“I can take any questions, just don’t ask me who the fathers of my children are,” a frank Annie Leibovitz tells a packed house at the Lensic during her recent visit to town.

According to the One Billion Rising campaign’s website, one in three women the world over will be beaten or raped in her lifetime.

Like its prickly name suggests, the Cactus Centro “Commercial Business Center” isn’t necessarily what you’d call “inviting.”

Held every Sunday inside the Farmers Market Pavilion, the Railyard Artisan Market is the go-to place for cutesy aprons, rooster-emblazoned prayer flags and peacock feather “medicinal” fans.

Leading into the 20th century, human sexuality was a thing of taboo—for the word “sex” to be uttered aloud was uncouth, and a woman showing more than a bare ankle was instantly dubbed a harlot.

“I have not signed a single marriage certificate since I’ve been here, and I won’t—until I can do that for any couple in my congregation that chooses to marry.”

Living up to its nickname, finding hot man-on-man action in Santa Fe is, well…dipherent.

An intoxicating scent of rose incense fills the air in Will Buckley’s ArtServices Gallery. The scent is fitting, given he’s busy installing his latest photography exhibit.

Popular culture can thank the late Sid Avery for some of the most candid and intimate shots of Golden Age Hollywood celebrities.

Leading the way into his home studio off Agua Fria Street, it’s clear that Grant Kosh marches to the beat of his own drum—or in this case ghetto blaster, complete with some vintage Cypress Hill tunes.