Issue 27 • May 2020 • Facebook.com/TalkArts
IT’S ALL ABOUT
ARTS
ERIK GEHRING
May 2020 In This Issue • Erik Gehring Photography and Principles by Curt Naihersey • Avery Getz becoming a performer by Janice Williams • Culinary Comfort in the Age of COVID-19 - An Interview with Jackie Reizes by Gail Spilsbury • Poetry compiled by Curt Naihersey • David Kulik his creative talents reverberate all around by Janice Williams • Memorial Day 1959 by Stephen Levin • A Costa Rican Adventure by Robert Spilsbury • Pictorial Splendor by Curt Naihersey • Tess’s To Do • Local Music by Perry Persoff
IT’S ALL ABOUT ARTS www.itsallaboutarts.com facebook.com/TalkArts ROSLINDALE ARTS ALLIANCE www.roslindalearts.org facebook.com/Roslindale-Arts-Alliance-129685993761701 ART STUDIO 99 www.artstudio99.com facebook.com/Art-Studio-99-145566388819141 Twitter @artstudio99 Instagram - janice_art_studio_99
• Tree Art by Janice Williams • Afterland Part 5 by Edward Morneau More........ • Centre Cuts Salon and Spa, Roslindale • “Tiger of the Caesars” - by Gail Spilsbury
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PHOTOGRAPHY & PRINCIPLES by Curt Naihersey
Erik Gehring is a freelance photographer who specializes in trees and natural landscapes. He is the Programming Coordinator at the Hyde Park Art Association, and he is a past President of the Boston Camera Club. Although Erik enjoys photographing natural environments all over New England, his favorite destination is Boston’s Arnold Arboretum. Erik’s work has appeared in Yankee Magazine, AMC’s Outdoors, Northern Woodlands, the Boston Globe, the Boston Metro, the Cape Cod Times, E the Environmental Magazine, and other publications. He has shown his fine art prints at galleries throughout Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island. Erik also has lectured and taught classes and workshops at the
Arboretum, the Griffin Museum of Photography in Winchester, the Eliot School in Jamaica Plain, the Concord Art Association, the Hyde Park Art Association, and at locations all over New England for BlueHour Photo Ventures. He lives in Roslindale with his wife Julie, sons Carl and William, and Comet-the-dog.
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Under current circumstances, his inspired ventures into the environment seem necessary to balance these selfquarantining times. Erik has spoken quite passionately about the principles of nature and his dedication to protect the earth. We may surely appreciate the view, but have to defend the experience and the philosophy. It’s unthinkable and demeaning to see this present administration corrupt the values
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activists have placed into law that allows the populace to enjoy such a positive natural interactive communion. There is a tremendous importance to share the planet’s grandeur before global warming or political insinuation degrades our planet. The trajectory of modern civilization has pushed back the beauty of wilderness into a subjugated state. The contact with earth and sky is essential to the integrity of our existence and these “snapshots” only grasp the perceptive spirit implied. The photographer ’s approach to this environmentalism is an affirmation of Life.
details that can anchor a scene, like tree trunks or branches, complemented by washes of color that will blend together. My main goals in presenting this body of work are to create a sense of spirituality and luminosity in my subjects, and to have viewers notice that there is some processing present but feel that that processing is not too overbearing.”
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In the past, Erik has done extensive advocacy work with the Massachusetts chapter of the Sierra Club. He is a mature, confident talent that possesses character and quality to improve awareness of our ever-changing world, not through economics or political persuasion. He is a forceful proponent of liberal social values and has spent years contacting politicians to assert correct values. As a photographer who places himself as an essential instrument of a mystical and simple reality, his photographs endorse visualization and self-expression…concepts, perceptions, and execution, not chance. Just look at some his pictures and be in awe.
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Before the pandemic snuck into our lives, Erik was preparing a new exhibit, Unclarified, suggested at a monthly critique session at the Boston Camera Club. He explains: “There are several steps involved, but the most important involves the clarity slider in Adobe Lightroom. By reducing clarity one can create a dreamy and ethereal feeling where the subject matter is not sharp and lacks definitive detail, while one can retain detail in the areas that are sharp. In using this technique I have been looking for strong
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1. When did you decide to become a photographer? After my first exhibition in September 2005 at Pru/Max Realty, as part of JP Centre/ South's First Thursday series. I sold four prints that show and thought to myself, "Hey, I could become a starving artist/ photographer!" My wife and I were trying to
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start a family at that time, and with digital technology blossoming I could realistically work to build a part-time career as a photographer while mostly staying home with the kids and saving on childcare costs.
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2. What is your camera equipment? Do you prefer digital to film? I use Nikons, currently a mirrorless Z6 and also a D610. I have various Nikkor lenses (and a couple off-brand ones as well), and I use both bodies with all my lenses. >> Digital long ago surpassed film in quality, at least for SLRs and 35 mm film. I would still like to rent a large or medium format camera at some point - if/when I do I would think about using film because the quality is still stellar for those formats, but I might still prefer using a digital back since it is so much more convenient in terms of workflow.
