Spring Arts Annual - Death of Winter

SPRING

ARTS 2010

Death of Winter

Spring arts 2010

Death of Winter

Spring arts 2010

The Death of Winter

The birth of every season marks another’s demise

BY ASHLEY SCHWELLENBACH

Spring is undoubtedly the most anticipated of seasons, heralded by landscapes awash in color and new life. But just as spring must eventually relent to summer, the season’s birth—March 20 this year—is coincident with winter’s passing. New Times celebrated this alliance of birth and death, joy and sorrow by inviting local artists to render their own impression of the changing of seasons. In poems, photographs, sculptures, and paintings, they explored the theme The Death of Winter.

Steve Smith explored winter as a period of hibernation that draws to an end when the birds of spring issue a call to escape interior confines. For Michael McLaughlin that meant painting a word portrait of a mother in the winter of her life seeking the hope of renewal. For Ric Riva, the death of winter meant Tiger Woods’ downfall. Artists explored death literally, the attendant grief, symbols, and meaning. And they captured the natural beauty of the new season.

In addition to viewing these works in the paper, select pieces from the Party with the artists Death of Winter series are on display at Linnaea’s Café March 29 through Selected works from The Death of the end of April. An artists’ reception takes place Friday, April 2, from 6 to 9 Winter are on display at Linnaea’s Café March 29 through the end of April. A p.m. during Art After Dark. ∆

Arts Editor Ashley Schwellenbach marks the onset of spring with the consumption of Cadbury eggs. Send peeps to aschwellenbach@ newtimesslo.com.

reception takes place during Art After Dark, April 2 between 6 and 9 p.m.

Linnaea’s Café is located at 1110 Garden Street in downtown SLO.

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IMAGE BY EDIE SCHNEIDER EDIE SCHNEIDER “Snow had no power.

IMAGE BY EDIE SCHNEIDER EDIE SCHNEIDER “California poppies

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IMAGE BY BOBBYE THOMPSON BOBBYE THOMPSON “Ripe and delicious.” “Winter pears arriving at Christmas time were too beautiful to eat ... at least not right away!

These beauties were sent from Oregon, and enjoyed for several weeks ... reminding us of how much we enjoy observing as well as eating these delicious fruits. Using pastels for this piece enhanced their vibrant colors.

IMAGE BY BOBBYE THOMPSON BOBBYE THOMPSON “Sunflower and shadows.” “Although winter is upon us, sunflowers are beginning to emerge here on the Central Coast. I was reminded of those blooms last summer, their glorious color speaking to all who stopped to investigate. This particular sunflower was a volunteer, growing from dropped birdseed near our feeder in the front yard. It brightened our home for several days.”

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IMAGE BY FRED VENTURA FRED VENTURA “Magpie and magnolia.” “I recently read that the yellow-billed magpie is a California native but unfortunately it is threatened by loss of habitat, pesticides, and other dangers including the West Nile virus. Magpies are quirky, white, blue and black birds. They are very beautiful. For me one of the best parts of spring is the return of the birds and flowers.

IMAGE BY FRED VENTURA FRED VENTURA “Robin and apple blossoms.

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IMAGE BY JANA SEELY JANA SEELY “Green man.”

“Regeneration is the reassuring theme of the plant world, with life springing from death. The green man, whose face is made of leaves, is an ancient motif that symbolizes the fertility, rebirth, and renewal associated with vegetation. As an icon of the death of winter and the resulting birth of spring, it can hardly be bettered. Perhaps because of this, it appears in the art of numerous cultures.

Its design versatility, along with its vital symbolism, inspired the cathedral-builders of Europe to incorporate the once-pagan green man into the architecture of Christian churches in a strange, yet appealing synthesis.

IMAGE BY IAIN VAN KLEECK AND JEFF VAN KLEECK IAIN & JEFF VAN KLEECK “Aspens. “When I think of spring, I think of flowers. I also think, when will it get here? It’s the waiting, the glimpses of hope.

These prints take anywhere from a couple of days to a week or so, depending on the sun. Like planting flowers, sometimes they work, sometimes not.

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Spring arts 2010 IMAGE BY IAIN VAN KLEECK AND JEFF VAN KLEECK IAIN & JEFF VAN KLEECK “Leaves.

PHOTO BY JOHN CALCAGNI JOHN CALCAGNI “Untitled.

