Ekphrasis IX 2020 Virtual Exhibition
SET 1. Visual Artist Initiators and Writer Responders
A. Tube Worm (Sarah Wagner), Serpula columbiana (Susan Fisher)
B. On the Road Again (Pat Scott), Tortoising (Molly Bee)
C. Good Sports (Bob Rhoades), Driven (Les Cizek)
Intro Page Set 2 Set 3 Set 4 Set 5 Set 6 Afterword
Tube Worm by Initiating Artist Sarah Wagner.
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About the Art: The photograph was taken by Sarah while "tide pooling" using a compact underwater camera. Comments added by Sarah's husband David Flaim: "The specimen was found at MacKerricher State Park. It resides in tidal areas that are still submerged at lowest tide. Their full extended operculum often provides the nickname 'trumpet fanworm.' The trumpet name is fitting, as it seems to declare visually to sound its presence. More so, [the worm] reminds me of fireworks."
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Serpula columbiana by responding author Susan Fisher.
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Felix and I met in the Monterey Bay Aquarium, standing by an exhibit of a glorious vermillion-colored species. I was squinting at an information plaque next to the viewing window, my nose almost on the glass.
“Do you want me to read it to you?” asked someone standing behind me. I turned to see who it was and there stood a slightly built dark-haired boy, about ten years old. “Yes, thank you. I only have my prescription sunglasses with me. It’s dim in here, isn’t it? “Yup; all the light is focused on the displays. It says “Serpula columbiana.” “It’s such a gorgeous sea plant.” “Actually, it’s a tube worm. They are common along the West Coast.” “A worm! I never knew worms could be pretty. Where is the wormy part?” “It moves in and out of the tube.” “Huh. Do you know a lot about sea life?” “Oh, yes. I read about it all the time. And I come here a lot. “So, you are an expert.” “I’m going to be marine biologist so I can protect ocean life.” “How lucky you are to have a goal when you are still so young. I am pretty old and I still don’t have one.” At this point, I began to wonder where his family was. I saw no one else in the room except for the two of us, probably because it was a dank and overcast February day with few tourists in town. “It’s nice of your parents to bring you here so often.” “I don’t have parents. I live with my brother. He works here.” |
Felix told me more about Serpula columbiana: It lives on plankton; it attaches firmly to a substrate; it has eyes and a mouth on the peristomium, a segment at its anterior. Also, it has up to 190 abdominal segments, and the funnel shaped protective operculum is used to open and close the tube as the worm moves in and out. I was very impressed. He told me he knew about every species in that big room, and then he gave me a full and detailed tour.
“Can I meet your brother? Is that possible?” We went down a long hallway to a door labeled Supply Office. His brother, Manny, who I guessed was in his early 20s, sat at a desk, talking on the phone. He waved us over to two well-worn side chairs and motioned that he’d be just a minute. When he hung up the receiver, he first said hello to Felix then asked me how he could be of help. “I wanted to meet the brother of such a wonderful young man. Felix gave me a guided tour of the displays. He’s so exceptional, and, from what he says, you have a lot to do with that.” Manny, looked down and smiled before facing me. “He is amazing, isn’t he? I’m very proud of him. He deserves any praise—I mainly just feed him, shelter him and love him. He manages his own studies; his desire to learn is huge.” We talked for a while and all I could think of was that these brothers were exactly the sorts of sons anyone would wish for: responsible, thoughtful and intelligent—and kind even to a random stranger. All over the globe, there are young people working hard to build a saner world, a better future; I treasure meeting them. Thank you, Serpula columbiana, for today’s lovely opportunity. |
Comments by author Susan Fisher:
"The glorious form and color captured in this photo immediately attracted me. I could easily imagine a child reacting to such a creature with wonder so strong as to set a course in life. I also know and respect young people who go far beyond difficult circumstances; writing this piece was a way to celebrate them."
"The glorious form and color captured in this photo immediately attracted me. I could easily imagine a child reacting to such a creature with wonder so strong as to set a course in life. I also know and respect young people who go far beyond difficult circumstances; writing this piece was a way to celebrate them."
