Artist’s Statement: My inspiration lies in the topographical drawings and watercolours of the 18th and 19th centuries. My work is objective and realistic and true to the Italian term, veduta esatta meaning “exact view.” My passion for and belief in the sketchbook as a means of understanding subject matter is central to the success of my watercolours. The very nature of the sketchbook in its portability and mobility on location means it is innately suitable in this pursuit and as a precursor to more finished work: it is immediate and intimate and requires the minimum of materials. The activity of drawing on location plays an integral part in my understanding and appreciation of the notion of place: placing oneself as the central reference point during location drawing. This knowledge and experience also enables me to work from photographs alone when it is…
“T.S. Eliot Homage,” Poetry by Timothy Resau
T.S. Eliot Homage (a love poem) Looking, now, at myself, do you think of me, later? When the tropical sun and high waves wash across my thin ankles? White-haired and crazy with spider-like legs, stumbling over small sand dunes— dunes I shall call memories. Should I be calling: — More champagne? Hashish? Incense? Should I be laughing: — Why have you forsaken me O Lord? Looking, then, at myself, and you, seeing you over my Paper-Mache shoulders— brittle, like old bird bones, these once worldly shoulders. Do you think of me? — And the angel of the Lord declared unto Mary that she was to be the Mother of God . . . White-haired and crazed, red bandana and erotic music. Original, native paintings upon my clay walls, so modest— The Mother of…
“Tiny Shredded Pieces,” A Story by Unimke Ushie
When my husband told me his mother was visiting London after our wedding in Nigeria when we last saw her, I remembered her not so soft hands tapping my buttocks, touching my breast and every crease around its plumpness, and saying –with a smile that did not wrinkle the skin around her eyes– “nwunye anyi, our wife, I’m just checking if your breasts have enough to support my unborn grandchildren.” I had a bland look on my face when she touched me, that is somehow the same now listening to my husband tell me of her coming to London. And soon I felt something I cannot see or name entering my body, and a damp wetness between my legs. “I’ll finally eat good food” he added. Avoiding my face. “Oh, Chikelu you know cooking is…
“Drawing Mannequin,” Poetry by Julia Franklin
Drawing Mannequin Mischief in monochrome. Subtle sidekick, sleek home of souls. Cold conjuror, no-face freedom. No life out of reach. The Pasta Hour Late walk, home again. Dark sky above, weak legs beneath. Fifteen-minute era of Waiting, Watching, and Stirring . . . To be rewarded with chewy-salty Victory, butter-cheese-fork Relief, calorie-laden Defiance, primal-unconditional Devotion. The Fire I come not from one house, but three. House Number One was festive, dependable, full of sweet dreams and hypotheticals that I shrugged off. House Number Two was empty, frigid and aloof, stripped to its skeleton, and infected with smoke. House Number Three was recuperating in the balm of springtime and accepting, sheepishly, the cardboard boxes that held its Number One face. …
“(UN?) HOLY ALLIANCE” — Blog by Steve Sangapore
(UN?) HOLY ALLIANCE: Why the Titans of Science and Religion Continue to Clash As humankind advances into its increasingly globalized future, one of the most pressing existential issues of the modern age is the growing tension (and sometimes hostile sparring) between religious systems and the scientific enterprise. Tenants of religion would claim they have suffered blow after blow at the hands of faithless scientists with little regard for the killing of God. And that science, in its attempt to corner the market on truth and understanding, has belittled religion to a state of being little more than destructive dogma grounded in the parochial and patriarchal superstitions of iron-age peasants. Additionally, the scientific community often charges religion with being fantastical, anti-progress, radical, tribalistic, and even governmentally favored. Some would say that we need only to turn…
“Sandy Ajax, We Hardly Knew You,” by James Hanna
The World Baseball League was born in the sixties in our suburban home in Virginia. My kid brother and I invented it on a sweltering Fourth of July. It was a heroic invention—a vehicle by which two nerdy kids might share the aura of champions. Armed with dice, meticulously drawn charts, and a cardboard baseball diamond, Robbie and I commanded the destinies of twenty baseball teams. We played daily throughout the long hot summers—up to six games a day—and we tweaked team standings and player averages after every game. So absorbed were we in horsehide heroics that we rendered the summers neither long nor hot. Our rosters consisted of four hundred individual players each represented by a 2” by 2” square of cardboard. Batting averages, fielding percentages, slugging potential, and base- running speed were recorded on each of these squares along…
Interview with Author Abigail George
Editor’s Note: I had a chance to chat with one of our Featured Writers from 2020, Abigail George, about why she began writing and her writing life right now. She’s recently published a book about Emily Dickinson, available on Amazon. —Mike The Fictional Café: What made you choose to be an author? Abigail George: I didn’t grow up wanting to be an author. Life happened, took me down the road less travelled and kind of anchored me in a dysfunctional family life. Now I write all the time. I am inspired by many, many things. Mostly poets. Other writers. Nature, competition, psychology, science, the facts of life fascinate me endlessly so how I can ever run out of things to say, become bored or suffer from writer’s block? These days I have turned back the…
“Finding Progressions in Mere Lists,” by M. A. Istvan
finding progressions in mere lists when none of the facts so integral to who you are can be reached absenting oneself from a situation by fainting sitting on a wood fence for hours in hope that a new face will show itself to talk failures loom larger in places where little else is around pinching the tongue of one seizuring the flood displacement would have been a glorified camping vacation had he not learned of her betrayal feigning knowledge of facts mentioned in an offhand tone as if you knew them already thoughts of suicide to stay in the game when mere to-do lists fail making the position clear threatens to make it vulnerable even the sexual organs of family are open for dinner conversation once…
Kimberly Brooks — Paintings from History
Artist’s Statement:I work in series, diving into subjects from many different angles of observation, history, and memory. I strive for a result that descends from the clouds in my mind like lightning to the earth, to light a night sky or occasionally set a tree on fire. I painted for years in my head before I ever held a brush. So I have therefore been painting all my life. And as a way of speaking, it suits me. The first time I showed my work so many years ago, I felt so exposed, I blushed. I paint both abstract and realistically, always hovering in between, in search of something new. *** Kimberly Brooks is an American artist and author of The New Oil Painting (Chronicle Books). She is known for her portraits and landscapes in…
“BugSplat,” A Short Story by Karen Lethlean
So boring. No one her age. Already run out of books. Less to do than being at home. Sandra felt her feet get heavy in loose beach sand as she tried to dispel inertia by taking a walk. “Get out and find something you enjoy. Nature is therapeutic you know.” Why the hell did her mum think therapy was required? Strange how once upon a time she and her father wandered along these same beaches, christened these walks Morning Explorations and set the task of finding The Most Terrible Thing washed up overnight. Now Sandra stared out at water, twisting her hair or shooting an imaginary gun at squawking gulls. Couldn’t even get much of a signal on her phone. Limited people about. Not even any good waves to attract surfers. Cute blonde boys she…