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IMAGE BY KIM ILENE MCDANIEL KIM ILENE MCDANIEL “3965 Red wing ranch road. Acrylic paint on shikishi board. “Red-wing angel flutters earthward/ where devil fears to tread/ California halo beams bright.

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IMAGE BY KIM ILENE MCDANIEL KIM ILENE MCDANIEL “Bee House 3965 Red Wing Ranch Road.

Acrylic paint on shikishi board. “Honey bees usher pastel hues/ growing things greenly spring/ winter pales away defeated.

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IMAGE BY MARY VELASQUEZ MARY VELASQUEZ “Spring morning in Pismo.

IMAGE BY SAM BONIFAS SAM BONIFAS

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IMAGE BY NANCY JOY

IMAGE BY SAM BONIFAS SAM BONIFAS

NANCY JOY “Breakup. “In Alaska, ice breakup in the spring is a huge, meaningful event. Also, the “midnight sun doesn’t really light up the sky like we expect. Introducing “Breakup, a watercolor on foil with collage. See the mountains, glaciers, semi-light sky, and the cold, cold water showing through the broken ice … When you’re up North, amongst the glaciers, in the land of the midnight sun this is how it feels.

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PHOTO BY SAM PECK SAM PECK “Happy Grass. Digital photo shot at sunup in Pacific Valley.

Bright sun and green grass are good indications of the Death of Winter.

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PHOTO BY SAM PECK SAM PECK “Spring has Sprung on Alms Ridge. Digital photo shot at sundown above Pacific Valley in the Santa Lucia Mountains. Looking north to Alms Ridge and Lucia on the coast.

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IMAGE BY LENA RUSHING

IAMGE BY STEVEN SMITH STEVEN SMITH “Emergence of Spring. “I see winter as a slumber; I tend to spend more time in bed, perhaps because there is more darkness and cold. The arrival of spring brings and end to hibernation. Birds herald its arrival and their songs invite me to step outside to see the new growth.

LENA RUSHING “Untitled. “The death of winter begets the birth of spring. Favoring symbolism over literal translation I chose to arrive at the topic through my interpretation of “blossom. To blossom. My image depicts a girl in her mid teens. On the verge of womanhood, she is slumped in her chair surrendering to the inevitable sunshine. As the sun leaks through the window hitting the side of her face it’s influence changes her. Her skin is turned from shades of blue to warm neutrals, representing the awakening of her desires that had lay dormant until now. Her expression is that of indifference, as she knows the change will come but knows not what to expect. She looks tired or overwhelmed as her innocence is infected by this coming of “spring. I don’t think that our “blossoming “into womanhood is a traumatic experience but it is a confusing one. Adults are aware of this time, even if the girl is not, which leads me to the other figure in my piece, the walrus.

The walrus represents an adult male. His presence can be seen as that of an escort, there to protect and guide her through this transition or a predator, waiting until her trust is gained before moving in for the kill (to take advantage). I saw the image of a walrus as a powerful male figure, even the females to me looked incredibly masculine. The tusks were phallic, beautiful, and dangerous.

The painting tells a story of the relationship between the two. He waits patiently for her to join him in the spring, for her to “blossom and she tolerates his company because she is starting feel like she needs a companion. She couldn’t protest if she wanted to, considering his size and talents. There she sits unimpressed by what’s happening to her, waiting to be consumed by spring and emerge a woman. We watch her, resigning to the death of her winter.

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PHOTO BY BRIAN CASERIO BRIAN CASERIO “Untitled.

IMAGE BY KATHI CUSHMAN KATHI CUSHMAN “Untitled.

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IMAGE BY DAN KEHOTY DENNIS KEHOE “Untitled.

IMAGE BY JOYCE MANETT JOYCE MANETT “Emergence. Acrylic and copper on canvas.

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IMAGE BY RACHELLE LOPEZ

IMAGE BY RIC RIVA

RACHEL LOPEZ “Untitled. “I used acrylics to portray the final quiet and still moment that occurs right before Mother Nature awakens with life. A moment that allows reflection on the depths of winter, the solitude it can bring, and the constant reminder of how changes occur over time. It is in these moments of solitude and reflection that one feels most connected to themselves and their surroundings. It is the perfect moment to move forward from. Internally you are ready to blossom while externally Mother Nature is getting ready for her new, vibrant life to come.

