The Purposeful Mayonnaise Volume 1 Issue 6

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THE PURPOSEFUL MAYONNAISE A LITERARY & ART JOURNAL VOLUME 1 • ISSUE 6 APRIL / MAY 2022

Art • Words • Ideas


Cover art: Michelle Gallagher, Latching On


The Purposeful Mayonnaise Journal is intended as an online journal that anyone with an internet connection can access from anywhere in the world. www.thepurposefulmayo.com

@ 2022 The Purposeful Mayonnaise Copyright for all published content is held by the authors/artists. All rights reserved.


WELCOME

A short note from the editor

Welcome to our sixth issue of The Purposeful Mayonnaise Journal! For this issue, we wanted to go in the festive direction of BLOOM because April is our anniversary month. The Purposeful Mayo turns 1 on April 23rd, and we couldn't think of a theme more suitable to describe our experience so far. Bloom. We would like to thank all our readers, our past and present contributors and everyone around the world who entrusted us with their work. We begin Issue 6 with intricate ceramic sculptures by Michelle Gallagher. We have with us returning contributors Elodie Barnes and Adele Evershed. We navigate the theme of bloom with Sabrina Pohl, Mauricio Paz Viola, Ester Frouchtman, Kamene Ogidi and many other talented artists and writers. Argentinian artist and visual arts teacher Chary Hilu talks to us about her practice in an artist interview. This issue also presents the entire selection of the 2.22.22 group exhibition presented by TPM Gallery between February 22nd and March 22nd, 2022. Our mission is to bring you a new issue overflowing with art, words, ideas. We hope we have succeeded.

Anda Marcu @andamarcuart Co-Founder and Editor-in-Chief


CONTENTS Art

Words • Ideas

Michelle Gallagher 6 Sabrina Pohl 8 Ester Frouchtman 13 Artist Interview: Chary Hilu 15 Nicole Ziesing 21 Nuria González Alcaide 22 Julia Katolla 26 Paul Hartley 27 "2.22.22" group exhibition presented by TPM Gallery 30 Mauricio Paz Viola 46 Tina Rawson 49 Ping Zheng 50 Lawrence Meju 59 Olivia Fortier 61 [ART] The Messdeck 66

Adele Evershed 10 Aaron Lelito 24 Samuel Acres 29 Kamene Ogidi 44 Jarrod Hol 48 Elodie Barnes 51 Fanni Somogyi 63

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ART: MICHELLE GALLAGHER

Hammer, 2021, ceramic, 4 x 25 x 10 cm

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Michelle Gallagher I am interested in the representation of women, and the feminine inspiration comes from observations in my own life and the lives of the women in my family and society at large. I try and convey ideas about women's invisible labour / female drudgery through double meanings and humour.

Yoga Pose, 2021, ceramic, 9 x 26 x 9 cm

I am a multidisciplinary artist whose practise encompasses sculpture, printing and drawing. I gained my diploma in sculpture from the Limerick School of Art in Ireland. After gaining my Art & Design teaching qualifications, I went to Botswana in 1997 to work as an art educator and artist. I returned to Ireland in 2000 and finished the final year of my BA in fine art sculpture from Limerick. I have worked as an artist and educator, firstly in Ireland and Botswana, then in Eastern Europe and Asia, before settling in Germany. My interests lie in the natural world and culture/society. I am particularly interested in the working woman/mother. Inspiration comes from my own life and the lives of women in my family and beyond. Website: www.michellegallagher.online Instagram: @mgallagherartwork

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ART: SABRINA POHL

Blossom, 2020. chalk, crayon, graphite and pencil on paper, 14 x 18 cm

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Sabrina Pohl (b. 1994 / Ludwigsburg, Germany) is a German abstract artist based in Stuttgart. Her works are represented by 8th Ave. Gallery, Florida. She lived for many years in Vienna while practicing her abstract work and graduating in art history. During that time, she worked with a menswear designer on a collection for the New York Fashion Week. In 2021 she had her first solo exhibition in Dubai. In 2020 she moved back to Germany, where she now lives and works. Roses, 2021 (Stuttgart), collage with aquarelle on paper, 23 x 20 cm Jasmine, 2021 (Dubai), chalk, pencil and acrylic on canvas, 80 x 60 x 4 cm

In Sabrina Pohl's abstract works, she draws on the intuitive use of forms to dissolve the visible and the preconditioned. Therefore she opens up new perspectives, which first intend to create openness for a new viewing space. Those caught glimpses of her surroundings, for example, seen in the abstract landscape works, become simplified, fragile beings by using reduced forms and contours. In doing so, she deals with the emphasis on space and light. In general, she describes the process as follows: "For me, creating means continually being open through the process. It feels like asking the drawing for the next step. And sometimes it's hard because your mind wants to tell its own story, and sometimes it's easy because you only have to listen." One of her prime intentions is to transform the visible into the core element, guided by a process of dissolving. It is like ending a nice chat, and now it's time for the walk home. The core is neither white nor black – not only just a depiction of a feeling, or of light and of space, or put ironically, the infinite nothingness. It's your mirror. Website: www.sabrinapohl.com Instagram: @sabrinapohl1

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WORDS • IDEAS: ADELE EVERSHED

Blooming* Age

did you know star magnolias bloom before the greening of their leaves? stranded behind benevolent bars of leafless trees—I am a magnolia pale as spilt milk desilvering as the last blossoms leave the scent of ruin in my hair these are the three shades of my sorrow— all of them white and none of them blooming holy *blooming-a British colloquial term for emphasis to add frustration and dislike (Urban Dictionary)

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Amaryllis

He elbowed his way in Smiling like a TV vicar His talk bluer than his background About harvesting under nets Green thumbs and donkey races His hands dug into the earth of her Allaying and meshing the red deluge So she was swept up with it all And then he left everything behind Lost among the pomegranate trees She pierced her heart—colding it A frost should kill off dangerous things Yet something was still wrong He had etched a built in line of weakness So she painted her lips scarlet Disappearing into the seed of an idea And puckering up only once a year And yet it was everything

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Does Everyone Hate Renoir?

