Ekphrasis XIV 2025 Online Exhibition
WRITER INITIATORS and their ARTIST RESPONDERS
SET 1
A. NOTTY BUMBO, Day at the Beach. Response by artist LAURA CORBEN: Seafoam Revelations, mixed media.
B. LYNN KIESEWETTER, Bird. Response by artist MARALEE GREENE: Vernal, acrylic and watercolor crayons
C. ROBIN KOSKI, Wishes. Response by artist JOSEPH DUVIVIER: When You Wish upon a Star, oil painting on canvas?
Intro Set 2 Set 3 Set 4 Set 5 Set 6 Afterword
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A. NOTTY BUMBO, Day at the Beach. Waiting for ephemeral whales to breech, deep waters flying upward against smoke-orange skies. Something pulls me toward the cliffs, shows itself through small motions of leaf and memory. Random albatrosses carry messages, meant for no one in particular, fall and rise with morning tides. Here we breathe together, conspire to overthrow unrepentant warriors. I feel the sand between my yesterdays, watching you cavort in stark relief against sea-foam revelations, only just now crawling onto land. What we become is more than any world can imagine: things of beauty and branching potentials, the sun shedding its outer layers, revealing finally an inner conundrum: to blaze for eternity, or slowly rain outward against the dark, gulls screaming over nothing that matters, the dog leaping through breakers. You, more than anyone I know, showing the light how it's done. |
Response by artist LAURA CORBEN: Seafoam Revelations, mixed media 
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B. LYNN KIESEWETTER, Bird
I’ve been a dreamer, ever since I can remember,
always dreaming about what might be.
My head, up in the clouds, till I remember what you told me... you said….
Things happen suddenly, without a reason.
You just get a feeling you can’t explain.
You never know just where it’s leading,
and you try to read between the lines.
Like a bird flying south in the winter doesn’t know why,
there are things that will happen to you-
you’ll never know why.
Like a boat in the ocean when the wind is changing fast,
I have been restless, looking for something to last.
My head, up in the clouds, till I remember what you told me... you said….
Things happen suddenly, without a reason.
You just get a feeling you can’t explain.
You never know just where it’s leading,
and you try to read between the lines.
Like a bird flying south in the winter doesn’t know why,
there are things that will happen to you-
you’ll never know why….you’ll never know why.
I’ve been a dreamer, ever since I can remember,
always dreaming about what might be.
My head, up in the clouds, till I remember what you told me... you said….
Things happen suddenly, without a reason.
You just get a feeling you can’t explain.
You never know just where it’s leading,
and you try to read between the lines.
Like a bird flying south in the winter doesn’t know why,
there are things that will happen to you-
you’ll never know why.
Like a boat in the ocean when the wind is changing fast,
I have been restless, looking for something to last.
My head, up in the clouds, till I remember what you told me... you said….
Things happen suddenly, without a reason.
You just get a feeling you can’t explain.
You never know just where it’s leading,
and you try to read between the lines.
Like a bird flying south in the winter doesn’t know why,
there are things that will happen to you-
you’ll never know why….you’ll never know why.
B. Response by artist MARALEE GREENE:
Vernal, acrylic and watercolor crayons
Vernal, acrylic and watercolor crayons
C. ROBIN KOSKI, Wishes.
They float on air--dandelion dander, candle smoke
and, farther out, the first star in the night sky.
They burn in fire--a note tossed to the bonfire on
New Year’s Eve, candles on a birthday cake.
They are buried in earth--a quartz crystal covered
in garden soil for a moon’s cycle, the pot o’ gold buried
at rainbow’s end.
They bathe in water--a paper boat in a stream, a
bottled note adrift on the ocean, the genie’s lantern
washed ashore, a coin in a fountain.
A wish may be as bland as “Best Wishes”, as jolly as
“We wish you a Merry Christmas”, as bleak as “I wish!”
The magic of a wish is its ephemeral nature. They may
grow into aspirations and accomplishments, or
deemed unattainable, abandoned into the ether.
The little guys among desires, self-centered, innocent,
flawed by human caprice, they are easily forgotten . . .
or remembered . . . or magically granted.
The wish doesn’t care. After all, it is but a wish.
C. Response by JOSEPH DUVIVIER: When You Wish upon a Star, oil on canvas.