RIC RIVA “Tiger. “This year winter died when Tiger screwed up all winter golf events he won’t be playing in. Here is my painting of the killer of winter.

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IMAGE BY MAJIDA FAZEL

PHOTO BY SERENA WYATT

MAJIDA FAZEL “Untitled.

SERENA WYATT “Untitled. “The awakening of buds along dormant branches/ soft pastel flowers and humming bees/ herald the coming of Spring/ Winter’s gone, blown East/ by the wind, rustling through the trees.

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Pointed—That Beam of Light

BY YOUSSEF ALAOUI

That beam of light upon your face reveals the blush of summer gone from it.

And now, treatment for a reflective era: Evening.

She creeps over the trees and valleys on multiple legs of brittle iron poles.

An expanding barracks not fluttering but oozing in mile-high wafts and we are pointed toward her hurtling into the East.

Emerging evening; a cold blanket with rusted edges, replacing daylight with a fickle promise of dreams.

Instead, she fills the sleeping gulf with ideas of living acts never committed, never actualized, hardly remembered.

Finally alone, this is the river we speak to— Grey, broad, shallow, leafless, birds leaving it, and bridged.

An expanse best fled from.

A kept secret. A mute response.

And then above sirens spiral around it.

Just beyond the periphery lies your rock island, a glowing carnelian outpost.

The final gateway into spring.

Rooted In Time

by Debbie Levi

Roots twist through dark Crannies and blemished soil; Carry doubts and shadows stronger than concrete of those born before me.

I plant a winter garden filled with seeds and trust on a rocky hillside beneath golden stars. Their memory loses color as I lose my footing, feeling trapped by chill and liquid earth.

Just as a child comes to life, these seeds awaken to sounds, dance past the roots of my fears and explode into springtime mulch—birth the lilies and yellow roses, savor morning dew— while I dream with a newborn’s knowing.

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WINTER 2010 GINA CARMEN TURLEY

I smelled light closing into cuddled up fire.

Piece by piece, we went inside-pushing past the news“I want more”, said one to another. “ I want less”, said one to another. “ I do not know anymore, “ said one to another. pitter. patter. pitter. patter thoughts. thoughts. thoughts. more thoughts…coming from within, Our Season of depth.

Winter, 2010.

RETURN OF THE LIGHT

S L I P P P I N G Further into

The once and future king Out of the dead of winter Shines on us as we are This is the daily act A little more A little longer The light brightens Our lives

Maybe we can find Peace ?

Death of The American Dream.

Kevin Patrick Sullivan

Death of Winter

Spring arts 2010 I would have taken a cleaver

BY MICHAEL MCLAUGHLIN

Good-bye to Winter

BY MARLENE MCQUEEN

The cold of winter is passing us by A glimmer of sunlight brightens the sky.

A feeling of warmth will comfort our minds.

We covet the days when the cold is behind

The wind and the rain, it will come and then go The flowers will thrive, and with beauty they’ll grow.

Never we’ll fear Old Man Winter’s scorn Knowing again that Spring will be born.

So good-bye to winter, the good and the bad And hello to springtime, no time to be sad.

It came and it went, leaving behind A world full of wonder, and beauty sublime.

I asked the mother of a young man who’d blown himself up what she would have done

if she’d known what her son was planning to do.

I would have taken a cleaver, cut open my heart and stuffed him deep inside.

she said.

Then I would have sewn it up tight to keep him safe.

--Michael McLaughlin

++++ Suicide bombing has been in the news of over twenty years now--Hurt Locker or not, most will remain inured to it. I spent three or four months delving into the reactions of families, both of the bombers and of the bombers’ victims and using poetry to cut to the issue’s core. Art can convey one to the emotional truth of an issue which might be inaccessible otherwise. ++++ Much too long but by way of a bio: A three time $17,000 California Arts Council grant recipient, Michael McLaughlin has worked for twenty years as an Artist -in-Residence at Atascadero State Hospital, a maximum security forensic facility, as a Contract Artist with the California Department of Corrections and as San Luis Obispo county Area Coordinator for California Poets in the Schools.

A graduate of The University of Southern California’s’ Master of Professional Writing program, McLaughlin’s written one novel, Western People Show Their Faces and three books of poetry, Ped Xing, The Upholstery of Heaven and Countless Cinemas.

