Showing posts with label Featured Artist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Featured Artist. Show all posts

Thursday, March 7, 2024

Featured Poets/Artists: Jerome Berglund & Marjorie Pezzoli

 


Jerome Berglund has worked as everything from dishwasher to paralegal, night watchman to assembler of heart valves. Many haiku, haiga and haibun he’s written have been exhibited or are forthcoming online and in print, most recently in bottle rockets, Frogpond, and Modern Haiku. His first full-length collections of poetry Bathtub Poems and Funny Pages were just released by Setu and Meat For Tea press, and a mixed media chapbook showcasing his fine art photography is available now from Yavanika.


TWITTER: https://twitter.com/BerglundJerome 

BLOG: https://flowersunmedia.wixsite.com/jbphotography/blog-1/ 

FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/JeromeBerglundPhotography/




Jerome Berglund

& Marjorie Pezzoli

 

Yet Again

 

cover

 

no one was watching

black and blue

crimson streaks

 

their badges

 

águas mil

suing

for peace

 

watch repair

 

time steals air

second hand sweeps

hourglass breaks


(Marjorie Pezzoli is a silk painter for 25+ years, visual artist, storyteller, and poet. Her writings deal with grief, hope, cosmic wonders, and stuff that catches her eye. Her poetry has been published in numerous anthologies since 2019. Many of her writings are inspired by her photographic observations taken while walking Beau, the dog with Betty Davis eyes. Marjorie looks for words that are worth a thousand images. www.Pezzoliart.com)

 

 


John Wayne’s Brain

 

You thought John Wayne was gone,

But a piece still remains.

On a shelf in some closet,

They’re keeping his brain.

 

It looks like a scrotum,

All wrinkled and pink.

Yet that’s where it started,

Those nightmares, just think!

 

He gave it quite freely,

You’d believe felt flattered.

Did he know they’d filet it,

‘Twould appear should be battered?

 

Past owner felt apart,

From all other noodles.

Which helped him immensely,

Turning them to strudel. 

 

In that mind those dozens,

Made for oils on canvas.

Value mere extrinsic,

To glut playful madness.

 

John Wayne was steadfast,

His friends never thought twice.

Wife trusted the smell,

Was because of dead mice.

 

Hope that tissue’s well-guarded,

Under strictest lock and key.

That no bumbling Igor,

Might find and set free.


 



 

Baboon’s Blood

 

 

spicy

noodle bowl

steaming

botched

home haircut

 

 

did me

like

artichoke

hope dip

was satisfactory

 

 

rich man

eyes tray

on carpet

by hotel room

once was hungrier

 

 

people

who have so much

so angry!

…bindle’s lightweight

easy to carry

 

 

playing

self at chess

no thrill

or mystery but

can always win


 




Thursday, December 21, 2023

GAS Featured Artist and Poet: Ivan Jenson

 


Ivan Jenson is a fine artist, novelist and popular contemporary poet who lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan. 


His artwork was featured in Art in America, Art News, and Interview Magazine and has sold at auction at Christie’s. Amongst Ivan’s commissions are the final portrait of the late Malcolm Forbes and a painting titled Absolut Jenson for Absolut Vodka’s national ad campaign. His Absolut paintings are in the collection of the Spritmuseum, the museum of spirits in Stockholm, Sweden. Jenson’s painting of the Marlboro Man was collected by the Philip Morris corporation. 


His novels, Dead Artist and Seeing Soriah, illustrate the creative, often dramatic lives of artists. Jenson’s poetry is widely published (with over 1000 poems published in the US, UK and Europe) in a variety of literary media. He has published a poetry book, Media Child and Other Poems, and two novels, Marketing Mia and Erotic Rights and his newest thriller, The Tigress


Mundane Miracles, his critically acclaimed poetry collection, hit number 1 on Amazon in American Poetry.

East of Ivan, his memoir, has continuously been on the Amazon Bestsellers List since its release. 

Ivan Jenson’s website: www.ivanjenson.com
Twitter: @IvanJenson





Sunken Treasure

Are you planning
to do anything
with the time you
have left?
If not,
could you waste
an hour listening
to me complain
about the service
in this place?
Because I feel like
I've fallen into a tourist trap
or into an alcoholic Santa's lap
or that I could have gotten
a better room with a view
to grass that isn't a greener hue.
And could you set me up
with somebody who believes
the Loch Ness Monster
and Bigfoot are a match
and who might see me
as an old trunk in an attic
that contains fool's gold
when at last unlatched?
Anyway, as you
might have guessed
my weekend is wide open
and I am utterly unattached.





Wednesday, November 22, 2023

GAS Featured Artist: JD Moffitt

 


Themes include independence, solitude, threads of small town life, family and nature. My practice includes predominantly pencil drawing and watercolor on paper. Day to day observations, focus in drawing and painting from plein air, life studies, photographic sources and the imagination.

Midwestern small-town Hoosier, I have worked in surveying, drafting, cartography, graphic design, and fine art. We grew up on the hill, overlooking the farms. I've been lucky enough to call a few of those kind, strong, hard working farmers my friend. I know how good they are, they do too. I've often thought that I could be that, what they are, in truth, it was never up to me. We were awarded the view.

Creating art is not a sensible occupation. It is unreasonable really, nonsense. What is it useful for? There is no physiological need for it. It does not make those we love safe or secure.

What is the reason for it then?

Could it be that it is the other way around? That beauty is what is behind reason? That what we find ourselves attracted to makes up our hopes and dreams, gives our lives purpose, and gives us reason?

