Ekphrasis XIV 2025 Online Exhibition
SET 5. Artist Initiators and their Writer Responders, cont.
SET 5
N. ROBERT SPIES, Swimming Lesson. Response by writer: LINDA HARTMANN: Tethered to a Flashlight Fish..
O. KAREN CAMILLE BOWERS, Two of Us, mixed media. Response by author ROB HAWTHORNE The Ashen Ladies of the Ocean Moon.
P. BOB RHOADES, Sorry, But My Brain's on Fire!. Response by MATTHEW LONG: And Become Fire.
Q. KATHY CARL, Hats. Response by author LORÉ MCLAREN: The Secret Life of Hats.
SET 5. Artist Initiators and their Writer Responders, cont.
SET 5
N. ROBERT SPIES, Swimming Lesson. Response by writer: LINDA HARTMANN: Tethered to a Flashlight Fish..
O. KAREN CAMILLE BOWERS, Two of Us, mixed media. Response by author ROB HAWTHORNE The Ashen Ladies of the Ocean Moon.
P. BOB RHOADES, Sorry, But My Brain's on Fire!. Response by MATTHEW LONG: And Become Fire.
Q. KATHY CARL, Hats. Response by author LORÉ MCLAREN: The Secret Life of Hats.
|
N. Initiator artist ROBERT SPIES:
Swimming Lesson. 
|
Response by writer: LINDA HARTMANN:
Tethered to a Flashlight Fish Alone. When she first met him, single, she proudly remarked that “Only doesn’t have to be lonely.” After capturing her heart, life changed, and she wondered how she ever lived without him in her life. Alone. Now lonely, too, since his drowning.
Pain. The heartache of missing him. Of not knowing what may have happened to him, or why. The coroner was fairly certain the drowning was accidental. It appeared he’d floundered in a fishing net not seen in the dark waters, trapped underwater and struggled with his equipment. How long had he suffered? Disturbed. The constant twinges of anxiety, of fear. Overwhelmed at the helm. Would peace ever again be part of her heart? Intent. She took the boat out under the moonlit night, into the dark waters. He loved the sea and the night sky. She felt close to him out there, with the waves and breezes of the salty wafts. Impulse. Tying the boat to a limb on an overhanging tree she dove into the water near where his limp body was lifted. Blink. A small bright light caught her attention in the water. She swam toward the light and followed it. A flashlight fish was drawing her attention. Suddenly, a school of fish with blinking lights like Morse Code seemed to be giving her a message! Was the leader communicating with her, with intent? Bioluminescence. Her first contact with flashlight fish. Bacteria pouches under their eyes “blink” on demand by a membrane covering the luminescent pouch to allow escape from prey. Follow. She followed the blinking lights until they disappeared. The leader, now a friend, reappeared and shown a very bright eye onto a shiny object against a rock. She swam closer, and reached out to find it was a necklace. The same necklace she had engraved for her beloved that said “Love, always.” Tether. The boat remained, tethered to the shore, like her heart, attached to her love. The flashlight fish helped her find this symbolic gift, but also find herself. A peace washed over her that she had not felt since his passing. She felt his presence; the sea and fish showed her that light can be found, event in the depths of darkness. Learning to navigate the depths of her sorrow, she was able to live with the waves of her grief, and knew that new journeys were possible. |
O. KAREN CAMILLE BOWERS, Together, mixed media.
O. Response by author ROB HAWTHORNE The Ashen Ladies of the Ocean Moon.
I came to see the moon drop beneath the horizon, to hear the waves and witness the reflection of the fading light conjure spirits only lovers and dreamers stop to recognize. I came from a scorching hot valley where machines and microwaves made your meals and kissed you goodnight, not caring whether or not you’d actually get any sleep.
I brought her with me, feeling vaguely, that this was going to be goodbye, then the moon vanished. Of course, she beamed and cooed that this night was the most romantic night ever. Romance was the last thing on my mind. In fact, her words, “this is so romantic,” were literally the last words I heard before I fell.
Suddenly, somewhere, a piano played and a violin followed. The sound of the waves continued and got louder, and I could see nothing. It was easy not to breathe when I hit the water. It was easy not to stay afloat. It was easy to let the tide take me and remove the heat from my body. The hard part was noticing that it was happening.
When I could finally see, when the green-blue shimmer of light reflecting from the water made itself visible to me, I sat up. I wasn’t wet, though the water was all over me. I wasn’t afraid, though I was sitting on the sea’s bottom. Fish swam overhead. Massive whales barreled past me, getting close but not actually paying much attention to me. Sea lions and porpoises, surf perch and rock fish; they all made themselves known, and they swam to the water’s surface where the sun and its light moved quickly over us.
