are paid, though modestly, and much of the labor remains volunteer-driven.
“We decided early on this isn’t just an art magazine,” Jared says. “It’s an art project in itself.”
Sustainability is an open question but momentum is building. Their working model has three interlocking parts: print, online content, and in-person events. Each feeds the others. Together, they form something closer to a cultural ecosystem than a product.
In an age of infinite scroll and disappearing attention, Hellmouth is betting that some people still want to sit with an object and think. It’s a risky bet, but one — in their minds, and mine as well — worth taking.
That impulse has also found a collaborative outlet in The 8 Great, Inside of Knoxville‘s new monthly roundup curated by Hellmouth highlighting standout arts and culture happenings around Knoxville. Think of it as a field guide rather than a calendar, a way to surface what’s genuinely interesting, especially the things happening off the main drag or outside institutional spotlights.
What do you hope happens when someone reads Hellmouth, I ask?
“I think being able to bring people together in person, rather than on an online platform, is really big,” Sophia says. “So that they have this shared locus between them, and they can interact with it together, and engage in a verbal dialogue and find common ground in that way.”
Jared: “I hope it starts conversations — not just ‘did you go to this,’ but ‘what does it mean that this is happening here, right now?’”
Hellmouth Magazine: Website | Store | Instagram
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