My grandfather is shattered. If I could see the damage, I imagine it would look like shards of a broken mirror, the glass all mixed up and scattered throughout the front yard. He digs, slamming the metal spoon into the wet dirt. Clumps of grass are discarded, left to dry out in the heat of the day. Their roots reach out like thin, white arms, each limb fighting to free itself from the black and green masses. They lay, upturned, wilting and left to die out in the sun.
Writing originates all the way back to 30,000 years ago in the Paleolithic Era when human beings began making representations of the things around them. As Calderhead and Cohen, editors of The World Encyclopedia of Calligraphy, point out, the first form of “writing” was cave paintings that were discovered in both Southern France and Northern Spain (5). Although these paintings pictures are not necessarily writing in a formal sense, they are markings that express meaning.
Shiny grooved revolver
Aging rings of a tree,
Infinitely whirling like the hands of a clock
Propelling through time and space
Sitting amongst enlightened minds,
Friends gathering around the table
The dreamers, encapsulated by the rotating side of a 45
Listening to “What is and What Should Never Be”
A Band of Gypsies
Embracing, exploring, expressing
Fighting for a cause, it’s our right
Generations whirled around
A single idea, protesting and professing
It happened not long after I came into this world,
after we had become whole
Those four cherub faces, eyes sparkling and all matching
Mother and Father looking on
A perfect couple,
complimenting one another
His jet black hair slicked back
He’s wearing a crisp clean collar,
His tie straight as an arrow
Her bright smile behind her raven hair,
a golden fleur de lis, pinned on her three button jacket.
Their arms surrounding us,
holding us in this moment
Captured briefly, it’s my only proof
I walk into a bar and everyone ducks for cover
9/11 is the punchline here
No one is laughing
Not me, not the bartender who won’t look me in the eyes, not the collection of sweaty bodies, too drunk to hold their heads up
Misunderstanding is the punchline here
Misunderstanding, miscommunication, misinterpretation
All these misses that we have allowed to seduce our hearts
Fear is the punchline here
Fear is the tool used to isolate, used to
Henry Ford College Foundations Art student, Sophia Hart, with her ceramics instructor, Steve Glazer, entered her piece titled "A Walk in Vincent's Shoes," to the statewide Liberal Arts Network of Development (LAND) 3D Art competition. LAND hosts an annual competition for students at all Michigan public two-year colleges, and Sophia Hart was awarded 1st place in the 3D Art category for the 2016 contest. The sculpture consists of ceramic lace-up boots made to look realistically like leather, based on Vincent Van Gogh's painting of his own boots.
The sky was bright and clear.
We sat shoulder to shoulder.
It was two different colors as a matter of fact.
I felt the ocean between us stir.
Turquoise and Sapphire if I can recall.
It was quick and painful.
A line of clouds seemed to separate the two.
An impact tsunami? “I think I Love her”.
What did the sky look like without those clouds?
Drowning right next to him, could he hear the gasps?
What did it look like where they met?
So close his heartbeat pulsed throughout me.
Sarah Bosell completed her ceramic sculpture, titled "Once Upon a Time," as part of her ceramics class with Steve Glazer. She entered the sculpture into the statewide Liberal Arts Network of Development (LAND) 3D Art Contest, and it placed 3rd place. LAND sponsors three art contests: 2D, 3D, and Illustration. The piece was inspired by fairy tales. The jurist's comments about Sarah's piece are as follows: "Ceramic Sculpture. Interesting combination of diverse objects alludes to a narrative through the use of disjointed parts.