What can I do with all the left behind things So they do not break a person? The striped sock languishing under the bed A western as a suggestion on Netflix A can of IPA slyly hiding behind the mayo You always saw the world like Van Gogh Thick and dark with color but shattered I was more like Renoir Blended—peaceful—easy to see A handful of flowers in a jug One small daisy near the handle To remind you I was once wild But all flowers die in the dark And I’m just one of yours—going to seed on the shelf So I turn upside down-rewilding myself And grow towards the light

Adele Evershed was born in Wales and has lived in Hong Kong and Singapore before settling in Connecticut. Her poetry and prose have been published in several online journals and print anthologies. She has been recently nominated for The Pushcart Prize for poetry. Read more-thelithag.com

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ART: ESTER FROUCHTMAN

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Ester Frouchtman I'm a Spanish photographer with Argentinean and Costa Rican roots, based in London. In my photographic work, I talk about my own emotions and the search for my own identity through my memories in an attempt to reconstruct my family's past. This observation of my own environment serves me as a mirror to see and analyze the behaviours of the society in which I live. I present a new language through food and the emotional charge it holds for me. Fire can be interpreted as a destructive element, but at the same time, it can be understood as the path to healing, to transformation. Instagram: @frouchtman_ester

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ARTIST INTERVIEW:

CHARY HILU Chary Hilu is an artist and teacher of visual arts from Argentina. A graduate of the National School of Fine Arts Prilidiano Pueyrredón (Argentina), she studied drawing and sculpture with the sculptor Juan Maffi. Among her achievements, she has won prizes for sketching in competitions organized by the Luis Perlotti Museum, the San Isidro Youth Salon, and the SAAP Adrogué Salon. Chary participated in exhibitions at the Centro Cultural Borges, the Argentine Society of Plastic Artists in Argentina and various mosaic exhibitions in Italy. In 2021 she participated in virtual exhibitions at the University of Ibague (Colombia) and the Binational ARTwalk (Arizona).

Tell us a bit about yourself... I was born and live in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Since I was a child, I have loved to draw. The subject I enjoyed the most was art in school, and my works were chosen to participate in art exhibitions. When I was 18 years old, I decided to study fine arts at university. Into the art is where I found my place. What themes or ideas do you pursue in your work? Usually, my works express feelings, experiences, and memories, what I see around me and the world, and what touches me emotionally. I try to create works that embody expressions, feelings, and ideas in their context and cultural and social load, becoming a symbolic object. At the center of my artistic search is the human being with the crises and dilemmas of existence.

Pit, 2021, 75 x 80 cm

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Siege, 2021, 65 x 35 cm

Your practice ranges from collages to drawings and sculptures. Can you tell us about your process? At the university, I specialized in sculpture and drawing. Sculpture has always accompanied me, as well as drawing. I drew a lot with live models. The idea to make collages was born during the pandemic when I had to work with what I had at hand....so, any cardboard that came to my house when buying something, or threads, buttons, garbage bags, old papers that I had kept in the drawers, they were transformed into a material to design. I began to mix and create with the collage technique that I had not felt the need to do in earlier times. Sculpture continues to attract me, and I do not leave it aside. And the drawing of the human figure is almost always present in my works. Sometimes when I experiment with collages, many begin to get volume, so I do not exclude returning to sculpture.

Confined Souls, 2021, collage, 35 x 35 cm

Threatening Presence IV, 2021, collage, 50 x 70 cm

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Story, 2022, collage, 50 x 70 cm


Tensions, 2021, collage, 50 x 70 cm

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Do you actively search for inspiration or let inspiration find you? I let it find me, the subjects or images are presented to me, and one idea brings the other. How did your practice evolve or unfold over the years? My artwork is a constant search. I am always interested in doing new things. After graduating from university, I spent many years teaching art in schools with children. This experience nourished me, gave me a lot of freedom, and I learned a lot from children. They are fresh, spontaneous, and dare to experiment with their art, and thinking about creative and innovative proposals gave me a lot of freedom. I had a very academic education, which was fundamental. At first, I clung very much to this training, but then I found my own image over time. What does a typical day in the studio look like? I need to have all kinds of materials on hand for testing. I usually work on several artworks at the same time. This allows me to take time to elaborate, observe, and modify each piece. I take photos of the process.

Cycle I, 2022, collage, 50 x 70 cm

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Cycle II, 2022, collage, 50 x 70 cm


Cob(H)IJA , 2021

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Inside-outside, 2021

Without Space, collage, 50 x 70 cm

Would you say other artists or art genres have influenced your practice? If yes, how? I admire many artists (Miguel Angel, Henry Moore, Barlach, Kate Kolwiz, Picasso, Rodin, Van Gogh, and others) for their mastery of technique combined with their expressiveness in everything they do...and also for their ability to experiment and break away from the conventions of their time. Of course, my teacher Juan Maffi. With him, I learned the techniques of drawing and sculpture. I greatly admire an Argentine artist, Antonio Berni (1905-1981). He was an innovator in his phase of work with his collages. He included all kinds of materials in his expressive search. He even transformed materials he collected from the garbage into art. Tell us a bit about the future (any plans, upcoming projects, news). Soon I will move my studio to a larger building. This will give me more freedom to create somewhat larger works and possibly venture into sculpture again. *** Website: http://www.artebaires.com.ar/hilu Instagram: @charyhilu

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ART: NICOLE ZIESING

Citrusy #2, collage

Pink Color Study, collage

Nicole Ziesing is a self-taught analog collage artist born in Virginia and residing in Silver Spring, Maryland. She first became interested in art at 14 after an art class field trip to the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC. After dabbling in every medium possible, collage quickly became her medium of choice while studying at the University of Mary Washington. Most recently, she has shown her work at the SHEDC exhibit presented by Shop Made In DC. Citrusy #1, collage

Website: www.nicoleziesing.com Instagram: @collagebynicole

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ART: NURIA GONZÁLEZ ALCAIDE

Pansy, 2022, acrylic on canvas, 61 x 50 cm

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Nuria González Alcaide (1995). Barcelona, Spain.

Peace Lily, 2022, acrylic on canvas, 100 x 81 cm

As a child, for every store I passed, I took a business card. Every place I visited, I bought a postcard. And each pencil point that broke when it was sharpened, I kept in a little box along with all the others. Accumulate. As I grew up and entered adulthood, I stopped putting together different objects that caught my attention and began to collect emotions and feelings. Thoughts and life situations that have shaped the person I am today. There are days when I have so much information in my head that I wish I could go back to collecting pencil nibs. In the end, I have realized that all those emotions and feelings come and go and only stay if I decide to. I have realized that the best way to live is not accumulating what I perceive from others but being able to skin my emotions until they become strokes (of paint). COLOUR BOUQUET (2022-ongoing) My work is open to the subjective interpretation of every person that looks at it. It is a result of their own experience and thoughts. These artworks started from a colour study that is taking place in my own studio. They are a work in progress using the three complementary colours plus white, black and burnt sienna and mixing them with a formula I created. It's infinite, like colour perception. Treating them as flowers, this collection reflects nature and its freshness. Like the seasons, everything is in the moment. Everything is in constant change. Like my work. Like me.

