CATEGORIES

Standing In The Stream
Still Point Arts Quarterly

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.

time-read
10+ mins  |
Spring 2017
The Old Barn
Still Point Arts Quarterly

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).

time-read
8 mins  |
Winter 2016
Sea Foam And Clyde
Still Point Arts Quarterly

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.

time-read
7 mins  |
Spring 2017
The Restaurant De La Sirène At Asnières
Still Point Arts Quarterly

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.

time-read
8 mins  |
Spring 2017
The Art Of Solitude
Still Point Arts Quarterly

The Art Of Solitude

Solitude isn’t loneliness; it’s different. With solitude, you belong to yourself. With loneliness, you belong to no one.

time-read
7 mins  |
Winter 2016
Wendy's Room
Still Point Arts Quarterly

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.

time-read
9 mins  |
Winter 2016
On Throwing Things Away
Still Point Arts Quarterly

On Throwing Things Away

I will work until my mind finds peace, even if that means I will work for a very long time.

time-read
5 mins  |
Winter 2016