Originally from San Francisco, McLaughlin lives on the central California coast with his brilliant and beautiful wife . Currently completing his second novel, Gang of One, McLaughlin was Poet Laureate of San Luis Obispo, California in 2003. ++++ The woman has survived the cruelest part of her life--the winter of her life--as a mother. She must find sources of renewal in what remains, regenerate her life the way spring might, and move on.

That said, if you take the poem, this footnote will weaken it--the poem is not (which you “said” was okay in the call for artists), a literal interpretation of the theme. I think Cleaver stands on its merits fairly well.

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Resounding Silence Michael Zuniga

It started like the acoustic softness of a Simon and Garfunkel ballad one 7am Sunday in mid-March, winter’s last gasp before seasonal CPR resuscitated spring.

Downpour of engorged flakes silently settles like sifted flour… a final rest on rooftops, draped over treetops, shrouding the ground.

Then a family, friendly-fire victims too long fox-holed in their own fortresses, arouses from slumber like an interrupted hibernation and wanders through frozen wonderland, huddled in bathrobes while watching snowy chrysalises lacewinging magic over landscape like unleashed butterflies, hearing Nature gently coaxing a love song from numb heartstrings, feeling once frigid frowns stubbornly thawing, smiles beginning to gather in drifts amid giggles and sideglances.

Will this miraculous interlude bring them a temporary moratorium, unilateral withdrawal, or unconditional ceasefire before the last chord resounds in silence?

Poem Explanation: Each year winter ‘dies’ as spring brings forth its warmth and newness of life. This 2-3 hour ‘miracle’ seemed to me like not only the ‘death’ of winter as the snow would soon be over and there’d be the advent of spring in a week or two, but it also represents the possible ‘death’ of the winter that belongs to this family as it witnesses this event and reacts to its promise of new life.

PHOTO BY THERESA LEMUS THERESA LEMUS “Untitled.

From here I navigate: north by ceiling stars, Across the wide planes and mountains of your body Across the wide planes and mountains of your body I have been baptized in this river bed I have been baptized in this river bed My little universe overflowing My little universe overflowing With bursting comets and hallelujahs With bursting comets and hallelujahs

* * * * * * * * * * * *

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I was born in California and raised in England, but I’m a New Yorker at heart. One September I was born in California and raised in England, but I’m a New Yorker at heart. One September evening several years ago, I was walking with a friend beneath the twin towers. The following evening several years ago, I was walking with a friend beneath the twin towers. The following day I was headed to Ireland for a year to attend graduate school, and so we were taking a stroll day I was headed to Ireland for a year to attend graduate school, and so we were taking a stroll through my city so that I could say goodbye for a while. It had been a tough year, and while I through my city so that I could say goodbye for a while. It had been a tough year, and while I was happy enough and contented, my heart had been badly broken and I was struggling to was happy enough and contented, my heart had been badly broken and I was struggling to regain my sense of confidence and composure. I landed in Dublin the morning of 9/11, and by

regain my sense of confidence and composure. I landed in Dublin the morning of 9/11, and by the end of that fateful day I was disoriented, shattered and one heartͲbreak had now been the end of that fateful day I was disoriented, shattered and one heartͲbreak had now been ‘Awake’ compounded by another.

Awake compounded by another.

I spent the first few months of that dark and isolate winter alone with myself. I meditated I have traced the curve of life with my fingertips I spent the first few months of that dark and isolate winter alone with myself. I meditated (something I had never done before), I reflected, I sat with my emotional discomfort and I sank Laying in this room, (something I had never done before), I reflected, I sat with my emotional discomfort and I sank into it, without flinching or looking away, in order to begin to heal myself so that I could be of into it, without flinching or looking away, in order to begin to heal myself so that I could be of Absorbed by the blue lampshade some use to the world in the future. I wanted to live a peaceful and conscientious life and not some use to the world in the future. I wanted to live a peaceful and conscientious life and not leave a wake of destruction in my path. I never again wanted to cause someone harm or heartͲ

leave a wake of destruction in my path. I never again wanted to cause someone harm or heartͲ break, and I wanted to forgive those who hadn’t shown me the same courtesy, which included I take a breath of morning, my body as still as the light break, and I wanted to forgive those who hadn’t shown me the same courtesy, which included even myself.

A siren between the sheets, a siphon even myself.