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3. How do you decide in advance how a photo will look rather than just shooting away in the hope of getting something lucky. Would you say that's essential? For a lot of work in the Arboretum I really study my subject, and think in advance about what weather and light conditions would best complement it. Is it misty? What is the best angle of light? What is my best composition? Would snow help, or bright colored foliage? Etc., etc. And then I would return on multiple occasions when some or all of those conditions are present. >> Sometimes I am just out photographing because the light or conditions are good, and my compositions are spur of the moment reactions to the given conditions at the time. In which case luck is more of a factor, but of course more often than not you create your own luck.
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4. What are your choice options: black & white or color? I use color as a compositional element in a lot of my photography, so I definitely gravitate to color as opposed to B&W. That being the case, I've been trying to think creatively about what scenes and compositions would do well as a monochrome image.
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5. What photographers inspired you? Ansel Adams, Galen Rowell, Gregory Crewdson, Jerry Uelsmann
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6. How do you approach teaching? Do your students get both the vision and technique?? I try to teach both vision and technique, I think they go hand in hand. And I hope that my enthusiasm for photography shows in the process, because I love both photography and also teaching about photography.
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and I'm always trying to learn more, but I do think I'm pretty good, and I'm really trying to carve out some sort of unique niche for myself.
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9. What social obligation did you attend to today? Social distancing! Picking up a few random pieces of casually discarded trash, something I try to do every day.
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Erik Gehring 87 Walter Street Roslindale, MA 02131 617-594-6660 erik@erikgehring.com
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Facebook: @erik.gehring Instagram: @erikgehring Twitter: @ErikGehring Website: www.erikgehring.com
7. Do you work regularly? What have you shot recently that excited you? I haven't been photographing as much recently with regular work at the Menino A r t s C e n t e r. B u t I a l w a y s l o v e photographing my sons' sports and adventures - soccer or flag football or wrestling, or family outings like sledding at the park or hikes in the woods.
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8. H o w d o y o u a d j u s t t o t h e commercial aspect of promoting your photography? Do you sell or are you just appreciated? It's nice to be appreciated of course, but it's really nice to be appreciated in a monetary fashion - we all have bills to pay after all. I have few qualms with shamelessly plugging myself (and others' work that I admire) - I don't pretend to know everything or think that I'm the greatest,
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Culinary Comfort in the Age of COVID-19 An Interview with Jackie Reizes by Gail Spilsbury
As soon as the coronavirus hit America in early March, many people naturally turned to their kitchens for comfort, rediscovering the creativity and togetherness of cooking and sharing a family meal. Home-cooking offers so much—satisfaction, enjoyment, and deeper relationship— things that today’s busy world of take-out, pub-life, and social media has all but swept aside. Of course there are many culinary artists who never gave up their love for cooking, baking, and sharing the pleasures of the table, and over the past years we’ve enjoyed their posts with pictures of breads, entrées, and desserts. But with the COVID-19 crisis, these enthusiasts’ postings have become a great foundation—a font of culinary news and ideas for the rest of us getting back into kitchen fulfillment. New England home-cook par excellence, Jackie Reizes, shares her kitchen creativity and reflections during the COVID-19 siege with Gail Spilsbury for It’s All About Arts. GS: My mouth has watered for several years now viewing your Facebook posts with all the pictures of breads, desserts, and meals you make. With today’s coronavirus sending us all into home-seclusion, cooking has become a big solace and source of creativity for many of us, and your tantalizing posts are now adding where to find unavailable supplies. What’s the crisis been like for you, a true pro in the kitchen? JR: First, I’m by no means a pro! However, I have been what I guess you’d call food-centric from a very young age. More of which later. What has changed during this crisis is the degree to which my friends are reaching out to share their recipes, ask for suggestions, post photos and food memories on Facebook, and so forth. Also, many ingredients are just plain unavailable to me and my friends, most of whom are not going out to stores. For example, there’s a flour shortage one can attribute only to hoarding. Rather than giving up on my twice-weekly bread baking, I decided to investigate more deeply. I wound up ordering twenty-five pounds of a beautiful organic heritage flour straight from a mill in Minnesota. I was able to share my find with friends, who then placed orders from the same mill. It has been necessary to be very imaginative in order to create balanced and tasty meals from what’s on hand. I had a can of refried beans, some green tomatillo sauce, and some cheddar. Alas, there was nothing in which to wrap the ingredients. Fortuitously, a Facebook post featuring a sweet potato and flour roti popped up. I had never made anything like that in my life. But it was wonderful! It used just two ingredients. I only had to microwave one sweet potato, mash it with a fork, and mix it with flour. The dough was made into balls, rolled out with a rolling pin, and cooked on an ungreased cast-iron pan. My husband Bill pronounced this superior to store-bought tortillas, and I will definitely make these again. (continued) It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Culinary Comfort in the Age of COVID-19 - An Interview with Jackie Reizes by Gail Spilsbury (continued)
Sweet potato flatbread roti GS: Have you experienced any new dimensions in relationships with friends and neighbors as a result of the crisis, especially with food as the unifier? JR: Oh, absolutely! There has been quite a bit of trading going on, all with proper social distancing. The parent of a former second grader mentioned on Facebook that she could not find yeast. Also, her two sons are now at home and have voracious appetites. We met between our homes, she with her pick-up truck and I in my tiny car. She gladly accepted yeast and dark chocolate brownies, and I was thrilled when she placed three dozen freshly laid eggs from her wonderful, happy chickens in the back of my hatchback.
