I have always been interested in visual art. In fact, years ago my wife, Linda, and I owned a small art gallery. But I have long been a writer, and I wondered if personally entering the visual arts might hamper the writing. Wasn’t writing enough for one person? Then my attitude changed. For one thing, my wife and I bought an old farmhouse in the Texas countryside, between Houston and Austin. This transformed our lives. I had always lived in a city, so … Continue reading The Photographs of Christopher Woods →
I wholeheartedly believe in the power and value of art—whatever the avenue. The act of trying is the underlying variable of my art education, from solely writing poetry to putting energy towards visual poetry, drawing and collaging. My collages are made from cut paper and pen, followed by photographing (digitizing), digitally manipulating and modifying to add more elements. For art/drawing, my informal education originates from being influenced by creative friends in college. Being in the same space and sharing each other’s creative projects is still motivational. There is power in collective energy. I’ve … Continue reading Drawings and Collages by Jack C. Buck →
Primarily a poet and writer, I came to photography by accident. I was on a summer nature walk in southern Ontario, Canada, when I got lost. It was incredibly hot and I had forgotten my water. My wife had given me a phone with a camera. Instead of rushing and panicking, which I knew would make things worse, I walked slower to preserve energy and remain calm. In these woods which I would come to know better in the future, there was plentiful wild red sumac at a colorful and vibrant intersection where two … Continue reading Finding Photographs by Brian Michael Barbeito →
We put the canoe in, Sophie and I, before the sun had warmed the pond and the fog had dissipated. Enveloped by the smell of damp-draped earth, we paddled in silent synchrony, each paddle angled efficiently, barely registering sound slicing the water. When we spoke, it was of the European cities we would visit, the country house we would build and the summers we would spend on Martha’s Vineyard. As the chill and the fog lifted, we saw the blue sky, expanding like a promise that we were moving into. Sophie was silent, as the … Continue reading On Field Pond by E. H. Jacobs →
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