It was only then – during this ‘workshop for one,’ that I met a true soul mate, a man who not All of my desires heaving beneath your weight It was only then – during this ‘workshop for one,’ that I met a true soul mate, a man who not only offered – but was also comfortable receiving – warmth and affection without stripping it A handicapped muse, mapping the constellations only offered – but was also comfortable receiving – warmth and affection without stripping it down for analysis or dissection. From that mutual respect and curiosity grew a tenderness that

down for analysis or dissection. From that mutual respect and curiosity grew a tenderness that brought me back to life. I had felt emotional love before, of course, but never expressed through brought me back to life. I had felt emotional love before, of course, but never expressed through From here I navigate: north by ceiling stars, the tandem spiritual and physical beauty that occurs when two people collide in selfless and the tandem spiritual and physical beauty that occurs when two people collide in selfless and mutual appreciation. The relationship itself didn’t last – I don’t believe that it was ever meant to Across the wide planes and mountains of your body mutual appreciation. The relationship itself didn’t last – I don’t believe that it was ever meant to – but the friendship has remained firm, and that in itself is the ultimate blessing.

I have been baptized in this river bed – but the friendship has remained firm, and that in itself is the ultimate blessing.

My little universe overflowing On one of many freezing cold mornings this poem came to me and I knew that I had been On one of many freezing cold mornings this poem came to me and I knew that I had been With bursting comets and hallelujahs awakened and that my winter was over. Okay, so it’s not the greatest poem in the world. I’d awakened and that my winter was over. Okay, so it’s not the greatest poem in the world. I’d never written one before and I haven’t had the urge to since (no doubt a good thing, ha!), but

never written one before and I haven’t had the urge to since (no doubt a good thing, ha!), but it’s more an offering than a poem. It’s a thank you prayer. The words and the sentiment flung

it’s more an offering than a poem. It’s a thank you prayer. The words and the sentiment flung * * * * * * * * * * themselves down so quickly and with such determination that it’s become a kind of talisman, a * *

reminder to stay true to myself and faithful to my life’s journey in order to be able to give and

receive the very best of myself.

I was born in California and raised in England, but I’m a New Yorker at heart. One September

evening several years ago, I was walking with a friend beneath the twin towers. The following I’ve experienced sadness and endured a fragile heart since then, of course. Now, however, I tend to take it in my stride and keep a mindful sense of perspective (as well as a healthy sense day I was headed to Ireland for a year to attend graduate school, and so we were taking a stroll of humor!). For every small hurt or petty injustice or personal insult or brokenͲheart I choose to through my city so that I could say goodbye for a while. It had been a tough year, and while I wholeͲheartedly give back LOVE. And then more LOVE. And then even more LOVE (it makes the was happy enough and contented, my heart had been badly broken and I was struggling to world go around, don’t you know). Besides… life is far too wonderful and precious and full of regain my sense of confidence and composure. I landed in Dublin the morning of 9/11, and by sheer joy to hibernate in the dark, cold days of winter for too long. At some point you have to awake. the end of that fateful day I was disoriented, shattered and one heartͲbreak had now been

compounded by another.

Warmest of regards,

I spent the first few months of that dark and isolate winter alone with myself. I meditated Natasha Blake Paso Robles, CA (something I had never done before), I reflected, I sat with my emotional discomfort and I sank

Death of Winter

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into it, without flinching or looking away, in order to begin to heal myself so that I could be of

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IMAGE BY RYAN ADAMS RYAN ADAMS “The birth of spring. “The death of winter ushers in the birth of spring. The excitement and energy of new life that the death of winter brings I feel is obvious on my interpretations. Remnants of winters can still be seen too in the clouds of fog.

IMAGE BY MEG BOURGET MEG BOURGET “Swimmers. “The death of winter has arrived. Get into that swimsuit and get in the sunshine.

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IMAGE BY MEGAN COPHER

IMAGE BY DAVID LEWIS

MEGAN COPHER “Christmas Memento Mori.

DAVID LEWIS “Untitled.

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IMAGE BY JARIAN DE HAM

IMAGE BY JARIAN DE HAM

JARIAN DE HAM “Wisteria.

JARIAN DE HAM “Magnolia and plum.

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IMAGE BY LINDA NELSON LINDA NELSON “Death of winter. “The theme Death of Winter brings to mind the warm rays of the sun chasing away the winter cold. The sun’s rays pierce the ice, breaking it into many fragmented pieces while casting a warm glow.