JD Moffitt <jdmoffitt.com>





Summer Flowers












Selfie







Will and Grace


























Zahl's







Susan






Thursday, July 13, 2023

GAS Featured Poet and Artist: Carl Scharwath

 


Carl Scharwath, has appeared globally with 175+ journals selecting his writing or art. Carl has published three poetry books and his latest book Playground of Destiny, features poetry, short stories and photography (Impspired Press). Carl has four photography books, two were published by Praxis in Africa, and two by CreatiVingenuitiy. His photography was also exhibited in the Mount Dora and The Leesburg Centers for the Arts. Carl is currently a co-editor with ILA Magazine  and was the art editor for Minute Magazine. He was nominated for two The Best of the Net Awards (2021-22.)




 YOU

 

Hysterical naked and dragging

Through heaven’s roof illuminated

Floating across the vertex of cities

 

Your smile and memory 

Fills the nebulae of the mind

 

We have a song

The loosed string tells our note

 

Waiting for history to begin

Making my own heaven

To see you again


 




 ATARAXIA

 

Time to enter the Epicurean Garden

A buffer to the Zephyrs blowing of

Obscurantist voices impregnating

The innocents huddled in ignorance.

 

Tranquil pleasures-

Procreative purpose-

 

In an atomic swerve

Filling desolate emptiness

Looking for less what’s there

Then what was truly missing.

 

 





Wednesday, July 5, 2023

GAS Featured Poet, Artist and Musician: Joan Borland

Meet Joan Borland, if you haven't already.  She's a most unique and unusual talent who has learned to survive through art. When life gave her lemons she made a kaleidoscope! 


In Joan's own words:

As far back as I can remember I was scared and tuned myself out of an angry noisy family life distracting myself by making things.

In the trauma my 4 yr old self was going through I turned to objects instead of people. 
I searched for found objects that 'spoke' to me.
Rarely did anyone speak to me without anger in my family. 
I found a stone shaped like a nose I kept in my pocket I rubbed for comfort. 
I found a big, round 60's button I talked into as if it were a telephone.
I felt so scared and alone. 
I improvised to stay alive. 
I did not know what 'improvised' meant at 4 yrs of age.
I only knew of an awful feeling that stopped me breathing  normally would stop if I distracted myself enough. 
I didn't know these awful feelings were panic attacks. 
I did not know my mind was under attack from emotional neglect. 
I did not know at 4 yrs of age I was keeping my emotional and spiritual life alive by seeking communion with found objects.
 

I was never told I was loved. 
I did not know what love was.
My love showed itself by rescuing animals, birds in distress; I know I now was rescuing myself. 
I did not know these actions were love. 


At school an art teacher asked the class to paint self portraits. 
I painted myself as Mr Spock. 
I identified with Mr Spock as I had no self identity. 
I was punished for this and didn't paint figuratively again. 
I stopped painting anything 'til I was 30 yrs of age.
I lost a baby. 
The pain was too deep to write about so I turned to painting although I had never painted since school. 
I painted the spirit of my lost baby in the art I was beginning to create.
I'm sure me painting specifically spiritually brought a baby to me that did not die. 

When my son was born I stopped painting. 
My accidental spell of beckoning a child to me had worked and I didn't need to paint anymore. 
I didn't paint again until I painted a painting for my son's 18th birthday.


The English teacher I had at school wasn't like the art tracher. 
I was unruly and cheeky and he spoke to me instead of berating me in front of the whole class. 
He asked the class to write either a piece of prose or poetry about fog. 
I had been writing poetry as soon as I learned to write and thought  everybody wrote poetry. 
Poetry for me was easy so I wrote a poem for the writing exercise. 
When the English teacher came back to hand the class their marks for their writing about fog he said he had never given a nine and a half out of ten to any pupils writing and would the pupil who he had given that high mark to stay behind as he wanted to talk to them about their writing.


I was a noisy member of a group of girls the English teacher called 'The Bridge Club', and I was totally embarrassed that it was me the teacher had given the highest mark in the class to. 
I was 13 years of age and the poem I wrote about fog was called 'Smog Claustrophobia'.
I stayed behind and was anxious and perplexed. 
I didn't know what I had hidden in the poem the English teacher would understand. 
He asked me if I had copied the poem from somewhere. 
I replied with an indignant 'No!'
He asked me to bring in other poems for him to look at. 
I did this and he went about marking all the poems I had brought in for him with a nine and a half out of ten.
He told me I had a gift
He told me to keep writing. 
I would have kept writing anyway as writing is a part of me I need to function every day as much as an ear or a tooth.
I have becoming my writing which I rarely draft and is as natural to me as breathing. 
The same thing happened when I began to paint again. 
I've never written or painted with any idea of how things will turn out.
With writing I just start off with a word or line that has come to me and go from there. 
With painting I just make a mark and everything flows from there.
I can write songs, but I prefer to freestyle to let the words find me. 
I have never attempted to get any of my work published. 
I don't really know why this is. 
When I was a working artist exhibitions came to me; I did not chase them.


I've had to think about this as Belinda is going to put my work forward for publication. 
I had no family I could relate to. 
My family didn't try to relate to me. 
I was viewed as an outsider. 
I didn't know I was developing into an artist. 
My poetry, art, music, and songs are my family now. 
I cannot be separated from any of them. 
I did not draft this piece of writing either. 
The alchemy that turns feeling into poetry, art, and song elevates you from your insanity. 
The world sees me as mad, sad, bad; my art shows I am not of that world of judgement. 
I am my art and my world is art; the rest is gravy.