Gift of eggs in trade for yeast (continued) It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Culinary Comfort in the Age of COVID-19 - An Interview with Jackie Reizes by Gail Spilsbury (continued)
Also, another friend and parent of a former student mentioned that since he’s now working from home, it seems like the right time to try baking. He ordered the flour from Minnesota. However, there’s a serious shortage of yeast, both in markets and online. I searched online and could find yeast sold only as a set of three, one-pound bags—a lifetime supply! So I ordered the yeast and divided it among several people, all of whom are now baking at home. As a result of the crisis, I’m communicating with neighbors I didn’t know at all. Two of them offered to bring us food from their grocery store visits. I’ve brought them breads, carrot cake, brownies, and other baked goods. I’ve also been able to give them disinfectant wipes, which makes shopping safer for us all. GS: Do you think our seclusion and renewed interest in culinary creativity will have a lasting impact on people, or as soon as the crisis is over, will everyone go back to the external “food world” with no time or interest in kitchen experimenting or relaxed, homecooked meals with family? JR: That’s an interesting question. I’m not sure. Certainly many people I know have discovered that baking bread can be quite easy once one gets the hang of it. The smell of bread baking is intoxicating. Why would they ever go back, especially if they master easy things like the noknead bread, the craze for which was ubiquitous about a decade ago? Families who have never had time for family meals are discovering how wonderfully these together-times over homemade food punctuate our everyday lives.
No-knead bread (continued) It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Culinary Comfort in the Age of COVID-19 - An Interview with Jackie Reizes by Gail Spilsbury (continued) GS: What is the power, or potential, for any of us, of “food made with love”? JR: “Food made with love” changes our lives and brings us together. When I get together with friends, I know their culinary preferences and can tailor the meals. A shared meal of Sauerbraten, red cabbage, and potato dumplings can open up conversation about a past trip to Germany like nothing else. People are always appreciative when one takes the time to put together a meal that’s 100 percent home-cooked. GS: When were you first aware of your innate passion for the culinary arts? JR: Ha! I have dreamed of food and loved being in the kitchen since I was very young. I was permitted to cook an entire meal for my beloved third-grade teacher, Mrs. Carter. She must have been heroic to seem so delighted by a meal of “Swedish meatballs,” the recipe for which came from Betty Crocker’s Cookbook for Boys and Girls and contained two varieties of Campbell’s soup! But it wasn’t all prepared meals for me during my childhood. My parents were immigrants from Nazi Austria and Germany, and they sought out not only real, Europeanstyle bread, but also terrific cheeses and specialty ingredients. My father was in the restaurant and hotel business until he discovered he had an aptitude for computer work. So I spent many hours at restaurants and in restaurant kitchens. In addition to his managerial work, my father taught stewardship on the Swedish-American ocean liners and consulted with restaurants. We went out to eat often—food from Russia, Hawaii, Spain, and other countries. We lived in New Orleans before relocating to Lexington, Massachusetts, when I was eleven, and it was in New Orleans that I fell in love with Creole cuisine. My brother and I had many meals at the Rib Room of the Royal Orleans Hotel, where I learned to love the crackling skin of a properly cooked prime rib, which I can still taste today. In these years, I also learned to roll out and gently pull strudel dough on a linen tablecloth from my Viennese grandmother. My father amassed an enormous collection of restaurant menus from around the world. One of my favorite pastimes as a child was “playing restaurant” and ordering from the various menus from many venerable places. Oh, I could go on…
Viennese chocolate-hazelnut cake (continued) It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Culinary Comfort in the Age of COVID-19 - An Interview with Jackie Reizes by Gail Spilsbury (continued)
GS: When you travel, how does your curiosity for cuisine play a role? JR: Our holiday destinations are generally interwoven with our culinary intentions. Part of the joy of travel for me is planning where and what we’d like to eat. We’ve planned trips to southwest Louisiana to places where we might have a particular, gold-standard boudin, gumbo, or crawfish étouffée. I’ve loved fried chicken since I was perhaps four years old, and I am still on the prowl for that perfect piece. When I was seven or eight and traveling across the country, I wrote an elaborate fried-chicken guide to America, filled with notations about crunchiness, juiciness, and appearance on the plate, and embellished with foil stars. There are many reasons my husband and I can’t stay away from Vienna, one of which is an irresistible Wiener Backhuhn! While most people associate Vienna with a schnitzel, I continue to seek out the perfect Viennese fried chicken. My favorite, so far, is at a small, unassuming locals’ place called Zum Friedensrichter, where the free-range chicken is marinated in yogurt, dipped in breadcrumbs before frying, and served with a berry compote, lamb’s lettuce (Feldsalat), and potato salad. I have tried to recreate this dish at home, and must say I think it’s been a success.