Rose, 2022, acrylic on canvas, 61 x 50 cm

Website: www.nuriartt.com Instagram: @nuriaalcaide_art

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WORDS • IDEAS: AARON LELITO

Vernal Locks

Nascent forms spin outward into an atmosphere of fractions imagining themselves to be complete within the fast fluorescent seconds where sparks parse into deciduous tapestry. Its stasis is its tangled radius. Listen with aloof amusement to the crooner’s current, the nutshell-cracking raindrops, the timbre of tacit patterns. Look through the careening streaks at incipient incarnation, the earliest leaf begins at the drop.

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Upward Impermanence

A coral complexity bridges us to formlessness— Empty vessel where the voice is distant, fingers reach, lenses contract, the darkness doubles

What if temples were built for forgiveness and equanimity commentaries on coming back to stillness Disown— Build and disown

Aaron Lelito is a visual artist and writer from Buffalo, NY. He is primarily drawn to the patterns and imagery of nature. His images have been published as cover art in Red Rock Review, Peatsmoke Journal, and The Scriblerus. His work has also appeared in Barzakh Magazine, LandLocked Magazine, EcoTheo Review, and About Place Journal. He is editor in chief of the art & literature website Wild Roof Journal. See more of his work on Instagram @runic_ruminations.

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ART: JULIA KATOLLA Motherhood can sometimes absorb us entirely. It may happen that we lose ourselves in that particular role of a caregiver. "Facing the In-Between" highlights the process of rediscovery, redefinition and reflourishing of the self. Facing that space between what used to be and what is now, between what is defined as caregiving to another human being and caregiving to oneself.

Facing the In-Between I & II, 2022, mixed media on paper, 65 x 50 cm

Julia Katolla (raised in Costa Rica / based in Germany) is a mixed media artist who received artistic training at the University of Bonn, Germany (2015 - 2017) and the arte fact academy (Bonn, 2019 - 2021). Exhibitions include Bonn, Berlin and London. She was recently awarded the International Confederation of Art Critics Award at the London Art Biennale 2021. From the teachings of motherhood and new feminine perspectives to unprocessed trauma, a little madness and a great affinity for the surreal and the odd, Julia Katolla oscillates between the beautiful and the ugly, the reasonable and the absurd. In her works, she tends to play with the unpredictable outcomes of less controllable materials while seeking symmetry and balance in the arbitrary. Website: www.juliakatolla.com Instagram: @juliakatollaart

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ART: PAUL HARTLEY

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Paul Hartley My work has developed from drawing, printmaking and painting which has gradually become more minimal and monochrome, and now includes other mediums such as installation and video. Initially the mark making was abstract in nature, inspired by artists such as Cy Twombly and Tapies, but as I wear glasses I have developed a more autobiographical approach and fixed upon the motive of 'spectacles' or a rough approximation of them. I am constantly seeking to represent a distortion of reality based upon my own shortsightedness, whether it be through video, installation or works on paper. Website: www.facebook.com/paulhartleyart Instagram: @paulhartley557

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WORDS • IDEAS: SAMUEL ACRES

—I tied a string to a paper plane From thicker craft paper and Threw it off the balcony over The steep hill dropping Off and it sat in the huge wide air A ways out and with the string slack on A draft I bet’s still curling up That hill. Holding white Twine from maybe fibreglass. Washed, unfocussed, All out in Way off. —My sister was on the balcony With me. I wonder if she remembers. Her name is Hollie. We were children. The plane stayed up there all day. You Could feel it in the hand that held the Twine and it was something. It was a cold day and the sky was Smeared grey all of it. Give it away, but give it away right.

Samuel lives in Melbourne (Naarm) Australia.

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ART: 2.22.22 GROUP EXHIBITION PRESENTED BY TPM GALLERY FEBRUARY 22 - MARCH 22, 2022

Kristine Narvida, Look How I Move 13, 2022, oil on linen, 100 x 80 x 3 cm

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Kristine Narvida, Presence, 2019, oil on canvas, 100 x 80 cm

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Michael Wagner, Ereignisfeld (True motion) / Diptychon, 2018, acrylic on canvas, 180 x 90 cm

Michael Wagner, Ereignisfeld (Stay the line) / Diptychon, 2018, acrylic on canvas, 180 x 90 cm

Michael Wagner, Ereignisfeld (Vom Klang der Stille) / Diptychon, 2018, acrylic on canvas, 180 x 90 cm

Nazli Abbaspour, Reincarnation / 2017-2019, print on velvet fine art paper, 27.5 x 38 cm

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Vladimir Marcu, Two, 2016, acrylic on wood, 61 x 46 cm

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Julia Katolla, Metamorphosis I, 2021, mixed media on canvas, 155 x 95 cm

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Julia Katolla, Metamorphosis II, 2021, mixed media on canvas, 95 x 155 cm

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Harsimran Juneja, Blind Opposition, 2020, emulsion, acrylic, oil stick, oil pastel and graphite on canvas, 101.6 x 160 cm

Harsimran Juneja, Eat Cactus, 2020, emulsion, acrylic, oil stick, oil pastel and graphite on denim, 96.5 x 157.5 cm

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Clara Bolle, Abundance 15, 2022, 100 x 70 x 2 cm

Anastasiya Krokhmal, Struggle, 2021, oil on canvas, 90 x 70 cm

Éadaoin Glynn, in her dreams she raced with long blue hair, 2021, oil, cold wax, sand on board, 40 x 60 cm

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Éadaoin Glynn, The Navigator, 2021, oil, cold wax, sand, plaster on board, 40 x 30cm

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Éadaoin Glynn, she was made of stardust, 2020, oil, cold wax, pigment on gessoed panel, 50 x 60 cm

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Isabela Castelan, Olinda, 2019, ink and spray paint on watercolour paper, 70 x 100 cm

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Isabela Castelan, Diadema, 2019, ink and spray paint on watercolour paper, 70 x 100 cm

Isabela Castelan, Osasco, 2019, ink and spray paint on watercolour paper, 68.5 x 100 cm

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Diahann Addison, Solidly with You, 2022, digital photography, 20.3 x 25.4 cm

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Diahann Addison, 4B, 2021 , digital photography, 20.3 x 25.4 cm

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WORDS • IDEAS: KAMENE OGIDI

My mascarpone-sweet scarlet baby on the high seas

panting into my

mouth

you taste of praline you give like sand. panting into my mouth, we sail through mirrors that would conflate us come out flying shards, each in our metamorphosis, yet breath to breath iterating moons so proud. so-proud-to-know-youpanting-into-my-sick-mouth, baby.

