More: Image Inspired Fiction & Poetry

Jedidiah Paneak Photo byThalia Jacobs

Touch

Brief Fiction By Lander VerHoef

     A flickering fluorescent bulb painted the room in harsh tones of blue and white that matched the chill in the air. A young man sat, huddling into his coat. He was hardly more than a boy, of that particular age when body and mind and soul are stumbling towards adulthood. Weariness hung heavy on his eyelids, and heavier on his heart. He was far from home and in his short life, had never felt more alone. And then she stood before him. A friend, and maybe, when he dared to hope, maybe more.

     "Hi," she said, and reached up to touch his face.

     Her hand was like fire against his cold skin, and warmth flooded his face. He covered her small hand in his, almost fearful she would pull away. She didn't, and as his eyelids fell, his heart rose. He closed his eyes, and smiled.

More Image Inspired... this by my friend Lander

Girl on a Boat

By Lander VerHoef 

I came with my camera to tell the tale of the war, or so I thought. I stood on the dock as the boat pulled alongside. A young Vietnamese girl, perhaps eight or ten stood just across the rail from me, and I was caught by her eyes. They were old, older than a child's, older than mine, older than imagining. Those eyes had seen...

    

But whatever they had seen, I saw only myself reflected in them, a young white man in fancy shoes, a shirt soaked with sweat, and an expensive camera. And in those eyes was a question, and an accusation: "Why are you here?" I discovered that I had no answer, so I raised my camera and hid. But every day since I took that photo, I look at it and the young girl's old eyes ask me "why are you here? Why are you here? Why are you here?"

Yom Hashoah

Silent Illumination

Plunged in darkness, boxed

Barricaded, with no where to look

Gazes’ unseeing, freshly bruised

Open mouths still clotting

Taking refuge in shadow

Mothers, their angles grown sharp

Pierce skin stretched too thin

Seeping apprehension

Colorless light swings across  

Glassy eyed sisters who hold off the

Gripping cold, fear fueling

Their umbrage

Silhouetted, supple, wary

Daughters, whose eyes are open

Wide, uncomprehending

Certain they misunderstand

Early morning light filtered

Through a sky bathed in smoke

Mothers, sisters, and daughters

Collected, sampled, and sorted

Glistening shorn scalps, stripped

Likewise stained by fear, their sameness

Revealed, is of no consequence

No one looks

The glare of exposed bulbs  

Collective exhaustion of feet

Faltering, resisting, what eyes

Will not see 

Color smears the horizon

Emerging into that last bit of light

Flushed with hope, still unaware

Others who seethe, curl, and drift away

My email address was down. I think must have change a filter by accident when updating my domain name. If I missed an email from you I am sorry, that said, jennifer@workingink.com is up an receiving e-mail once again.

Look forwarding to hearing from you.

Image Prompts

 After reading some very visually rich and compelling essays by my friend Lander I found myself thinking about the power of visual prompts vs. written ones. Our conversation had begun with a brief discussion of film as a story-telling medium. A picture may be worth a 1000 words, but what the picture has to say needs to be scrutinized, because it is no less malleable than language in its ability to misguide us. Truth aside, the power of language and film combined to convey depth of experience seems nearly limitless to my mind and for awhile I will be experimenting with both mediums. Please share your thoughts on employing these mediums. I'd love to hear from you.

Image Prompt 1 -    Chinatown

I did not expect

to love a face

So like my own.

Still, here we are,

Lanterns, round and pale,

Flex against their supports,

Like Chinese Apples

Dropping before a frost.

 

Our feet follow

Worn cobblestones

Announce our urgency

We climb your stairs

Young trees

Bending, pounding

The field with

Ripe exotic fruit.

jee 2012

Is Google Making US Stupid?

This article is less about Google and more about brain function.

The idea is that technology we use to write (pens, typewriters, computers) and the primary medium we consume as readers (printed work, online, languages that use characters vs. alphabet)  shapes our neural circuitry.

  What you think?

I care less about right and wrong here, because whether Google is making us stupid or not, it is here to stay. 

We are no more likely to stop reading online than sighted individuals are to choose to read braille over printed text.

The question for me is if we still desire the ability to develop (or maintain) "the ability to interpret text, to make rich mental connections" how do we proceed?

Yeti Yarn Bombers Unite!

It is time to add more visuals to my blogging world. So, in the future you can click on the tab above that reads ample ARTworks  to see some of my creative endeavors.  However, just as often you will find links to others, truly incredible talents, whom I have had the pleasure to stumble across as either a traveler on this planet or, when very lucky, as friends.

enjoy,
J

World Wide Communication

Worldwide Communication

It is a quiet day at UAF’s Museum of the North. My daughter’s class tour is over, the children are bundled-up, back on the bus returning to school, and I have a bit of time to look through the exhibits before my next appointment.

On the second floor, off to the side of the Rose Berry Alaska Art Gallery, is an understated panel which reads The Place Where You Go to Listen.  Except for this missive identifying it, the closed door was otherwise unremarkable.

The room is narrow, not more than 200 square feet in all. The ceilings are high. There is a single low bench for sitting.  The space features 14 high-fidelity speakers, 20 feet of glass paneling stretching 10 feet high on one wall, and on this occasion, holding up the opposing wall is a young couple engaged in a sustained form of tantric kissing.

Since the wall is occupied, I sit on the bench and face the softly illuminated panels. The acoustic and visual compositions I am experiencing are unique to this moment and yet they are comprised of every moment that has preceded it. I am listening to time. I am seeing consciousness. I am a little overwhelmed. The Place Where You Go to Listen, an installation created by composer John Luther Adams, is an extraordinary fusion of art and science.

The exhibit is shaped by an advanced series of algorithms creating music from data streams measuring dozens of factors: the progression of night and day, the phase of the moon, different levels of cloud cover, disturbances in the Earth's magnetic field, and us - each of us - as we exert ourselves in the act of living. The light and sound in this room chase patterns, give voice to variation, and illuminate all this information in real-time.

In Alaska’s interior, the smell of wood smoke, the crunch of snow beneath boots, soft shades of new color sweeping the hillsides as winter takes its time melting away; these are the data streams we pull from. Trees which become a blur of pale green leaves, improbably resilient during the brief and fickle spring, and later explode into full summer foliage, are the algorithms, which, inform our choices for the coming season: when to take off the studded tires, how to vote on the Clean Air proposition, or if we need to split the rhubarb before the next growing season.

What if we could experience the planet with the same degree of familiarity? What if we could see or hear the impact of our choices on the environmental well-being of our world in real-time? Would we each take a more active role in securing sustainability? I am absorbed in the effort of sorting out possible applications of a technology that can receive and interpret this data and convert it to immediate feedback for the public when a tinny note ripples through the air. It unfurls into a deeper, more resonant tone, and is punctuated by a booming before shifting again. I wonder if the lovers behind me are adding their own seismic activity to this experience.

I leave behind the couple still unraveling their own mysteries; quietly close the door, and consider how the phrase “Worldwide Communication” has taken on a new level of meaning for me.

http://storybird.com/books/unlikely-friends-6/ 

I am using this wonderful site:  Storybird.com It allows me to write collaboratively. See the above (authored by Miriam Jacobs and I) It is a place to storyboard, and connect with others. What a find! Check it out.