Wiener Backhuhn GS: Could you share your favorite recipe—for the sheer enjoyment it gave you—during COVID-19’s isolation? JR: Hmm. My favorite so far is pretty ordinary. I decided I did not want to go without a birthday cake this year, so I cut all the ingredients in half and made a lovely carrot cake. My husband and I savored one piece each. I then gave a piece to a neighbor and froze the remaining slices for an evening when we need a lift, an evening I’m sure will come. I followed the Cook’s Illustrated recipe for “Simple Carrot Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting.” Atypically, I only altered a couple (continued) It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Culinary Comfort in the Age of COVID-19 - An Interview with Jackie Reizes by Gail Spilsbury (continued)
of things. I grated the rind of the one organic orange in our refrigerator and rubbed that into the sugar, a technique I use often because it really releases the oils from any citrus. I decorated the little cake with four small marzipan carrots, a nod to my Austrian heritage. I always bring back from Austria a couple of boxes of the marzipan carrots and other decorative items and ingredients that I can’t find here. My suitcase from a recent trip was filled with toasted hazelnut flour; gray and white poppy seeds; ground poppy seeds (almost like flour, which makes a fantastic torte); Styrian pumpkin oil; Staud’s apricot and sour cherry preserves (which have a 70 percent fruit content, and in my opinion are the best available); bars of Zotter artisanal chocolate, and more. Fortunately, I have a large freezer for the flours and seeds, which would go rancid otherwise. I’m really looking forward to traveling again, but for now, I feel incredibly grateful to be just hunkered down while so many people are struggling and sacrificing.
Carrot cake with marzipan carrots Resources Check out sunriseflourmill.com for organic, stone-ground heritage flours andmixes, and Zotter Chocolates for high-end chocolate for eating and drinking, imported from Austria—I love their bars of classic dark drinking chocolate, which you melt in hot milk and whisk with a tiny wisk that the company sells. Watch for sales! And, I’m all about the hazelnuts! I get all my hazelnuts and toasted ground hazelnuts from FreddyGuys inOregon. They’re wonderful! (continued) It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Culinary Comfort in the Age of COVID-19 - An Interview with Jackie Reizes by Gail Spilsbury (continued)
About Jackie Reizes Jackie grew up in a hotel-restaurant family and from early teen years lived in Lexington, Massachusetts. During high school, she briefly worked as a waitress in a Chinese restaurant, where she sat after service was completed at a large round table and got to experience authentic Chinese home-cooking. She studied in Vienna, but dropped out to travel throughout Europe, spending time in Crete learning Greek cookery. She has a BA in art history from Boston University and an M.Ed from Lesley University. While a graduate student in Cambridge, she worked as a private cook for a Concord family, catered small dinner parties, and taught inventive cooking classes such as “Packing Your Elegant Tanglewood Picnic” and “Cooking of the Hapsburg Empire.” As an elementary school teacher, she taught at The Common School in the Pioneer Valley, Massachusetts, before moving with her family to Connecticut, where she may often be found in her small but well-stocked kitchen.
Jackie’s kitchen
At a Viennese café, Jackie and her husband, guitarist Bill Shute (continued) It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Culinary Comfort in the Age of COVID-19 - An Interview with Jackie Reizes by Gail Spilsbury (continued)
More tantalizing ideas from Jackie for cooking at home!
Sour cherry birthday cake
Poppyseed rolls
Freezer leftovers for a yummy fried rice during the COVID-19 crisis
It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
CUIDAD JAUREZ (A Poem about Lineage and Indigeneity)
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These are our Testimonies Among the Living and the Dead The echoes of our prayers, From our lilting songs, From our labored breaths Still the memory of our earnest prayers Returns to comfort us.
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Oh, young ones That rush to the river, Where our Fathers redeem us, Beside the Rio Grande Lies the open fields Of human bones Cacti flowers cover, All over the ridge Coyotes breaking silence, The dead surrender to the earth While serpents watch The human hunted.
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And our haunted memories live With each new shaft of daylight Let us look, and remember! The little feet are weary, So weary, very weary, Still walking the road. We are like these children too, And we follow on and on, Dust-ridden roads of hope, Sometimes endangered Hoping to fly away, Hold me when I stumble! When I falter, I shall not fear, Wipe my tears away Oh, please, give to me Some of that cool water!
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Among the stones. As I often wander Once, too, long ago You raised your torches of fire Above my head, Look upon me! As I lay dying, beside the road Oh, relight this Torch of memory, In your Love, for love of me Call out my name, now As I wonder, wonder, wonder‌
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Flesh and Spirit resides Inside the cities of crowded imagining Inside wooden, burning cities Through this heat of my night Rest from my agony Through my dreams, Until my death I shall grow and become old, Become a ghost on the road, Like you, entering Cuidad Juarez el Norte.
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Gather me in your baptismal tears Feed from my vessel of Hope, My vessel of Honor, My vessel of Love, Take me to the places of my return El morte la mujer Cuidad Jaurez.
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And remember, a whisper Kissing your ears, Love saved your children And set us all free.
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CLIMBING PANIC’S LADDER
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Achtung! Virus über alles! The unforeseeable future: The gloves are on The space is set Any trickle-down breaks through To the other side… What wall? Someday, come soon… In drowsy melatonin dreams Sing songs for a bygone era!
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Wake the Milky Way… By the time starlight reaches our eyes Love will be a stranger Circling like glass butterflies Wandering and delirious A prodigium aflutter, alive Wannabees that never were…
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Dial up the Moon… Turn down this scourge of sound Everything sings! Everyone squawks! A time-line train Thinking it could: Climb the beanstalk… Cling-n-clutch to that ladder… Open the Gates of Heaven…
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Where’s the angel we never asked for? The human probation: Embrace impermanence. Is that all there is to a rejoinder? What’s this? What’s that? Who’s right? Who will be left? Today is everything.