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Mauve (The Gift) Mauve: a lavender holding lightly in care: an eye bearing: red ring keen about the heart. A band of discernment through which what we cannot understand is parsed by genetics and friendship, into knowing. Mauve is a sight beginning in every morning, where my mind reaches to see, and cannot yet say Yes, I am in a dream, a part of myself and others, bodiless, saw another universe parallel this, so closely I thought my soul trying to speak remembrance to me in that mauve-still womb. Not yet bawling life. Not yet anxious day. Not yet knowledge and little knowing. Mauve, a burgeoning question: Self, and Where Am I in Time Beyond Yesterday? Awakened to Mauve in my wide chest and sensitive stomach. An internal sight which delivers me into someone who does not say ‘Yes’ nor ‘I am not’ A someone waiting spaciously into a sight from the heart, a possibility of unambiguous power so nothing is ended nor forgone. The utter eye of Mauve an interiority of undisclosed potential: become a hope-sight become a gift unfurling become death as depth as gift A mixed wisdom so slight to sight it must be shared, and called generous

Kamene is trained as an urban planner and spends their time creating DIY-style video and sonic performances made with open-source software. They employ an autobiographical approach to investigating friction between internal and collective selves, and social and political pathologies. Website: www.kameneogidi.com Instagram: @dpny.0

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ART: MAURICIO PAZ VIOLA

The Light of Hope, oil on canvas, 120 x 120 cm

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Top of Glory, 2021, oil on canvas, 120 x 120 cm

Mauricio Paz Viola is an Uruguayan plastic artist based in Beijing, China. "I would define my artwork as a manifestation of self, an extension of my spirit or subconsciousness, which is still beyond my grasp and lies in the deepest sphere of pure self. My works feature images of imaginary landscapes, empty or inhabited by unknown beings - landscapes that externalize the constant inner struggle of being human." Website: www.mauriciopazviola.com Instagram: @mauriciopazviola

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WORDS • IDEAS: JARROD HOL Bloom It’s spring It’s sprung ~~Boing~~ The flowers are starting to bloom But I don’t care I don’t care they’re pretty and colorful I don’t care they smell sweet and lovely I don’t care they’re finally waking up from their winter vacation I don’t care I lost an hour of sleep for them to do so I don’t care about the trees flowing their new green Or the water warning Or the sun peeking back on us I don’t care I don’t care I’m not mad at them I am jealous When will I be pretty and colorful and flowing green And sweet smelling and warm When will I Bloom I should take in the beauty See it Smell it Be inspired by it Write beautiful lines about their perseverance and strength Instead I deny it Because the flowers can be so hard to see From my bed

Jarrod Hol is a writer and musician originally from Providence, Rhode Island. His work focuses on life traveling on the road, mental illness, and the dark humor of it all. He also likes pizza. Instagram: @soxsuxpolkfunk

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ART: TINA RAWSON

Orchid Love

Tina Rawson works as an artist and educator in beautiful Salisbury, Massachusetts and visits her native Sweden annually. She loves colour, movement and fun in her art. "As a contemporary impressionist painter working primarily in acrylic paints and mediums, I aspire to convey not only the scene but also the moment and mood. The moment is fleeting, but the painting allows us to live there a bit longer, to linger, reflect, contemplate and enjoy." Don't forget the lime

Website: www.tinarawsonart.com Instagram: @tina.rawson.art

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ART: PING ZHENG

Spring Entryway, 2021. oil sticks on paper, 61 x 46 cm

On Summer Days, 2021, oil stick on paper, 61 x 46 cm

Ping Zheng’s works on paper in oil stick feature elements of landscape, bold lines, and geometric shapes that at times suggest portions of the human form. She draws upon her experiences in nature and her own interiority, while working from her studio in the city, noting, "Living in New York, it is not so green, but a day of dawn and night is splendid, the color of sky is changing, city lights are everywhere at night and quite beautiful." Zheng received a MFA in Painting from the Rhode Island School of Design in 2016 and a BFA in painting from the University College of London, Slade School of Fine Art in 2014. Her works have been exhibited at Kristen Lorello Gallery, New York, NY, McClain Gallery, Houston, TX, Microscope Gallery, Brooklyn, NY, Nancy Margolis Gallery, New York, NY, the Chinese American Arts Council/Gallery 456, New York, NY, Seoul, South Korean, “ASYAAF: Asian Students and Young Artists Festival” among other venues. Zheng was born in 1989 in Zhejiang, China and lives and works in Brooklyn, NY Website: www.kristenlorello.com/ping-zheng-artist-page

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WORDS • IDEAS: ELODIE BARNES

Tomato Seeds by Elodie Barnes

The air smells of raw earth and daffodils, and Elena is watching her mother fall in love. It’s a strange sight. Elena’s mother is seventy and can’t usually remember her own name. She certainly can’t remember Elena’s. Her brain fell quickly, one day fighting and the next collapsed, spent, surrendered. She doesn’t remember when she’s eaten. She doesn’t know where she is although she mostly seems to be happy there. But the man has a shuffling walk and a kindly face that seems to attract her, and the staff have said that she remembers a name for him even if she remembers something different each time. Elena wonders if the man knows how lucky he is. At least he is not a void, a blank where a person should be. She is watching them from across the garden. He is potting seeds outside a greenhouse, built for the residents to use, one of the many activities that the nursing home advertises to keep minds occupied and bodies active. Elena knows the seeds are tomatoes. Almost impossible to kill. Come the summer they’ll have a glut of them, and they’ll be giving them away to families who visit because half of the residents can’t stand them. But the man either doesn’t know this, or did know but has forgotten, or does know and doesn’t care, because he’s laying them in, one seed after another, tenderly covering them with compost as if he was putting a child to bed. Elena’s mother is standing beside him, her small body wrapped in a shawl and her eyes watching everything. His lips are moving. He’s telling her, over and over again, one pot after another, what he’s doing. Elena knows that her mother will still have forgotten by the time he’s reached the end of the row of pots, but she feels a wave of gratitude towards the man anyway. He has the kind of patience her mother needs.