As I rose up to where the water of the ocean meets the sky, I could see four ashen faced ladies looking down at me. The eldest, covered in black, seemed to be mourning. The one a little younger had her hair up in a bun. She wore a green and blue robe and her eyes sparkled when she smiled at me. A younger lady yet, wore a pale yellow shawl and a dark brown skirt. She swayed like the tide and everything else swayed with her. She reached out to me and as I breached, I clasped hands with her and gasped for air like I never wanted to be without it. I found myself on their boat, or rather, a wooden platform anchored in place, and I was in the company of the fourth ashen faced lady. She was the youngest, and tiny, and she covered me with a thick wool blanket.
“This is romantic,” I thought, and the sun went down again, leaving me in the dark, on the cliff, with someone I thought I’d never see again.
I held her hand and walked her back to the car. “I need to tell you something,” I said. That vague feeling was coming over me again. “I’m afraid this is goodbye.”
The moon went down beneath the horizon and I drove her home.
I came to see the moon drop beneath the horizon, to hear the waves and witness the reflection of the fading light conjure spirits only lovers and dreamers stop to recognize. I came from a scorching hot valley where machines and microwaves made your meals and kissed you goodnight, not caring whether or not you’d actually get any sleep.
I brought her with me, feeling vaguely, that this was going to be goodbye, then the moon vanished. Of course, she beamed and cooed that this night was the most romantic night ever. Romance was the last thing on my mind. In fact, her words, “this is so romantic,” were literally the last words I heard before I fell.
Suddenly, somewhere, a piano played and a violin followed. The sound of the waves continued and got louder, and I could see nothing. It was easy not to breathe when I hit the water. It was easy not to stay afloat. It was easy to let the tide take me and remove the heat from my body. The hard part was noticing that it was happening.
When I could finally see, when the green-blue shimmer of light reflecting from the water made itself visible to me, I sat up. I wasn’t wet, though the water was all over me. I wasn’t afraid, though I was sitting on the sea’s bottom. Fish swam overhead. Massive whales barreled past me, getting close but not actually paying much attention to me. Sea lions and porpoises, surf perch and rock fish; they all made themselves known, and they swam to the water’s surface where the sun and its light moved quickly over us.
As I rose up to where the water of the ocean meets the sky, I could see four ashen faced ladies looking down at me. The eldest, covered in black, seemed to be mourning. The one a little younger had her hair up in a bun. She wore a green and blue robe and her eyes sparkled when she smiled at me. A younger lady yet, wore a pale yellow shawl and a dark brown skirt. She swayed like the tide and everything else swayed with her. She reached out to me and as I breached, I clasped hands with her and gasped for air like I never wanted to be without it. I found myself on their boat, or rather, a wooden platform anchored in place, and I was in the company of the fourth ashen faced lady. She was the youngest, and tiny, and she covered me with a thick wool blanket.
“This is romantic,” I thought, and the sun went down again, leaving me in the dark, on the cliff, with someone I thought I’d never see again.
I held her hand and walked her back to the car. “I need to tell you something,” I said. That vague feeling was coming over me again. “I’m afraid this is goodbye.”
The moon went down beneath the horizon and I drove her home.
P. BOB RHOADES, Sorry, But My Brain's on Fire!.
|
|
P. Response by MATTHEW SYDNEYLONG:
And Become Fire. Follow the river
(and become fire) Go to its headwaters (and burn it to the ground) Because how else can we do… this? (destroy the patriarchy) Look at me (I am Athena!) And I am still fighting this My hair full of flames, my head thick with rage I stare back at you through bruised eyes Because I know who you are (see HIStory) And I know what you do So I travel to the origins (like Willard in Apocalypse Now) To terminate with extreme prejudice Will you help me? (yes YOU) Can you captain a boat upstream… too? Because we’ll need an armada (to pull this off) To travel back in time And arrive at the inception point Where things can truly be changed: From patriarchy to matriarchy From binary to transformative From ego to empathy From white male… To Black Woman. |
Q. KATHY CARL, Hats.
Q. Response by author LORÉ MCLAREN:
The Secret Lives of Hats, Chapter One:
How Old Fedora Escaped Captivity
Old Fedora was confused.
At first, Fedora had just been relieved to finally be out of that box, and back into the light and fresh air again. It was especially glad to be away from the old pair of boots it had been boxed up with. They had grown rather rank over the years.
But now, somehow, for some unknown reason, Fedora found itself hanging on a rack with a bunch of caps – baseball caps and trucker caps, as far as it could tell. Fedora had never hung with caps before. It felt very out of place. Before being relegated to the box, Fedora hung on its own special hook by the front door, ready to be donned for every new adventure. How did it end up here…and where, exactly, was here? All Fedora could ascertain was that they were in some great, cavernous, brightly lit place.