IMAGE BY JOAN KARLIE GOODALL JOAN KARLIE GOODALL “Untitled.

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IMAGE BY JULIA ALEXIS IMAGE BY MATT FOOTE MATT FOOTE “Untitled.

JULIA ALEXIS “Sunset in Shell Beach.

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IMAGE BY RICK WALSH IMAGE BY MARTHA WRIGHT MARTHA WRIGHT “Summer.

RICK WALSH “Standing on the left you can see that she looks content, kinda smug, smiling. Now go stand to the right. Can you see her crying, sad, melancholy? If you see what I described, then you are seeing the moment when it all changed, when winter died.

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IMAGE BY RICHARD MORTENSEN RICHARD MORTENSEN “One snowman’s demise is a rabbit’s gain.

IMAGE BY REBECCA WAMSLEY REBECCA WAMSLEY “A hopeful bird, her spring nest freshly made, awaits a mate. The ribcage will shelter and protect her young. Her death is the beginning. Our dying allows for new life. If at death we weren’t encased in coffins and concrete, our bodies and bones would serve a useful purpose, feeding and housing a myriad of creatures.

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IMAGE BY NEAL BRETON NEAL BRETON “Untitled.

IMAGE BY CYNTHIA ANN DUBBERS CYNTHIA ANN DUBBERS “Happiness is a spring day.

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IMAGE BY CHRIS MATTHEWS IMAGE BY CYNTHIA ANN DUBBERS CYNTHIA ANN DUBBERS “Bloom where you are planted.

CHRIS MATTHEWS “Winter is a fierce white tiger we wrestle with for a season. The winds cry and snows roar. In this picture I am a warrior locked in battle with a winter tiger, the white blossoms a symbol of winter’s demise, as spring approaches at sunrise.

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IMAGE BY MARIAN FRENCH-GRAY IMAGE BY MARIAN FRENCH-GRAY MARIAN FRENCH-GRAY “Yellow daffodils, grey day.

MARIAN FRENCH-GRAY “Robin and daffodils.

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IMAGE BY GARY KEITH GARY KEITH “Rain.

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IMAGE BY SHELDON ENGELKING SHELDON ENGELKING “Untitled.

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IMAGE BY ANN BONESTELL ANNE BONESTELL “More than 25 years ago, as I was researching quotations for a tribute to spring, I happened upon these stanzas, part of an epic poem written in 1865 by Algernon Charles Swineburne (1837-1909).

I was touched so deeply by his words that I committed them to memory and now, these many years later, I have yet to find another passage that so evokes the feelings I have each year when winter turns to spring.

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IMAGE BY CAROL MORTENSEN CAROL MORTENSEN “Opuntia in yellow. “The yellow blossom is a celebration of the death of winter. The bloom is the gift of the next stage of life that has patiently waited in the dark for its turn.

IMAGE BY BETTY FIELD-HALEY BETTY FIELD-HALEY “Untitled.

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IMAGE BY MANDY WEATHERS MANDY WEATHERS “Sunflowers on a red background.

BY MARK VELASQUEZ MARK VELASQUEZ “Emo girl faces another season.

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IMAGE BY NIKKI LYNN NIKKI LYNN “Starry mountains.

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IMAGE BY INGLIS CARRE-DELLARD INGLIS CARRE-DELLARD “Springing forth. “An intuitive interpretation of the surge of energy and potential released in the spring, when life breaks free of the bonds of winter sleep.

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IMAGE BY JULIA ALEXIS JULIA ALEXIS “New dawn.

IMAGE BY MEG BOURGET MEG BOURGET “Flower-power peace sign. “Spring into peace. The death of winter is upon us.

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IMAGE BY JULIA ALEXIS JULIA ALEXIS “Spring forward.

IMAGE BY COLLETTE JOHNSON COLLETTE JOHNSON “Untitled.

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IMAGE BY JANE MORGAN JANE MORGAN “I explored the interaction between the structure of winter and the unstructured explosion of spring.

IMAGE BY LYNN SARGENT LYNN SARGENT “Garden party.