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Unsteady footsteps and the clack of a walking stick announce the arrival of her aunt. Elena doesn’t bother to offer her own arm; she knows through hard experience that it will be pushed aside, most likely with the aid of the stick. She waits until Helen has settled herself into one of the garden chairs that have been cleaned off, brought out, set up with much fanfare. It’s the first day that’s felt like spring. “Freezing,” Helen grumbles by way of greeting, and Elena agrees even though it’s not freezing. No one but her aunt could have called it freezing, but there is still a slight nip in the air when the sun disappears behind a cloud, and they’re both sitting there in winter coats. “How have you been?” Elena asks, and Helen huffs. “Same as I was two months ago when you last came.” Shrewd green eyes look across the garden. The man has almost reached the end of the row of pots. “At least someone’s having a good time.” “What’s his name?” Elena asks. “Freddie. Your mother’s gone through Alfred, Ralph, Bob, Dick, Charlie, John, George and Billy. There’s a betting pool on what she’ll choose next if you want to chuck something in.” “You shouldn’t do that.” Elena tries not to smile. She can’t really be angry with her aunt for trying to make the best of her younger sister’s state, however cruel it appears. “And I feel a bit voyeuristic.” “Oh, please,” Helen scoffs. “This is the most fun I’ve had in weeks.” She reaches into her coat pocket. Fingers crooked and gnarled from arthritis manage to pull out an open packet of Maltesers. “Here. Might as well have a snack for the show.” “The show?” “She’ll get angry with him in a minute, when he’s finished the seeds. Always wants him to keep planting. It soothes her. She’ll start crying and stamping her foot, then someone will get her inside with a cup of tea and she’ll forget she was angry, and then she’ll fall in love with him all over again. It’s like a…what d’you call it? A romcom. On permanent loop.” Elena is silent. She knows a lot can happen in two months and she should have been visiting every week, but the drive out from the city is a long one and she’s been busy with work. She takes a Malteser. Helen always has Maltesers. It’s something familiar. She wonders if her mother still steals them when she thinks Helen isn’t looking, or whether that’s changed as well.

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“But you’ve got news.” Helen’s statement startles her, and she doesn’t answer. “She named you for me, you know.” Helen’s false teeth crunch happily through the chocolate. “Right from when you were in the womb I could read you like an open book, always better than she could. I even knew you were there before she did. Told her she was pregnant and she laughed at me, said she hadn’t been trying and she was far too old anyway. But I saw you in my dreams as a little girl with my eyes.” She looks pointedly in the direction of Elena’s stomach, buried under folds of wool coat. “So don’t try and fool me.” “It’s complicated.” Helen cackles, and the sound makes other residents turn and stare. “Nothing complicated about it. Simplest process in the world.” “No biology lessons, please.” “Do you want it?” She hesitates as the man reaches the last pot. The last seed is carefully laid in, the last sweep of compost drawn over the top. He is still explaining it to her mother. Or perhaps he isn’t. Perhaps he’s telling her a story, or telling her about his family, or telling her sweet nonsense. Her mother won’t remember anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. What matters is his voice. “I don’t know,” she eventually answers. “Does he?” “I don’t know that either.” “Better decide sharpish, pet.” “I’m too old as well.” “Not forty yet, are you?” Elena shakes her head. She’s a long way off forty and her aunt knows it. But her mother’s lip is starting to tremble. She can see it from here, and so can the nurse who is keeping an

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eye on the garden from the open French doors. It both fascinates Elena and appals her, the way the love in her mother’s eyes is so quickly replaced by hurt and anger and betrayal when the last pot is finished and there are no more. Her mother doesn’t understand. Her mother wants the man to keep planting forever. “Are you going to say anything to her?” Elena shakes her head. “Not today. Not until I decide.” Her mother doesn’t know who she is anyway. Her mother won’t understand that she might be a grandmother. Her mother has completely forgotten that she’s even got a daughter, and Elena thinks that should upset her more than it does. Instead it’s a simple practicality. Occasionally, she’s even grateful that it was her mother and not her aunt. Helen’s body has betrayed her, not her mind, and Elena can cope with that even though the thought feels like a guilt-laden worm in her chest. Helen and her mother had formed the double-act of her childhood, each filling in what the other couldn’t provide. When she’d fallen off her bicycle, failed an exam, been dumped by her first boyfriend, her mother had swiftly provided a bandage and picked her up off the floor. Helen had sat with her and mopped up her tears. Helen had always mopped up her tears, and she knew it was unfair that she felt closest to Helen because of it. She knew she would be devastated if Helen ever forgot her name. Elena watches as the nurse gently leads her mother inside. The man watches, resigned. He slowly gathers the spilt compost into a pile, sweeps it off the wooden table into his palm, tosses it back into the open bag. He starts to carry the pots into the greenhouse two at a time, one in each hand. The few steps there and back take him several minutes, but he’s patient. He knows not to rush himself. Elena watches the entire operation and wonders whether her mother will have calmed down by the time he’s finished, whether he knows how long it takes, whether he’s timing it so that there’s no real interruption to their love story. She thinks he is, and Helen nods. “If he wouldn’t do that for you, don’t bother with him.” Elena knows her aunt isn’t talking about Freddie. ~ Late that night there is a storm. It’s not the thunder that wakes her; that hasn’t started yet. Nor is it lightning, because that will only come a step or two behind the thunder. It’s the rain that wakes her, tired as she is after the drive and the nursing home and time spent with one woman who remembers nothing and another woman who remembers too much. The first heavy, splattering drops on the window rouse her from sleep. Get up, they’re saying, there’s

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something coming, be prepared, and so she prepares herself. She gets up and makes tea before the electricity folds under the impending weight. She fetches a cardigan and puts it on over her pyjamas. She lights a candle, and she takes up her place on the windowsill with the curtains open to the weather. A thin pane of glass rests between her and the storm; she can look, but can’t touch. She traces a line down the window with her finger. On the other side a raindrop mirrors her movement. Perfect synchronicity. She was born in a thunderstorm, and she wonders if that’s why. But it was Helen, not her mother, who told her that. It was Helen who told her that a woman’s body is seventy per cent wave and raindrop, river and sea and storm. It was Helen who told her to turn off the lights to see the lightning, because lightning is electricity and the heart is the biggest conductor of electricity in the body. She hears the first growl of thunder, far away beyond her reach, and wonders idly whether the mother has forgotten the daughter because the daughter still believes everything the sister said. She doesn’t have a sister. Her baby will be all hers, and she doesn’t know if she can be enough. She thinks of the adoring look in her mother’s eyes as, just as Helen predicted, she had calmed down and fallen in love with Freddie all over again. So easy. So simple. Nothing complicated. She hears a faint pounding in her ears. It’s her heartbeat, distinct from the approaching thunder and the driving rain. She often hears it during a storm, as if her body is being born all over again, but now for the first time she can hear a tiny echo. She wonders if her mother still has something to teach her, even if her mother no longer knows her name. ~ Two weeks later, she returns to the nursing home. There are swathes of daffodils now. The first cotton buds of blossom are showing on the trees. She doesn’t need her thick coat, only a jacket, and that, she thinks, is the difference that two weeks can make. In another two weeks the daffodils might be gone altogether. In another two weeks the blossom will be out, and tiny leaves will be everywhere like daubs of green paint, and the same loveliness that blooms every year will begin all over again. In another two weeks her jeans will be tight. She sits outside and waits for Helen, waits for the familiar clack of the stick, waits for the twisted body to lower itself into the garden chair. She wonders how many weeks it will be before Helen won’t be able to refuse the helping arm. She wonders how many weeks before she will come and find her aunt in a wheelchair.