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- Curt Naihersey
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BEST ACTION EVER (or The Hunter Gets Captured by the Game)
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Gather round me children and a story I will tell About Morris Tullman the slumlord. Chelsea knew him well.
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Lead paint, exposed wiring, leaky plumbing, rotting porches, Broken windows, ceilings falling down, trash cans overflowing, rats and roaches. These were just some of the complaints the tenement tenants of Tullman lodged In Chelsea District Court. They were in the courtroom, but the landlord weaved and dodged.
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Maybe he was relaxing at his house in tony Brookline, or driving in his big black Cadillac car. In any case, he didn't show. You can run, but you can't hide. He couldn't have gotten far. The judge was pissed and issued a bench warrant. Chelsea Fair Share hired a school bus And took dozens of tenants to visit him at his home. They were there to make a fuss.
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They fliered the neighbors with a wanted poster and learned he was not around. Back on the bus, over to his real estate office in Brighton, determined to run him to ground. Tullman came out hollering, telling them to get off his sidewalk, threatening to call the cops. "Go ahead," they said, ignoring his angry bluster and leafletting the nearby shops.
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When the Boston Police showed up, they wanted to know what was going on. Shown the warrant, they went inside. Minutes went by until it seemed all hope was gone. Then all of a sudden out came Tullman -- in handcuffs, with a cop on either side. On the bus back to Chelsea, the tenants laughed until they cried.
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So let this be a lesson: If you are the one breaking the law, don't call in the police. Poor people win, rich man loses, will wonders never cease? I'll let Smokey Robinson have the final say: It is not often that you see the hunter beaten by the prey.
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"What's this old world coming to. Things just ain't the same Anytime the hunter gets captured by the game." - Smokey Robinson
Postscript: This poem is dedicated to the memory of Barbara Bowen. She, along with her husband Mark Splain, Lee and Louse Staples and Jim Katz started the community organization Fair Share in Chelsea in 1973. Barb always loved the Rolling Stones song You Can't Always Get What You Want, because it had the words Chelsea ("went down to the Chelsea drugstore") and fair share ("went down to the demonstration to get my fair share of abuse"). Massachusetts Fair Share grew and became a powerful statewide citizens action organization with chapters in a score of cities and towns.
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An "action" is any sort of demonstration aimed at getting a reaction out of a target. I call this the best action ever because it is rare that the target is carted off to jail right in front of everyone - a great lesson in the power of people acting together.
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Written by America's greatest poet Smokey Robinson (according to no less than Nobel laureate Bob Dylan) "The Hunter Is Captured By the Game" was a big Motown hit for the Marvelettes in 1967. It was also covered by Ella Fitzgerald, the Grateful Dead, Bette Midler, Grace Jones and Blondie among others.
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Chelsea was and still is the poorest community in Massachusetts. Only about 2 miles square, Chelsea's old housing has been passed on from one immigrant group to another. At one time there were five synagogues in town. A lot of famous people -- including Barbara Stanwick, Chick Corea, David Susskind and Arnold Stang (of Chunky chocolate commercials) -- once called Chelsea home. Not famous, I lived there for many years. Today the city is majority Latino. Its people are being hit particularly hard by Covid 19. Your contribution to the non profit Chelsea Collaborative would be be put to immediate good use.
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Apologies to Woody Guthrie for ripping off the opening to “Pretty Boy Floyd”
- MIchael Gallagher *****************************
THE GRAND FOREBODE Running every red light on the road out of town busload of droll chapeaus tankful of dangerous dreams singing Woody’s anthems in search of the grand forebode rearview mirror removed the past’s not part of the load yardsale-find arrowhead makeshift hood ornament pointing the way at the fork in search of the grand forebode storm clouds up ahead perhaps a debt is owed bring on extreme weather chant the lightning-lovers no avoiding netherworld in search of the grand forebode flagged down by haloed stranger purporting to be new messiah all-knowing of all matters revealed off the record dauntless deserters accelerate in search of the grand forebode - Johnny Flaherty ______________________________________________________________________!
