Ekphrasis XII 2023 Virtual Exhibition
SET 3. Writer Initiators and Their Responding Artists
G. SUSAN LUNDGREN, Urban Connections. Response by artist BOB RHOADES: All in the Wash
H. FRAN SCHWARTZ, Pool Cue. Response by artist LYNNE ZICKERMAN OLSON: Hmmm...Wet or Dry?
I. EARLINE GLEISNER, At Last! Spring. Response by artist KATHY CARL: A Clear Day of Light
J. GINNY RORBY, Wheeled Marathon. Response by artist KAREN REYNOLDS: Winners, All!
SET 3. Writer Initiators and Their Responding Artists
G. SUSAN LUNDGREN, Urban Connections. Response by artist BOB RHOADES: All in the Wash
H. FRAN SCHWARTZ, Pool Cue. Response by artist LYNNE ZICKERMAN OLSON: Hmmm...Wet or Dry?
I. EARLINE GLEISNER, At Last! Spring. Response by artist KATHY CARL: A Clear Day of Light
J. GINNY RORBY, Wheeled Marathon. Response by artist KAREN REYNOLDS: Winners, All!
G.
Initiating Writer SUSAN LUNDGREN, Urban Connections.
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The strip mall to my right seemed a good option for finding lunch. I parked, noticing a red car circling the crowded lot stating “Security” on its doors. Salsa music blared from pickup trucks. Families walked by with mothers holding their small children’s hands and fathers carrying large shopping bags and take-out food containers. Despite the noisy crowd, small brown birds could be heard chirping from their perches in leafless trees. It was a cool Sunday in January, but the sun shone brightly. I walked past the Habitat for Humanity thrift store, an Afghan market, and a laundromat touting “Free Soap on Tuesdays between 6:00 and 2:00.” Next to the small shop displaying a large sign stating, “Envios de Dinero a Mexica por solo $6,” was a small restaurant with a large window image of Pancho Villa, bands of bullets across his chest. Looks perfect. Pushing the heavy door open, I spotted two older, ponytailed men glancing up, their plates still heaped with rice and beans. A smiling young woman in a colorful flowered blouse and white gathered skirt approached me. “Hola,” she said, and motioned her menu toward a side table. “Gracias,” I replied, placing myself in a chair beneath a painting of dark green palm trees, a glimpse of blue water, and a red-tiled roof. The menu was in Spanish, but I knew what I wanted, and she understood: “burrito, vegetariano, no crema, no queso.” She nodded. Soaking in the atmosphere, I enjoyed large, three-dimensional metallic village scenes in bright gold and brass colors adorning the walls. In the corner sat a table of nine animated young men, most in hoodies, with bottles of cervezasin painted, yellow flowered metal ice buckets. Several ate from large platters piled with food, others from half-sliced pineapple boats. Through the window I could see three musicians in mariachi costumes gathering on the sidewalk. One was in his twenties. The other two appeared a generation older. The trio opened the restaurant door, playing two colorfully decorated guitars and an accordion. Moving toward a table of five adults, they sang about a senorita. A teenage boy in a Raiders cap helped a woman about eighty, perhaps his abuela, out of a chair. Dancing an intricate two-step combination to the music, he twirled her between tables. Customers pulled out cell phones for photos. As the song ended the young man guided her back to the table. The room applauded. While still seated, an older man and a middle-aged woman sang loudly to the band’s next number. I paid my bill and walked out of the restaurant, leaving the camaraderie behind, remembering when I lived and worked in a Black community, and later in a Jewish neighborhood, still wishing for a stronger cultural identity of my own. |
Response by artist BOB RHOADES: All in the Wash
Mixed media, 11.5 x 13 in, framed 18.5 x 20 in.
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Comment by the artist: I studied this delightful piece of writing for over a month ruminating on the possibilities of a visualization of same. Many configurations and collaged compositions
came to mind. Two days before it was due I read the piece to my Pittsburgh sister who after a moment said "it's about identity." Exactly! Suddenly my ideas tumbled anew. To borrow a hackneyed phrase "it all comes out in the wash."
H. Initiating writer, FRAN SCHWARTZ: Pool Cue
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April 18, 2023. I’ve just arrived at our hotel in southeast Italy. Jet lagged, stiff from thirteen sleepless hours on Air France, and a long van ride from the Bari airport to Polignano a Mare—our base on the Adriatic for exploring Apulia, the “heel” of the Italian boot.
We gather in the dining room, twenty-two strangers on a one-week tour sponsored by UC Berkeley alumni travel. I hope I don’t fall asleep during our opening night dinner. My sister Annie sits next to me, quiet and drowsy. I glance across the table. A woman is waving at me, smiling and nodding. I stare, uncomprehending. She waves more vigorously. I lean forward, focusing on her face. No recognition. But something is familiar. Short dark hair, partially concealed by a colorful scarf. Fifty-ish. Asian. I mentally erase what she’s wearing and visualize a black bathing suit. A white swim cap, trim athletic body. Churning through the pool at CV Starr, fifty laps without a pause. Ae-ran Davis, Fort Bragg CA. A name on the tour list included with our itinerary. But I’d never known her name. We would nod to each other in the women’s locker room. I don’t recognize her in Italy because I’ve never seen her with her clothes on. |
H. Response by artist LYNNE Zickerman Olson: Hmmm...Wet or Dry? 
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I. "At Last! Spring" by initiating author EARLENE GLEISNER
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I. Response by KATHY CARL: A Clear Day of Light
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In the Open Air,
Early in the morning, Fog gently rises from trees and houses Into sun filled skies. After weeks of winter rain, Snow and grayness, A clear day of light Releases heaviness From my heart and head. A window opens to freshness, Clearing doubt and loss from my heart Allowing, now, hope and possibility to enter. |
From the artist: This poem inspired me from two particular lines. “Into sun filled skies” and “A clear day of light” pointed the reader to a place of hope and renewal. I wished to allow the viewer to enter that place from my image as well.
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J. Initiator GINNY RORBY:
"Wheeled Marathon" The applause and shouts of the spectators reached a volume to cancel any thought of further sleep. With coffee in hand, I stood on my balcony and watched the stream of Orange Bowl marathoners pass on the street below.
Most of the runners, especially those early ones, were young men. One or two women and a half dozen wheelchair participants passed. A heavy set, elderly man, his sweater stretched tightly across his ample waist, stood on the curb with other fans, cheering loudly as each runner passed. But he wasn’t watching those individuals; he was watching the ones making the turn a block away. Especially loud cheers diverted his attention for a moment, and when he looked back up the street, a wheelchair was nearly abreast of him. “All right, Billy,” he shouted, and leapt into the air like a man half his weight and age. “All right, son,” he said more softly. He ran along the sidewalk beside his boy, shouting encouragement until, unable to keep up, he pounded to a stop. For a moment his hand remained in the air, then he made a fist. The momentum of the downward swoop spun him around, panting and smiling. |
J. Response by artist KAREN EMBREE REYNOLDS: Winners, All !
Artist's comment: From "my balcony," observing this inclusive event, I know that the father in his elation then turned and called up to me, with arms widespread, “Winners, All!”
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