Ekphrasis XII 2023 Online Exhibition
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SET 4. Visual Artist Initiators and their Writer Responders
K. SHARON GARNER:  November Hummingbird. Response by poet ELIZABETH KIRKPATRICK VRENIOS: "Poem Beginning with a Drive to Dinner"
L. STEPHEN GARNER: Low Fog Sunrise. Response by author MATTHEW LONG: "Déjà rêvé"
​M. KAREN BOWERS, Transition.  Response by author ROB HAWTHORN: "Walking Tour of Mendocino"

Intro   Set 1   Set 2   Set 3   Set 5   Set 6   Afterword

​K.  Initiating Artist SHARON GARNER:  ​November Hummingbird
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​K.  Response by poet ELIZABETH KIRKPATRICK VRENIOS: 
​Poem Beginning with a Drive to Dinner
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When you pass Rotary Park, 
go around the Didgeridoo Inn,
and have bucked the traffic 
from the light up the hill 
to make it to the bridge, 
there is a spot where Big River 
meets the ocean, 
where green merges into blue.
There is no name for this meeting 
of fresh and salt,
of journey and destination.
Some call it Big River Beach, 
but I call it Mendocino.
 
There in the gulley, as I rushed past, 
I glimpsed a sea-green bird 
balanced on a thistle branch. 
A baby, really, perhaps still a nestling, 
he appeared uncertain where he was going,
calculating his space, his opportunity.
I was undoubtedly nothing to that small bird, 
and definitely he did not see me,
for I was only a blur as I sped down the road,
my mind taut against the pull
of the yellow double line. 
 
The bird didn’t call the spot where he perched
Big River Beach, or Mendocino,
or even Suicide Bridge, 
at least I am certain about that
in this moment of uncertainty, 
but there was a glimmer of invitation 
to fly in this moment of beginnings. 
 
Ah, how I would die for that invitation once more,  
a moment’s promise so sheer and delicate 
that breathing could change it, 
that breathing could end it.
 
Elizabeth Kirkpatrick-Vrenios
 

​L.  Initiating Artist STEPHEN GARNER: 
​Low Fog Sunrise
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L.  Response by author MATTHEW SYDNEY LONG: 
​"Déjà rêvé"

                                                                  
As the waves crash and the sun beats down, we stumble forward across the border… onto the beach. Spray from the surf mists us. The sand is warm and tactile. The sky pulsates above like a Seurat painting. 
 
“Do you know what déjà rêvé is?” I ask.
“Déjà vu?” you respond. “I’m experiencing it right now, I think.”
“Déjà vu is the feeling you’ve already lived through the present situation. Déjà rêvé is the feeling you've already dreamed it.” Clasping hands, we sit down together facing the sea…
 
“So, you dreamed all this before?” 
A shimmering haze hangs above the cerulean water, all the way to the horizon. 
“I don’t want to die,” I answer. 
Only a rocky island pierces through the turquoise fog. 
“But, yeah, I guess I did dream of this place, of this situation before. As a way… a place maybe, to escape time.”

“To elongate… time?”
“Yes.”
“A way… to take a time-out. To a place where time stands still.”
“Yes. A crack maybe.”
“A glitch. To hide inside.”

​You stand up in front of me. Casting warm shadows across my face from your bare shoulders and wild dark hair. “I understand what you’re saying.” You touch my lips. “Because I fear death too. I fear oblivion.“
 
Bending down to kiss me, the rush of vertigo your smell and touch generates untethers me. So that the blues and oranges and yellows around us become wet and sticky. Like milky paint, entrapping us. 
 
Inside this tableau. To this moment. Beneath this molten lava of pigment. Outside of time. Until we are caught… and have nowhere else to go.
          

M.  Initiating artist KAREN BOWERS: 
​Transition.
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  M. Response by author ROB HAWTHORN: 
​"Walking Tour of Mendocino"
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​When we start, it’s in the middle of Main Street, looking out across the bay.  You can clearly see the yurt on the side of the cliff, just across the bridge.  My partner smiles and sighs and says three words that I have been hearing for the last twenty-something years.  Three words that always make me smile.
We live here.
We take each other by the hand and walk out onto the headlands.  We follow a popular trail where the tall grasses on either side of the path make me want to sneeze.  I wouldn’t trade them for the world.
We live here.
Things have changed since we first moved to the coast.  It’s more commercial, for one thing but it appears subtle.  The commercialism is hidden just enough, which is why this place is still appealing to tourists.  The quaintness of a small coastal village.  The reality of inns and hotels owned by big city corporations.  I shake those thoughts and go back to the dreaminess of the way things look right now.
We live here.
​A glimpse of a happy dog running free on the trail makes me think of the amazing wildlife we’ve encountered.  Foxes relaxing in the yard while the cats sit in wait near gopher holes.  ​

Black bears waddling across the lawn, not paying attention and almost getting stuck in the soccer goal netting.  Skunks scurrying under our table while we wait for our meal at one of our favorite outdoor eateries.  And the mountain lion.  The most powerful looking creature I have ever seen up close in the wild.  We made eye contact.
We still live here.
We stop our stroll at the cliff’s edge.  I think about the ships that brought in people and goods.  I think about the lumber men, risking their lives right here on this coastline, to transport logs that would build homes and businesses, and it crosses my mind that times were harder then but that difficulty always exists.  I hug my partner close and sigh deeply.
The sun is going down and the sky is painted with golds, violets, and a color I can only describe as “delicious creamsicle.”  We notice customers and clerks alike, come out of the shops on Main Street to enjoy the spectacle.  Right now, I’m not going to let anything ruin this feeling.  Sunsets are real.  The beauty of connecting with the wildlife is real.  Soak in all of this.  Love the memories it helps to make.  Make more memories.  I smile and look into the eyes of the one I love and I say something I’ve been saying for the last twenty-something years.
We live here and we will always live here.

This is Set 4.  Click to go to Intro   Set 1   Set 2   Set 3   Set 5   Set 6   Afterword