Category Archives: Street Talk

Our Fathers by Fred Wilbur

Black and white photo of man in glasses
 

My father died twenty-five years ago when I was fifty; a third of my life ago. He was by most measures a good man, and I grieved as a good son should. I think of him often, have written poems about our relationship. So, I was eager, a few years back, to read An Odyssey: A Father, A Son, and An Epic (Daniel Mendelsohn) which, though mostly memoir, explores the father/son relationship; Odysseus and Telemachus being an early example in literature. My father was not secretive though reserved, not agitated but conscientious, not obnoxiously ambitious … Continue reading Our Fathers by Fred Wilbur

Political Animals by Erika Raskin


 

I’ve been a vegetarian for years and years. I try not to be preachy about the issue `#ToEachHisOrHerOwn but in truth the whole concept of eating other creatures depresses the hell out of me. Last week, a truck carrying a load of chickens in horribly overcrowded cages, passed me on the highway and I burst into tears. All of which is an ironic preamble to the following observation: Like mammals with two legs, the four-legged variety can also be assholes. Just on principle. Seriously. The coyotes who use our yard as a public toilet, for … Continue reading Political Animals by Erika Raskin

Thoughts About the Universe These Mornings by Laura Marello

Colorful swirl in space
 

Everything is connected. Most of what the universe energy is, creation/destruction energy, we don’t understand. We underestimate the intelligence of other living things—other animals, plants, fungi, bacteria—perhaps we underestimate what is actually alive—and sentient—this planet, the creative energy that created this solar system and everything beyond. What is the purpose of spiritual feelings—feelings of oneness with all life on the planet, with the universe, feeling of a connection to the universe? What is the purpose of what living things—plants, animals, human animals, and perhaps fungi and bacteria—discover when exposed to psychedelic chemicals in mushrooms and … Continue reading Thoughts About the Universe These Mornings by Laura Marello

The Collages of Ann Calandro

Collage of bookcase and typewriter with words coming out of it
 

  Collage artist Ann Calandro drew a lot as a child and wanted to be an artist when she was grown. Not getting into art school, she ended up as an English major who liked to read. She studied with poet Donald Finkel at Washington University in St Louis. “A lot of my inspiration comes from my parents, who were interested in music, art, literature, and architecture, and just from growing up in New York City, where there is always lots to look at and lots of motion,” she says. “My father was a city … Continue reading The Collages of Ann Calandro

It is Coming to Get Us by Fred Wilbur

Photo of brownish stains on gray rock
 

Several months ago, a fellow Streetlight editor wrote a Street Talk blog about her frustration with pestering and inappropriate advertising e-mails which show up on her screen by the zillions. Though I don’t have the same level of harassment, her words provoked me to contemplate the pervasiveness of advertising. One can hardly play a mind-exercising game on the iPad without constant interruption. Most intrusions try to persuade you to purchase more game downloads, but other products are promoted as well. Every online video is ‘sponsored’ by some advertiser. Thankfully, after a few seconds countdown, you … Continue reading It is Coming to Get Us by Fred Wilbur

Le Francais et Moi by Miles Fowler

Photo of french flags on masts
 

The other day, I was watching a TV program set during World War II. An American bomber group was about to drop leaflets over Nazi-occupied territory. The French text of the leaflet appeared briefly on screen, and I hit the pause button. I got the gist of the leaflet. Maybe eighty-percent. It was something like, “It has become necessary to bomb this town. Leave immediately.” This would be terrific except that I have studied French on and off for more than sixty years. I grew up with a father who spoke French. One of his … Continue reading Le Francais et Moi by Miles Fowler

A Winter’s Tale by Trudy Hale

Photo of open wood stove, fire inside
 

4:30 a.m. A barely audible humming wakes me from a deep sleep. It’s a faint yet unfamiliar sound. I am used to the quiet, to the ordinary sounds, so this new sound disturbs me. I am trying not to be worried, but I am and lie wide awake, listening. Yes, now I’m sure it’s not a sound I’ve heard before. My house is old, an 1854 farm house and wood may swell or shrink, a floorboard creak, a piece of furniture, a door. I know these sounds. The daytime sounds are recognizable—a tractor ploughing feed-corn … Continue reading A Winter’s Tale by Trudy Hale

Frankie Slaughter Shows at Quirk Gallery


 

  Streetlight: When and how were you introduced to art? Frankie Slaughter: When I was growing up, my mother, a modern dancer, art historian and arts enthusiast, and my father, a criminal trial lawyer and amateur magician, exposed my sisters and me to the arts in every form, practically on a daily basis—dance, art, magic, theatre. I engaged in many of these activities, such as painting, drawing, ceramics, tap, ballet, jazz, puppet making and set design. Streetlight: How did your work evolve? Slaughter: I started out with ceramics. I’ve always been interested in the materiality … Continue reading Frankie Slaughter Shows at Quirk Gallery

The Drawings of Lorraine Caputo


 

    During my growing up, I experimented with many media. I taught myself how to dig and process clay from local stream beds. I taught myself to weave. I saved money (from collecting return bottles and such) to buy painting materials and worked primarily in acrylics. I would wash down my canvases in the backyard for reuse. I also sold my mostly black and white optical art posters and hand-made drawing guides to classmates.     But doing art is expensive . . . and over the years, I turned to creating images with … Continue reading The Drawings of Lorraine Caputo

You Are Here by Erika Raskin

Photo of confusing map of parking garage
 

I’ve written previously about missing a sense of direction and thought an update might be warranted: It still sucks. Recently, when I was taking my ups driving my brother to chemo appointments in DC (where I haven’t lived since 1982) I asked which way to turn to get into the hospital parking lot. ‘I told you yesterday,’ he said. ‘And, what, you can only tell me once?’ He instructed me to take a left. Grudgingly. Then I’m pretty sure he called me ‘hazy’ under his breath. I stopped myself from reaching over and pinching him … Continue reading You Are Here by Erika Raskin