Fedora could hear the caps whispering to each other. What were they all talking about? What did one say to caps? Fedora had no idea; it knew nothing about sports or trucking. Some of the caps had insignias; Fedora had no clue what they meant. One of them actually seemed to have beady little eyes and a silly, vacant grin. Fedora found it all quite disturbing.
The Cap with Eyes spoke up. Hey, check out the old felt dude! It smells like feet! There was a burst of snickering. Fedora didn’t respond, but it did yawn and stretch out its brim a bit, which caused a neighboring cap to slip from its nob and fall to the floor. A storm of epithets erupted: Shithead. Old Fart. Asshole. Ah, your momma’s an army helmet!
From across the big, bright room, Fedora could hear a noisy group of young people enter the space, laughing, joking, and jostling each other. They began rummaging through racks of clothes and shoes, and bins of assorted second-hand items. One of them walked by the hat rack, stopped in his tracks, and made an excited exclamation.
“Whoa! Oh, wow, check it out!” The others looked up from their rummaging. “It’s an old Indiana Jones hat!” Fedora was plucked off the rack and plopped on a head of curly brown hair. Its brim was adjusted to a slight angle. “This is so cool! And look, it’s only three bucks!”
Another voice spoke: “Lemme try it on, man.”
“No way, dude. It’s mine. Here, you can have this one.” A hand reached for the Cap with Eyes and jammed it on a blond head. “Yeah, seriously dude, that’s you!”
“Screw you, man!” More laughter and more friendly jostling, but Fedora maintained its perch atop the curly brown hair. Cap with Eyes ended up on the floor, next to the one Fedora had knocked down. Then Fedora’s angle was carefully readjusted in a mirror.
“This is so cool! I wonder if they have any leather jackets in here?” Fedora decided it was going to like this new head. As it was borne away, Fedora tossed a not-so-subtle harrumph back towards the caps, all of whom pretended to be otherwise occupied.
And with that, Old Fedora embarked on a whole new lifetime of adventures, adventures which continued even after the curly brown hair had long since turned gray.
How Old Fedora Escaped Captivity
Old Fedora was confused.
At first, Fedora had just been relieved to finally be out of that box, and back into the light and fresh air again. It was especially glad to be away from the old pair of boots it had been boxed up with. They had grown rather rank over the years.
But now, somehow, for some unknown reason, Fedora found itself hanging on a rack with a bunch of caps – baseball caps and trucker caps, as far as it could tell. Fedora had never hung with caps before. It felt very out of place. Before being relegated to the box, Fedora hung on its own special hook by the front door, ready to be donned for every new adventure. How did it end up here…and where, exactly, was here? All Fedora could ascertain was that they were in some great, cavernous, brightly lit place.
Fedora could hear the caps whispering to each other. What were they all talking about? What did one say to caps? Fedora had no idea; it knew nothing about sports or trucking. Some of the caps had insignias; Fedora had no clue what they meant. One of them actually seemed to have beady little eyes and a silly, vacant grin. Fedora found it all quite disturbing.
The Cap with Eyes spoke up. Hey, check out the old felt dude! It smells like feet! There was a burst of snickering. Fedora didn’t respond, but it did yawn and stretch out its brim a bit, which caused a neighboring cap to slip from its nob and fall to the floor. A storm of epithets erupted: Shithead. Old Fart. Asshole. Ah, your momma’s an army helmet!
From across the big, bright room, Fedora could hear a noisy group of young people enter the space, laughing, joking, and jostling each other. They began rummaging through racks of clothes and shoes, and bins of assorted second-hand items. One of them walked by the hat rack, stopped in his tracks, and made an excited exclamation.
“Whoa! Oh, wow, check it out!” The others looked up from their rummaging. “It’s an old Indiana Jones hat!” Fedora was plucked off the rack and plopped on a head of curly brown hair. Its brim was adjusted to a slight angle. “This is so cool! And look, it’s only three bucks!”
Another voice spoke: “Lemme try it on, man.”
“No way, dude. It’s mine. Here, you can have this one.” A hand reached for the Cap with Eyes and jammed it on a blond head. “Yeah, seriously dude, that’s you!”
“Screw you, man!” More laughter and more friendly jostling, but Fedora maintained its perch atop the curly brown hair. Cap with Eyes ended up on the floor, next to the one Fedora had knocked down. Then Fedora’s angle was carefully readjusted in a mirror.
“This is so cool! I wonder if they have any leather jackets in here?” Fedora decided it was going to like this new head. As it was borne away, Fedora tossed a not-so-subtle harrumph back towards the caps, all of whom pretended to be otherwise occupied.
And with that, Old Fedora embarked on a whole new lifetime of adventures, adventures which continued even after the curly brown hair had long since turned gray.