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“Freezing,” Helen grumbles by way of greeting, and Elena agrees again even though it’s mild and there’s been no rain since the storm. “How have you been?” Elena asks, and Helen huffs. “Same as I was two weeks ago when you last came.” Today, Freddie is transplanting seedlings. His large fingers are gentle, plucking the tiny stalks from their seed pots and placing them carefully into a larger one. Each one has a perfectly formed leaf or two, no bigger than a thumbnail. Each one already has delicate, straggly roots that reach blindly for their new home. Her mother is watching. Her mother is listening as he tells her what he’s doing, over and over again. Her mother is smiling, and it makes Elena smile too. “It’s a girl,” Helen says, and Elena looks at her. “It’s barely a tadpole at the moment.” “It’s a girl,” Helen repeats. She reaches into her pocket, and with some effort pulls out the usual packet of Maltesers. She hands it to Elena. “You’ll have to open them.” Elena tears off a corner, and tips some chocolates into her aunt’s waiting hand before helping herself. “I haven’t called him yet,” she confesses. She knows he wouldn’t endlessly plant tomato seeds for her, and Helen shrugs as much as the arthritis will let her. “You should tell your mother.” “She doesn’t know who I am.” “Doesn’t matter.” Helen’s tongue noisily sucks chocolate from honeycomb. “It’ll make her happy anyway.” Elena approaches carefully, while her mother is still watching Freddie. He smiles at her and then returns to his tomatoes; Helen has told him who she is. Her mother doesn’t acknowledge her. “A friend’s come to watch too, love,” Freddie says, his voice gently nudging in her direction, and her mother turns. Elena can tell she’s a little annoyed at the interruption, but her mother has always been polite and mostly still is.

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“A friend?” she queries, and Elena simply smiles and nods. “Oh. Nice to see you, dear.” Elena watches as another little seedling is tenderly cradled in its new pot. Preamble will make no difference. A tiny part of her mother is going to be born again, but her mother won’t understand that. Best to keep it simple. “I’m pregnant,” she says. “I wanted you to know.” Freddie smiles, but keeps his eyes on the pots. “Oh,” her mother says again. “That’s lovely, dear.” She points to one of the seedlings, its leaf shivering in the slight breeze. “Jack and I have children too.” “Fifty of the little buggers,” Freddie chuckles, and hands her mother a seedling. “In there, nice and gentle now.” Elena watches as her mother places the plant in the hole that Freddie has made. Her touch is almost reverent, and she fusses quietly as she tucks the compost over the roots. She looks at Freddie for reassurance, and he nods. Elena is about to turn away when her mother speaks again. “If it’s a girl you could call it Elena.” Her mother’s eyes shine. “Such a pretty name.” Back at the garden table, Helen rests a wrinkled hand on her knee. They watch in silence for a while as her mother and Freddie go through the same routine. There is the frown, the confusion, the collapse of the face into tears. A different nurse comes this time, and her mother is led away to be soothed with tea and as many reassuring words as she can understand before it all begins again. “She told me to call it Elena.” “She calls me that as well. She remembers in her own way.” “She called Freddie Jack.” Helen swears, and then cackles. “Lost again.” Freddie starts to carry the new pots into the greenhouse, two at a time again, one in each hand. His shuffle is more pronounced than last time. She wonders what her mother would do without him. She wonders if, after a few days, her mother would even remember.

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“I’m scared.” “Me too, pet. Facing death’s no easier than facing life.” Freddie picks up the next two pots, and Elena feels a lump in her throat. She doesn’t have an answer for that. Helen was always the one with the answers. “Remember what I taught you,” Helen says, patting her knee clumsily. “You turned out alright, didn’t you? Teach her the same and you’ll both be fine.” Elena remembers the storm, and the thrumming of rain through her blood. Their blood, now. She’d sat up all night with the thunder that never came near and the lightning that was only a spark on the horizon, and she’d whispered all she knew about rivers and seas and hearts and electricity. She’d done it to remind herself, but the echo of her heartbeat had only got stronger. She smiles. “I already am.” ***

Elodie Barnes is a writer and editor. Her short fiction and poetry has been widely published online, and she is one winner (alongside Erin Calabria) of the 2020 Sundog Lit Collaboration Prize. She is Books & Creative Writing Editor at Lucy Writers Platform, where she is also cofacilitating What the Water Gave Us, an Arts Council England-funded anthology of emerging women and non-binary writers from migrant backgrounds. She is currently working on a collection of short stories. Find her online at elodierosebarnes.weebly.com.

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ART: LAWRENCE MEJU

Kandy Watchman, 2021, mixed media: paper on paper and acrylic paint, 60 x 50 cm

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His Magical Twisted Mind, 2021, paper on paper, 60 x 50 cm

Camille II, 2020, paper on paper, 50 x 40 cm

Lawrence Meju is a visual artist currently based in Lagos, Nigeria. He uses textured paper, upcycled paper, and paints to create intricately detailed pieces. He is constantly experimenting with techniques and materials to introduce another dimension to his works, challenging art's unspoken rules by testing what would happen if some lines were blurred. His work explores conversations, satirizing some narratives, social profiling, and creating unimagined worlds. His conception, "Extranormal Portraits," is a playful approach to portraiture. He is breaking the boundaries of portraiture, breaking the world down into its simplest, purest forms creating his own subjects while at it. Elevating the mundane – the purity in simple forms. He is digging deeper with his art, even more in sync with his inner child, and looks to experience the world in a not preconceived way. Indicative of his style is his ability to explore the mindscapes and create unimagined worlds – people and built forms. His art remains a natural impulse and a way for him to evoke introspection and essentially inspire authenticity. Instagram: @lawrence_koby

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ART: OLIVIA FORTIER

Paysage Minéral, L'Autre Versant (detail), collage, 30 x 40 cm

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Emeraude, collage, 40 x 50 cm

Paysage Minéral, L'Autre Versant, collage, 30 x 40 cm

Olivia Fortier «Precious Pebbles»collage collection

Sage Coquillage, Marée Basse, collage, 30 x 40 cm

Multi faceted imaginary stones, these collages are made of hundreds of bits of printed images, a sort of poetical recycling, reusing this abundance of printed ads which drown us. I work as an image collector would, going through the pages of magazines ; I like to let my eyes glide along the pages to extract each image from its meaning, to keep only the shapes, the lines, the colors. I have always been fascinated with the beauty of stones, their complexity and their capacity to tell us a part of Earth’s history. They are the witnesses of time going by, and are physically impacted by it. Through the process of collage, this work is also the reflection of many stories, through the hundred of photographic fragments which compose them. Molded like paper sculptures, these paper minerals are captured between two translucent blocs, a precious casket which opposing the fragility of paper to mineral brutality. Instagram: @_olivia_fortier