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It’s All About Arts Magazine
May 2020
NOW AVAILABLE Thank you Edward Morneau
Volume 1 Soft Cover Book March 2018--February 2019 158 pages: $25.00 +S/H/Tax
https://www.amazon.com/Its-All-About-Arts-Annual/dp/B0848WD1H2 It’s All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Volume 2 Soft Cover Book March 2019--February 2020 236 pages, $35.00 + S/H/Tax
https://www.amazon.com/Its-All-About-Arts-Annual/dp/B084Z3PC28
David Kulik – his creative talents reverberate all around By Janice Williams
Some know David Kulik as an accomplished drummer. Some know David Kulik as a melodious crooner. Some know David Kulik as an innovative and colorful visual artist. Some know David Kulik as a seductive entertainer of Jazz, R&B and Rock and Roll. I know all these marvelous parts of David Kulik and have so enjoyed being a recipient of his artistic endeavors. Kulik says he has always been creative since his young days growing up in Auburndale, MA. As a young man, Kulik loved to draw and often crafted cartoons and animated stories for friends and family. He loved to perform and entertain those around him. His visual talent was temporarily set aside when he chose to attend Berklee School of Music to pursue a career in music. Kulik’s musical journey includes playing drums with Dr. John, Junior Wells, Shirley Lewis and Johnnie Copeland. He was also a large fixture of the thriving Boston blues scene in the 70’s and 80’s. At that same time he and saxophonist Dave Sholl were involved in the “avante-gard” jazz scene of Boston in the 70’s and 80’s. He was lead singer and front man for Boston rock legends such as The Fabulous Roys and Red Hot Pokers. During the 90’s in New York City David frequented the downtown punk and improvised music scenes, working with John Zorn and punkabilly shockers Speedball Baby. Kulik reunited with Sholl in the neo-lounge outfit Four Piece Suit for 10 years in the 2000’s and also played with Barrence Whittfield and Bird Mancini during this same timeframe. Today Kulik still performs when he can and holds sessions at his home studio. Lately, Kulik has resumed his love affair with drawing. With markers and paper in hand, Kulik is creating images layered simply or complex Jump that remind me of works of Pablo Picasso. (continued) It’s All About Arts Magazine May 2020
David Kulik – his creative talents reverberate all around by Janice Williams (continued)
I particularly like Kulik’s faces – each one is put together with elements that define and outline a personality all of its own. His boundless creative energy now includes an online store with merchandise that proudly display his amazing art work. You can easily buy one of a kind buy t-shirts and prints. Visit davidkulikart.com for more info.
African Queen
Desert Eyes
It’s All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Blast Off
The Vicar
TRAVEL
A Costa Rican Adventure by Robert Spilsbury
View from Boat It was a warm day in early February in Manuel Antonio, a quaint town on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica. The sun shone brightly through the glass doors of our hotel room’s balcony with its sea view. I was staying here with my father Jack and his brother Ralph, following a family reunion of more than forty relatives who had flown to Costa Rica from all parts of the States, but from mostly California and the East Coast, myself from Boston. Our ancestors on the Spilsbury side hailed from Costa Rica. With the reunion now over, Dad, Ralph, and I had stayed on for a snorkeling adventure. Our first afternoon’s adventure—a snorkeling expedition in the waters around Quepos and Manuel Antonio with other tourists—turned out to be more than we anticipated. Running late for our reservation, we hastily stuffed some towels, our phones, and my dad’s wallet into an open satchel. Off we went in our rented car up a steep hill and then along a high, curvy coastal road till we crossed the summit and descended down to the town of Quepos and its marina, where we parked, located our boating company, and checked in for our trip. The owner of the company, Diego, was a large Costa Rican man wearing a “Beavis and Butt-Head Do America” T-shirt. Once on board our sailboat, the tour leader, named Alejandro, served our group of twenty tourists a mango and rum cocktail. The captain steered the boat from the stern, and a cook was in the cabin, which had a small kitchen and bathroom. After drinks, Alejandro handed out our snorkeling gear and a long noodle in case of an emergency. We donned our flippers, masks, and snorkels and jumped into the sea—that is everyone but me. “What are you waiting for, go ahead, jump in,” Alejandro said. “I’m afraid of sharks,” I replied. “What? Do they have sharks where you’re from?” “Yes, around Cape Cod there’re lots of sharks.” “Well, there are no sharks here in Costa Rica.” Alejandro’s words reassured me. I didn’t want to miss out on a great chance to see some beautiful fish in the Pacific Ocean. I leapt over the rail and swam out to join my dad and Ralph, who were checking out some large, black-and-yellow striped fish swimming in a school. For a long time the three of (continued) It’s All About Arts Magazine March 2020
A Costa Rican Adventure by Robert Spilsbury (continued) Author Robert Spilsbury
us became completely absorbed in discovering and admiring the varieties of fish. The spell was broken when Alejandro blew his whistle for everyone to return to the boat. I obeyed the command, but my dad and Ralph ignored him. While I was still in the water, Alejandro asked me to swim back and reel in the late comers, but I declined his suggestion, saying they would come back eventually. On board again, I grabbed a towel from our bag and dried myself off, while Alejandro offered me another mango and rum punch. Then he passed out our lunch—tilapia fish with potatoes and rice, along with a special Costa Rican hot sauce that tasted amazing. Our peaceful picnic at sea was about to become hellish. Ralph came up the ladder to the deck, and when he rummaged through our bag, he found his cell phone missing. My dad’s and my iPhone were still there, but Ralph’s Android was gone. First, Ralph threw a conniption that I had chucked his phone overboard when I got out my towel. “That’s preposterous!” I told him. “I bet it was stolen.” We were, after all, American travelers, always seen as rich and materialistic, even if we scraped by from paycheck to paycheck. Ralph quieted down. Meanwhile we began to worry about my dad. He still hadn’t come back, in fact what we thought was the dot of his head on the water amid a different boat’s tour