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IMAGE BY CINDY TODD CINDY TODD “No. 1. “This piece was inspired by the death of my grandfather on 12/23/08, whom I called ‘Dad-Dad.’ This personal loss has had a profound impact on my life, and created a hole that is difficult to crawl out of. This piece represents the agonizing pain of grief and the hole that death leaves behind within the living. The theme ‘Death of Winter’ totally epitomizes loss and grief in general, in my opinion. The theme “Death of Winter instantly connected me to my loss, as my grandfather died in winter.

IMAGE BY DIANA FEBRUARY DIANA FEBRUARY “Winter.

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PHOTO BY JUDITH BERENSTEIN JUDITH BERENSTEIN “Visit.

PHOTO BY FRED PASION FRED PASION “Untitled. “Colors range from cool, dreary grays and whites and transition into livelier greens, blues and warmer colors.

With all the cool bits and pieces incorporated into it, most of which were recycled or collected from local beaches, it’s a constant reminder of the natural beauty of our area and that the season to really go out and enjoy it is just around the corner.

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IMAGE BY LIVE JOHNSON LIVE JOHNSON “An Inviting Walk. Pastel on sanded board.

“After days of rain on the coast, the day began with a light fog and by the time breakfast was eaten the sky was blue. It was a message from the cosmos to pack up my gear and get out there and enjoy the moment. There is a favorite spot just south of the castle that calls my name whenever winter rain lets up and spring colors the coastline.

IMAGE BY JULIE FRANKEL JULIE FRANKEL “Winter. “There is something comforting about bundling up in layers of winter clothing, even here on the Central Coast.

After a gray spell, the unexpectedly warm day comes. Like an onion she peels away her woolen coverings. A yellow miniskirt signals the end of winter. But the death of winter is something ominous... climate change, temperature extremes. Are we witnessing the death of winter?

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PHOTO BY MERLE BASSETT MERLE BASSETT “Untitled.

IMAGE BY MICHAEL APFEL MICHAEL APFEL “Vision of light.

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IMAGE BY MYLA COLLIER MYLA COLLIER “Johnson and San Luis Drive.

IMAGE BY SANDRA HELLER SANDRA HELLER “Dreamscape with Sun.

Death of Winter “I have been a belly dancer and instructor for 35 years and these all came from that experience.

The Goddess listened and— smiled a secret smile.

To Seek the Goddess

Knowing broken hearts hurt, only a little while.

BY Patti E. Harsch

I bring you the world, In the space of my dance, A ritual as old as my ancient past.

Goddesses gone—those yet unborn Cycles of life the dancers joined.

Awakened from dreams of powers lost, Across centuries of sharing— Time barriers crossed.

Circles in circles the rhythym of time, Cherished by women—with longings like mine.

From mother to daughter and loving friend, Life’s cares and worried—the dance will mend.

The circle round—a spirit trade, To carry on a promise made.

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Then came from the distance, those laughing girls.

Zahgreeting and clapping, OM’s heart delight, And picked up the hurt spirit, and danced into the light.

A sad heart mended, and again made whole.

And from the ashes— the purple phoenix arose.

And the Goddess smiled a secret smile…

Knowing broken hearts hurt only a little while.

Mother Earth—Sister Moon

The Goddess Smiled a Secret Smile

Sand spreads before me a luxurious carpet, In patterns of waves and ripples— A dancer’s heart awakens.

And lay and wept silently, without a sound.

Spirits heart cried out, alone and afraid.

Unacknowledged by kind— and lost promises made.

Calling upon the Goddess, of the wind and the sea Beseeching the sky, touch me, take me, heal me.

My body, my heart, my soul, my spirit, By my mother earth and sister moon My Secret

Drumming and dancing, purple skirts in a whirl.

When comes the day I know in my heart, My frail body is no longer a part Of the Dance— But still I will feel—and from my chair, I am yet a goddess—I am yet there.

A broken spirit, Fell to the ground.

And I dance.

Into the night I dance.

A dance of completeness and fullness/ taught to me—

Sunset curls itself around me, In silken folds of pink and lavendar— A dancer’s soul begins to stir.

Wind teases and caressed, wrapping me in a gossamer veil— A dancer’s spirit begins to fly.

Waves become a symphony of measured sounds, endless and constant— A dancer’s body moves from memory— And I dance.

Stars, the first of the evening, flicker on, My body is rich with jewels— And I dance.

Moon, full and pregnant with promise, Crowns my head, bathing me with light—

You have promised me much, and given me all, Loving dance mother, I answer your call.