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WORDS • IDEAS: FANNI SOMOGYI

Sporadic blooms (of echinacea) by Fanni Somogyi

It is just the sculptures and my presence. There are no cameras in the field. Concrete, and steel forms are drizzled on evergreen patches in between long grass and golden rod. Abstract or figurative, colorful or rusted, you can discover hidden gems growing periodically. What was a prairie is now a sculpture park. We are restoring that status partially. The grass is only cut for walking paths, and the parking lot in the back. I have two gloves on: an orange rubber glove and thick leather welding glove. I yank at the plant. Yank at it again, and my hands slip on its thorny surface. The thistle is relentless, but it must be removed to give way for the native species. When left unchecked the fields begin to bloom in that deadly, yet soft violet. My long cargo pants are tucked into my socks, dozed with Off! Deep Woods tick spray. That slightly toxic smell keeps wafting to my nostrils as I bend over and rip the 4’ tall plant out of the ground. The deer are frequent visitors to the park thus precaution must be taken against Lyme spreading ticks. The long stalk is the last one from this patch. The bees, intoxicated by its smell, keep returning to its violet lollipop blooms. Meanwhile, Rusty, the big chalk-grey tomcat, has decided to make his home right in the middle of the pile. Unbothered by the thorns and drawn to the coolness of the leaves and buggy, still not warmed by the morning sun. I drop the plants off at the burn pile that we are to burn at the end of August. As the summer becomes hotter the mound grows each day with expectation like a pregnant belly. We are all looking forward to the iron pour that will precede the fire. Each morning I can hear them swinging the sledgehammer and breaking the old iron radiators. Like a dance there is an intimate rhythm to the deconstruction of these heating elements. I used to have those heaters in my bedroom, from what feels like eons ago and 4,805 miles away.

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I set the buggy back in the tool barn, that had miraculously survived many tornados this past summer. Thinking that Shafer was far enough North I had not expected as many tornadoes as we have had. The ominous sirens and green churning clouds have become a frightening commonality. Each time we hear the alarms we dash inside and watch movies, like last week: the brilliant “Mermaid” starring Cher and Winona Ryder, in the basement. Someone is always sure to track the cat down. I start back toward the living quarters. Now, only a light breeze is blowing. The air is crisp, and some birds are fluttering about. Honeybees and butterflies sway in the wind looking for their breakfast. The trembling movement of these creatures is mimicked by the big flowing form at one corner of the park. I can see the blue waving and dancing in the wind from almost any point in the field. It is soft and undulating. Up close the fabric envelops and flows over my body. It has the rough texture of a densely woven plastic net, semi-translucent. A steel tube frames the work out in a long rectangular shape that stretches at least 50’ tall. Somehow the wind always seems to be blowing from the South-East, and I usually approach it from the North-West. I pass through a layer of blue. I’m on the inside. The rough fabric leaves my skin slightly itchy, but the breeze cools me back down. I look up to sky, a couple shades lighter than the net. The breeze carries me through the grass. I imagine that this is what bees feel when they fly through our windows pushing against soft organza curtains. During my walk magenta blooms of echinacea can be glimpsed among the grass sporadically. I notice the heads of three concrete figures standing tall against the prairie drop grass and blue grama. I pass around the green until I find an opening. Three lanky figures come to face me. Their shape generally appears to be human, yet they are simplified into layers. The forms resemble topographical maps as if a person had been peeled back layer by layer like an onion. The curvatures of the body, usually soft, now ripples in hard concrete. Its surface is like sandpaper, coarse to the touch. The figures feel ghostly in their solitude, but they are also resolute in their presence. Their stark posture contrasts with the flowing subdued grass. Eliza Evan based the figures in “The Compact” off Cycladic, Greek scanned female forms. She then simplified the forms based on geometry. I’m reminded of the extent that surveillance presides over our life and how our bodies are mapped and watched in public, and then archived as data points. Street cameras watch our every step, and our personal technologies follow us along on digital paths. I feel that sometimes the ad algorithms know my desires much before I do, but that is a story for another day.

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I meander to the entrance of the park, to grab a strawberry popsicle from the fridge before I start the morning tour. I pass by another concrete artwork, drastically different from the former. It is a car, but it is not a car. It feels soft, squishy, and melted, like truffles left inside a car on any sunny day. “1994 Oldsmobile Achieva S” plops on the ground, spreading out like my thighs on the white plastic chairs by the St. Croix River side. While the texture of the figures is jagged, this form’s smooth glossy texture magnetizes my hands. As I run my fingers along the top of the car (only ~2’ high) I feel the subtle groove of every detail: the threshold from the hood to the side panels, the pattern on the edge of the tires, the small divot of the handle. I imagine Tamsie Ringler’s giant mold (most likely silicone without a mother mold) that the concrete had to be poured into. The mixture must have sloshed in it jiggling like gelatin. The lump also functions as a chair for the summer camp children huddled in groups waiting for the docent tour to start. *** “Sporadic blooms (of echinacea)” is based off memories captured at the Franconia Sculpture Park, while I was an Emerging Artist Resident in the summer of 2019.

Fanni Somogyi is a multi-disciplinary artist and writer from Hungary and currently based in Baltimore. She explores modes of connections and metamorphosis through speculative works. She is a graduate of the Maryland Institute College of Art. She has previously been published in Hobart Literary Magazine and BmoreArt. Website: www.fannisomogyi.com Instagram: @fanni_somogyi

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ART: THE MESSDECK

Annette Nichols, While in the Garden, 2022, oil pastel on paper, 23 x 14.6 cm

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Celeste Palacios, Akasha I & II, 2022, acrylic on canvas, 100 x 70 cm

Celeste Palacios, Porta I & II, 2021, acrylic on canvas, 70 x 50 cm

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Nora Lebbos (Nor), Composite, pen on paper, 42 x 29.7 cm

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Rebecca Martin, Hole, 2020, acrylic and household paint on paper, 21 x 29.7 cm

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Mike Brunswig. Late Night Massage, photograph

Bern Fertal, Spring, 2022, linocut, 21.6 x 28 cm

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Laura Prochilo, Reintroduced Into The Wild, collage


Frank Lahera O´Callaghan, A Breath Away, 2021

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Farhana Hossain, Bloom, watercolour

Marta Leszek , Flower Touch, photograph

Hashon Milton, Blossom, 2021, oil painting, 46 x 61 cm

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Brian Trees, 3 Years Passed, acrylic on paper, 28 x 35.6 cm

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Gina Ariko, Green Bottle

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Mónica Esgueva, Samadhi, 2021, acrylic on canvas, 60 cm diameter