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On the Road Again by sculptor Pat Scott. Serpentine stone from Hwy 128 (three views of one sculpture) Dimensions: 9” x 5” x 5” 7lbs. $600
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Tortoising by Molly Bee
Serpentining through swaths of shrubs, cactus, and ferns Lugging the dome of her home hexagonal reptiled rooftop, vertebral raftered ceiling, flat plastron floorboards Her body a temple Her back a map of where she’s walked, marbled scars, fissures, brecciations like rivers coursing She knows waterways from trickles to torrents Scaling concentric ridges of mountains Shuddering quakes of plates she stamps deliberately, delicately, determinedly The topographical, cartographical, indomitable tortoise toddling, trembling, tortoising along. Trundling, rumbling, lumbering along, across landscapes ravaged by goats, now to where guavas grow in abundance Goats and guavas, imports both A tortoise is slow to hunger can go a year without a drink of water but here she wallows in the wet thick shell slick with moisture and dips her beak to celebrate the mud from the morning’s rain on a warm sunny day. Tortoise remembers a time of wide grasslands before fences and roads, when friends gathered to creep along ancestral pathways following the swing of precipitation like a pendulum migrating with the seasons She pauses on a lava rock outcropping and turns her stony gaze to the ocean buffeted by salty breezes Closing her eyes, she dreams, for sixteen hours a day, for a hundred years. |
Reflections by the poet Molly Bee: Upon receiving the images, and thus her randomly assigned challenge, Molly replied, " Too bad I can't hold it in my hands and live with it for a month, know its dimensions, its feel, its materials, turn it in all directions and see its underbelly... but I'll see how the three photos of it can inspire me." Apparently, she was inspired!
"Comments by the artist Pat Scott: "There cannot be a better example of the meaning of Ekphrasis than Molly Bee's poem 'Tortoising' as a response to my sculpture 'On the Road Again.' Each art piece enhances and enriches the other, expanding our views of a tortoise through this initially anonymous, unexpected collaboration of two art forms." PS
Good Sports by artist Bob Rhoades. Collage monotype.
Driven by Les Cizek
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Growing up in the ‘30s and ‘40s was effortless for me, primarily because I never gave anything a thought. My father sought to give me direction. He handed me a poster of All American hobbies and said: pick one. I considered the options and chose cars and driving. Little training was required and driving could be done anywhere. Mountain climbing looked dangerous; horses were scary; golf was for old guys; and hunting involved killing. Dad taught me to drive. One Sunday he told me to back the Ford Woody out of the garage. I did, but instead of hitting the brake, I hit the gas and we crashed into a sassafras tree, splitting the wooden tailgate. I remember hearing my father curse as we watched the two radio knobs fly into the back seat. I got my driver’s license at sixteen. For dates, Dad let me use his Ford sedan. Driving home late one night in our small town, I pulled out the choke (which set the speed at about 20), and stretched my legs across the passenger seat. A relaxing drive home on empty roads. I got to our driveway and turned into the garage, but nooo-my feet were still on the seat. Without brakes, the impact against the back garage wall was huge and noisy. On the other side of that wall, in the dining room, things hit the floor and dishes broke in the sideboard. My final and most dramatic vehicular disaster occurred when I was a student at Bard College. I was driving my father’s new Ford sedan. After drinking a lot of |
beer with my buddy Larry Hagman, we started up the narrow, winding road to campus. Larry noticed that the odometer had passed 1000 miles. “The break- in period is over,” he said. “You can go as fast as you want.” Whooping, I floored it and we howled until I lost control. The car ran off the road, up a bank, and flipped over, blowing out all the windows.
No seat belts back then, but no injuries either. Being drunk saved us. We crawled out of the wreck and walked back to campus. There was a lot to deal with the next day, but no law enforcement was involved. I joined my father’s insurance firm in 1953, and went to Washington D.C. A fellow insurance man took me to the Lavender Hill Mob, the local SCCA affiliate. I joined and raced my Austin Healy. My interest grew and I bought the first AC Bristol in the United States. A fabulous car. I became a high-scoring driver in my class, travelling around the country, hauling the AC on a trailer. Carroll Shelby was the top guy in the SCCA. After one race he came to my pit. “What are you driving?” He had never heard of this car. He shook his head in wonder. “That thing goes around corners like it’s on rails.” He bought one and, after conversations with Ford Motor , they built the AC Cobra, which became the Shelby Cobra. If you saw the film Ford VS Ferrari, you know the story of this car. Sadly, my part in all this never made it into the movie. |