was Ralph Spilsbury a good half-mile from our boat . “I think he’s confused, and thinks that other boat is ours,” Alejandro said. Then he blew a giant horn attached to the rear of the boat near the captain. Alejandro had to blow the horn about fifteen times before my dad finally got the message that he was snorkeling with the wrong group. We watched him turn around in the water and swim back to our boat. As Dad came up the ladder, Ralph was already clamoring about his phone being lost, and how I had undoubtedly dropped it overboard when I grabbed my towel. As Dad listened and pulled out his own towel, he noticed his wallet was missing. I was sad that Dad had lost something too, but also relieved I might be off the hook for the lost Android. Dad asked Alejandro to search all the bags on the boat for his wallet and Ralph’s cell phone, but nobody’s bag had the missing goods. I was starting to believe the crew was responsible, but when I mentioned this to Dad, he said, “You can’t accuse people of a crime if you don’t have any proof.” When the outing ended and we docked at the marina, Dad and Ralph went straight to the office and talked to Diego. I kept a low profile on the office couch, as tempers were simmering. Alejandro had already radioed Diego about the incident, and a Quepos policeman who didn’t speak English joined us, but Diego translated everything. Suddenly the phone rang and a tour guide named Gerald from the other boat said he had found a wallet. This seemed ridiculous to me—who had dived to the bottom of the vast ocean and found Dad’s wallet? Then Gerald arrived in person and flashed the black leather wallet in Dad’s face. “Is this your wallet?” he said. “Um…yes, it is,” Dad said in utter disbelief. But as he reached to take it, Gerald pulled it back and put it in his pocket. “I want a $250 reward for finding your wallet, sir,” he said. “You are joking, right?” my dad said. (continued) “No I’m not, I dove twenty-feet down to find it. It wasn’t easy, but I found it.” (continued) It’s All About Arts Magazine May 2020
A Costa Rican Adventure by Robert Spilsbury (continued) “Why would I give you $250? There’s only $45 in the wallet.” “Shut your mouth,” Gerald said, adding a few profanities. “I want this man arrested right now for attempting extortion, ” Ralph exclaimed loudly to the policeman, who didn’t understand a thing of what was going on because of the language barrier. Once it became clear the policeman wasn’t going to arrest Gerald, both Dad and Ralph stood in front of the office door blocking Gerald’s attempted exit. Ralph then demanded that Diego ask the policeman to search Gerald’s bag and pockets for his cell phone. Surprisingly, the policeman agreed, but his search didn’t turn up the phone. My father then asked the policeman how he could get his wallet back without paying a ransom? The policeman didn’t have an answer. All of a sudden, Diego opened his cash register drawer, took out two $100 bills with Ben Franklin on them and one $50 note with Ulysses S. Grant on it, and handed the cash to Gerald. Gerald grabbed the bills with an angry growl, swore some more at Dad as he handed over the wallet, and then jabbed his finger at Ralph’s face, “You better watch out, you American, because in this county if you accuse someone of a crime without any proof you can get into a lot of trouble.” Ralph scoffed at Gerald as he waved him out the door. Dad thanked Diego for paying Gerald. “But I don’t understand why you did it?” he said. “Because I know you guys would have given my company an awful review on Trip Advisor,” Diego said. “So I figured let’s just resolve the situation and get your wallet back.” We were happy with the outcome, but we still couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole incident had been an inside job. I wondered if the cook had come up on deck and taken the items back to the cabin. Then handed off the wallet, soaked in ocean water, to Gerald for the made-up story of its recovery and Gerald’s demand for a reward. Did such schemes actually pay off with tourists? Or were we the first victims. Overall it had been a very stressful day of our extended holiday. Luckily we had family reunion times to remember and a good story to share when we got home. But for now, my heart was pounding with the recent bad experience, and I was starving. But Dad and Ralph had little appetite—the event had emotionally drained them. Back at the hotel, they retreated to our room for a long rest. Finally, while I finished up a delicious steak and potatoes dinner in the hotel’s dining room, they joined me, and we were able to have a few incredulous laughs over our day’s ordeal.
Sunset from the Boat
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TREE ART by Janice Williams
@janice_art_studio_99
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! photo: T Max
Aſter publishing a fanzine, The Noise (Rock Around Boston), for thirNA-six years and spending a lifetime as a tCaveling musical tCoubadour, T Max seRled in with the seagGlls of Cape Ann, where they intCoduced him to the Hidden PyCamid of Gloucester. With camera and gGitar in hand, he plans to uncover other secrets of life beyond the obvious.
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pen & ink: Mia Godbey CurCently a senior at the UniversitA of MarAland, stGdying environmental science. Her interHship / parN time job at the US DeparNZent of AgCicultGre were cut shorN by the coronavirGs lock down in MarAland, and she is now back home with her parents, contemplating her fGtGre in a locked-down countCA. Mia’s hobbies include calligCaphy, drawing, piano, wax seals, and cooking.
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TENACITY (determination in dark times)
photo: Randy Black
Randy is proud to be a member of a vibrant and communitA oriented gCoup of musicians in and around the Cambridge area. The power of music, of Fiendship, of hugging remains and will retGrH in fGll bloom on the other side.
photo: Jeff Keithline
Je has a phone that is also a camera. He is also a renowned Boston musician who recently moved to Woodstock, NY.
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AVERY GETZ Becoming a Performer In her own words....... “It may be scary going on stage or doing singing lessons but let me tell you it will get better. When I was about 5 years old I started singing lessons. I’ve also sang on TV, at a baseball game, at a football game and I sang at a hockey game and I am only 10. It is scary at first, but you have to believe in yourself. You have to listen to your music teacher because he or she will help you. Thank you for listening to my story”.