Take me with you, take me along, when you dance with abandon, to a distant song.

Let me be there, let me see, the eyes of the watcher, when the dance is me.

I feel the drum calling me, pulling me—using me— setting me free.

Oh healing balm sweet drop of sweat that films my brow and beads my breast.

Silken pleasures caress my skin waken the beauty hidden within.

Release the will, trust the soul, this is the secret, this is the goal.

What you have given is now mine too! dance mother-teacher I am you.

Death of Winter

Spring arts 2010

IMAGE BY JARIAN DE HAM

IMAGE BY JARIAN DE HAM

JARIAN DE HAM “Cyclamen.

JARIAN DE HAM “Iris.

Death of Winter

IMAGE BY JARIAN DE HAM JARIAN DE HAM “Blooming flowers bring forth good fortune and honor.

Spring arts 2010

IMAGE BY TRACY DAVIS TRACY DAVIS “Waters off Kaanapali.

Death of Winter

Spring arts 2010

IMAGE BY MANDY WEATHERS MANDY WEATHERS “Sausalito from the water.

IMAGE BY DAWN SHUTE DAWN SHUTE “Ice Queen.

Death of Winter

Spring arts 2010

IMAGE BY MANDY WEATHERS MANDY WEATHERS “Cotswold hills and fields.

IMAGE BY CHRISTY CLAES CHRISTY CLAES “Untitled.

Death of Winter

Spring arts 2010

Ballad of Mount St. Helens

BY PATRICIA LIPSCOMB

A grayish-white blanket lies soft all around And stony cold silence lies hard on the ground Where plants and wild creatures were blasted to hell And, lungs filled with soot, people died where they fell.

The mountain sleeps afterward. All that remains Is pulverized nothing where dead stillness reigns.

Now summer and fall shown on calendar’s page Pass silently over the cooled Vulcan rage.

Deep winter returns with long nights and dark days, As snow, sleet, and rain fall from dirty sky’s haze, Till finally twelve months have gone by since the blast, The forest’s green now a mere ghost of the past.

IMAGE BY PATTI SULLIVAN PATTI SULLIVAN “Return of the Light.

Compelled to return, I find what I’ve most feared: A moonscape of nothing, now flattened and seared.

I pick up some ashes to sift in my hand And scatter them sadly on once verdant land,

But then I spot something, so small, barely seen: A minuscule shoot poking up – living – green!

Incredible! Yet I can see that it’s true That somehow the mountain can start to renew.

With winter’s demise and its yielding to spring’s Impossible promise of new living things, The forest will creep back to once barren earth.

Spring finally will offer the mountain rebirth

Death of Winter

Spring arts 2010

Mother Earth—Sister Moon

BY PATTI HARSCH

Sunset curls itself around me, In silken folds of pink and lavender— A dancer’s soul begins to stir.

Death of Winter

BY CAROLEE JENKINS

Go away Mr. Snowman Peek at me Mrs. Daffodil Ice melts down to water Flowers blossom on the hill Death of winter is not so sad Nature is doing its scrolling Buds pop out green and bright Myriad colors unfolding Sun shines warm and happy Cold no longer comes Spring is the agenda “Rejoice! the whole world hums.

Sand spreads before me a luxurious carpet, In patterns of waves and ripples— A dancer’s heart awakens.

Wind teases and caressed, wrapping me in a gossamer veil— A dancer’s spirit begins to fly.

Waves become a symphony of measured sounds, endless and constant— A dancer’s body moves from memory— And I dance.

Stars, the first of the evening, flicker on, My body is rich with jewels— And I dance.

Moon, full and pregnant with promise, Crowns my head, bathing me with light— And I dance.

Into the night I dance.

A dance of completeness and fullness/ taught to me— My body, my heart, my soul, my spirit, By my mother earth and sister moon

Springtime

BY MARTHA WRIGHT What is it about this time of year That fills me with some wonder like a light inside?

Like hope that can never really be lost?

And a longing that goes to the very heart of me The very scent of the air warms An excitement Like a child that runs with arms open wide That at any movement Love may appear While the Earth Like a living mother Rolls on her axis Stretches Yawns Inhaling the cold winter And with just one breath Exhales the warm winds of spring Her delicate perfume In blossoms and grasses Gazes at us with eyes of love Smiling and waving at summer One more spring One more summer