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Eve Méthot, the Lady's Slipper Orchid, 2021, fine art photography, 28 x 35.6 cm

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MESSDECK ARTISTS Gina Ariko I owe my lifelong love of painting to my jichan and baachan, both professional artists in my mother's hometown of Kitakyushu, Japan. Growing up biracial and a first-generation American, I often felt caught in the in-between, sometimes feeling "too American to be Japanese" and other times "too Japanese to be American." Painting helped me express myself and to connect to my heritage. Website: ginaariko.com IG: @ginaaariko Mike Brunswig I use various mediums as an outlet for my joy, frustration, boredom, anger, lust, and love. I design and create for the process more than the end result. I am a Colorado native living and working in Denver, and I draw inspiration from many sources, typically ideas, objects, or foreign concepts that I feel may benefit my well-being or produce an aesthetic that brings value to my life. At times dark, at times light. Website: flowersandscumbags.com IG: @flowersandscumbags Mónica Esgueva Having lived in London, Paris, Tanzania, and India, Mónica Esgueva is a Visionary artist now based in Madrid, Spain. She started exhibiting her paintings when she was very young, and her artwork has been shown in exhibitions in the United States, Holland, Great Britain, France, Costa Rica, Italy and Spain. Artist statement: Through my paintings, I want the viewer to feel the beauty that surrounds us, trying to portray a vision of expanded awareness and the underlying sacredness of all that is. Art should be beautiful for the truths it reveals and not just for art's sake. My aim is to communicate with my art transrational luminous forms to introduce viewers to their own spiritual worlds. The artists' role is to be a leader and a visionary: not only to think outside the box but to be outside the box, contributing to the change we want to see in the world. Since we are all interconnected, the morphic field of each individual has the potential to influence the collective through creative acts. The deeper an artist penetrates into their own infinitude, the more able they are to transmit that state.

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Mystical visions and experiences motivate us to question our assumptions about life and the world, challenging us to live more profoundly. Making art (and sharing it) is a way for me to integrate those visions of a better world into daily life. www.monicaesguevaart.com IG: @monicaesgueva.art Bern Fertal My name is Bern (they/them), and I've been a fulltime student and artist for two years now in Pennsylvania, US. I plan to receive my bachelor's in art therapy in the next couple of years and love making art, especially revolving around free expression and nature. My Instagram handle, where I post my art-related projects, is @Bern_m_art Farhana Hossain I help survivors of loss find their strength and voice through art. I launched my online store, Shakti Art Studios, a year ago in memory of my first daughter. I offer custom illustrations under my Life After Loss series, where I work with grieving clients to show precious moments or teachings from their grief journey. My Affirmation series features my daughter in empowering illustrations for children. I also published a children's journal book called "I Believe in Me," which is the first of a series featuring little warriors to raise awareness of their unique medical challenges. Website: www.shaktiartstudios.com IG: @shaktiartstudios Frank Lahera O'Callaghan Multidisciplinary artist and contemporary Cuban filmmaker, an artist who reflects and inquires and investigates situations and social issues in various contexts and symbolically exposes his views, inviting us to reflect and see the world as a living entity that needs changes for everyone. Facebook: @ProbetaFilms IG: @probetafilmscuba Nora Lebbos My name is Nora Lebbos, artist name - Nor - I'm a Franco-Lebanese narrative and visual artist. My visual creations are like stories in abstract, surreal, or brut art. I don't have a specific technique except for total trust in the movement of my hand. Website: www.noralebbos.com IG: @nora_lbs


,

Marta Leszek I am a self-taught, psychedelic artist, and I try to show diversity, power of nature and body beauty in my works. I also try to use them to fight for the people's and animals' rights. Peace and love to everyone! IG: @marthyev

Her work has been exhibited nationally and internationally and featured in numerous media publications, including Jane Magazine, Elements Magazine, and more. Annette currently lives outside of Philadelphia with her husband and cats. IG: @annettenicholsart

Rebecca Martin Rebecca Martin is a Dublin-based artist. Her predominantly painting and photography-based practice explores themes of setting and place. She has recently been exploring abandoned structures in Ireland. Rebecca draws attention to a juxtaposition between the beauty and desolation of these spaces while also attempting to instil a new sense of life into the forgotten and uninhabited. IG: @rebeccamartin.art

Celeste Palacios Celeste Palacios was born in Argentina. She is a painter and illustrator who lives and works in Germany. She graduated from the Academy of Fine Arts in Córdoba, Argentina, in 2004. She has exhibited her paintings in solo and group exhibitions for over eighteen years at home and abroad. In her paintings, she explores the connection between colours and geometric shapes, with emotions, experiences, and memories. Website: www.celestepalacios.de IG: @celeste_palacios_art

Eve Méthot I am a freelance artist. My tools are photography, video, sound, digital design and Augmented Reality. I worked for 20 years as a digital design and multimedia teacher in Quebec. My creations can be seen in Quebec, New York, Glasgow, Vienna, Zurich and Rome. www.linkedin.com/in/eve-methot-9574397 Hashon Milton My name is Hashon. I'm an artist and business owner from New York City who composes bizarre arrangements of humans and objects from life to create surrealist paintings that break the barriers of reality. I take inspiration from the world around me to use my art to interpret unique concepts such as manifestation, growth, astrology, and the passage of time. I use acrylic and oil paint to create dream-like scenes and unimaginable worlds. Website: creationsbyhashon.wixsite.com/onlinegallery IG: @creationsbyhashon Annette Nichols Annette Nichols is an American visual artist who likes to take a visceral approach in her work by creating layers using various mediums that articulate a sense of emotionalism and depth. Her artistic direction is primarily influenced by music, film, women's equality, and animal rights.

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Laura Prochilo Laura Prochilo is a multidisciplinary artist working in collage, photography, installation, experimental film, and performance. Their work explores the impermanence of the human condition, along with the beautiful and bizarre qualities of nature. Website: www.lauraprochilo.com IG: @lauraprochilomakesart. Brian Trees Brian Trees is a painter, photographer and poet from Baltimore, Maryland, in the United States. He is a graduate of Carnegie Mellon University and Loyola University. He is not a formally trained artist and experiments with different forms and mediums. Much of his work centers around health and wellness. "My work varies depending on my mood and interests at a particular point in time. I photograph and paint broad landscapes and also trees, plants and flowers. I often prefer to paint abstracts as a means of sharing something from my mind and allowing others to interpret the work on their own. I appreciate the process where someone views one of my paintings, learns more about me, then looks at the piece again with a slightly different perspective. It is important to me to create pieces that shed light on wellness, particularly mental health, in a way that increases awareness, reduces stigma and offers hope."



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