The photograph above, by Jeffrey Stoner, is part of Still Point Art Gallery’s current exhibition, Solitude (see more images from this show on the previous pages).
Each quarter, Vincent Louis Carrella chooses an image from our exhibition to inspire a story. This story is very special — its solid placement in winter with a foreshadowing of spring; its references to history and the passage of time while remaining timeless and still; its descriptions that make you see and feel and taste and smell the story; its presentation of decay and hints of new life; and its encounter with desperation and hope.
The practice of using art to inspire writing has been around for a very long time, especially in the realm of writing poetry. Jan Greenberg, author and collaborator on many nonfiction and biographical books about contemporary artists as well as two ekphrastic poetry collections, has said, “What the poet [or writer] sees in art and puts into words can transform an image . . . extending what is often an immediate response into something more lasting and reflective.” This certainly true of this match of Stoner’s photograph and Carrella’s words.
Portents. balls of light. the dust motes gather before his eyes. He is blessed with the faith of the Magi, and a memory that won’t let go of those places where Heaven meets Earth in moments of grace and revelation. Ravens and road kill. Screech owls and the Queen of Cups. Signs sent and signs received. His journey is marked by omens of change.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der Winter 2016-Ausgabe von Still Point Arts Quarterly.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der Winter 2016-Ausgabe von Still Point Arts Quarterly.
Starten Sie Ihre 7-tägige kostenlose Testversion von Magzter GOLD, um auf Tausende kuratierte Premium-Storys sowie über 8.000 Zeitschriften und Zeitungen zuzugreifen.
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Standing In The Stream
I had also become enamored with the beauty of a man — it was always a man — standing in a rushing stream about mid-thigh, sunlight winking off the whitewater, casting nearly in slow-motion, over and over again, the long thin line whipping back and forth, catching the light, before barely alighting atop the water.
The Old Barn
The photograph above, by Jeffrey Stoner, is part of Still Point Art Gallery’s current exhibition, Solitude (see more images from this show on the previous pages).
Sea Foam And Clyde
Behind the house he hears the rustling of grasses that shine when the wind blows. The blades lift and turn and catch the sun and glitter like tinsel. He stands and sees the house. If you squint maybe it does look like sea foam.
The Restaurant De La Sirène At Asnières
The Restaurant de la Sirène at Asnières is crumbling; you can see it clearly when you stand up close, the bricks are split with age, the boards are warped with weather like the damaged spine of an old man. The building is a decaying, moldy monument to the men who look upon it.
The Art Of Solitude
Solitude isn’t loneliness; it’s different. With solitude, you belong to yourself. With loneliness, you belong to no one.
Wendy's Room
If sleep, a noise could reach in. Drag you out. Not sleep. No noise. No silence even. All walls sealed. Unconsciousness — the word she couldn’t think of twelve years ago. Except here she was. The mind watching itself. And wasn’t that the definition of consciousness? An ultramarine impasto. As if she knew brushstrokes. Odd, because in this life, Wendy Kochman had been an amateur violist. A failed academic and a mother. Never a painter.
On Throwing Things Away
I will work until my mind finds peace, even if that means I will work for a very long time.