Q&A What is the song you sang on TV and at games? I sang the National Anthem and once Titanium Who is your voice teacher?: Myson Elliot How often do you take a lesson? Once a week What songs do you sing in your lesson? Right now it’s “July” Who is your favorite singer and/or performer? Bampa and Billie Eilish Avery Getz on It’s All About Arts TV Show Do you want to perform in front of audiences? at the BNN Media Studio with host Yes absolutely Glenn Williams 2017
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Tess’s May To Do Tess Bio: Tess McColgan has been working for Roslindale Village Main Street as their Program Manager since April 2018. In this role, she plans community events, uses marketing to promote local businesses, and supports the projects of volunteer-led committees. Coming from a large family full of artists & musicians, she’s always had an enthusiasm for local art, and in October 2018, Tess started as Glenn William’s co-host for the It’s All About Arts TV show until its final episode in June 2019. In her free time, she continues to seek out local art, learns new crafts, explores museums, practices yoga & gets out in nature as often as possible.
Photo cred: Bruce Spero Photography brucespero.smugmug.com
Tess’s May Message For so many of us, the COVID-19 pandemic has meant spending much or all of our time at home. Though it doesn’t always feel like it, we’re lucky to be able to stay home and safe while our frontline heroes in the medical field, public safety, grocery stores & food service, and many other essential workers are fighting for us. Thank you to those people saving lives, keeping us safe, allowing us access to food, planning behind the scenes to flatten the curve, and protecting a future for all of us once we’re able to trend back towards normalcy. This time is challenging for all people to navigate. The experience of life amidst a global pandemic of this scale has never happened to any of us before. We’re all going through it for the first time together. Now is a time to be gentle & kind with ourselves and others. Below are some ideas for at home activities.
Finding ways to support local small businesses safely is important right now. If you live in Boston, you can find your local Main Street Organization on the Boston Main Streets’ Districts page: https://bostonmainstreets.org/districts/. From there you can usually find information about businesses inside those districts and their offerings. Show your favorite small businesses love by making online purchases when possible, ordering takeout, buying gift certificates, etc. It's All About Arts May 2020
There are also a lot of fitness studios offering online classes right now -- like, Akasha Studio, LYFE CYCLE, YMAA Boston, and Starr Yoga to name a few Rozzie businesses. Visit the websites for your favorite local workout spots to see if they have online options. Many studios are running classes on a “Pay what you can” basis or with discounted rates. Exercise is a great tool for working out some of that stir-crazy energy! If you’re a live music lover, like me, you should visit your favorite local bands’ Facebook and Instagram pages to see if they’re hosting any virtual concerts. Roslindale Village Main Street is working with local musicians to host weekly Virtual Live Music on Facebook Live. Click here to follow us on Facebook and stay tuned for upcoming shows. Lastly, get creative! There is no time like the present to make art. We are all looking for means of expressing ourselves or soothing our nerves. Try a new craft if you have access to supplies -- you can find some great how-to’s on Pinterest for macrame, embroidery, knitting, crocheting, DIY beauty products, etc. Or, for a more accessible option, draw a sketch, write a journal entry, haiki, or poem. If you’re looking for guidance to help you get creative from home Create: Art in Community has online art classes available during the week for kids and adults. Sign up for a reasonably priced online class to learn something artful & support a local small business at the same time.
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The Local Music Corner
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by Perry Persoff
I hope that the times of preventive action to keep from getting COVID-19 will be over soon, and that everything I write for this particular column will be obsolete as you read it in the hopefully merry month of May.
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Last month I thanked all the musicians and venues that have been doing “virtual” concerts, meaning live-streams (or streams from a venue’s archives) over the internet. From this, the wonderful musicians have given us a way to stay connected to the amazing dynamic that is live music. The shows are generally free, with the option for us to digitally “tip” a donation to the performer. The point that hangs over this like a gray cloud hovering above is that musicians are losing their gig income. And of course, the clubs and restaurants that book live music and their workers are losing their income. So this column is dedicated to musicians I am aware of who are not only streaming their performances, but also attempting to help out fellow musicians or venues. I apologize in advance to other musicians who are doing the same that I may not know about. I salute every one of you for your efforts.
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Club Passim and its members have been giving new and veteran performers alike a space to play for decades. Passim has a fund called the PEAR Fund - as in the Passim Emergency Artist Relief fund. It’s designed to help musicians in the community who are in dire need of financial aid. Part of raising funds for the PEAR is Club Passim’s online “Keep Your Distance” Festival, a series of song videos by
musicians who have been connected with Passim over the years. As of this writing, there were nearly 200 videos by nearly 200 musicians (a few of have done two videos). To connect with the Keep Your Distance Fest, go to Passim.org.
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Among those musicians participating in “Keep Your Distance” is Jim Infantino. You know him from his group Jim’s Big Ego from years gone by. Jim is still in the Boston area music community. He has been doing a weekly live-stream, generally playing for about an hour. Jim is donating a percentage of his tips to the Passim Emergency Artist Relief Fund. Find details at JimsBigEgo.com.
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Another artist who has contributed to Passim’s “Keep Your Distance” festival is Monica Rizzio, who emigrated to Cape Cod from East Texas many years ago. Monica has also been doing weekly livestreams. She calls the shows “the Tune-In Shut Down.” Usually they are with a featured guest. In 2014 Monica founded the Vinegrass Music Organization, a nonprofit music production company that has an annual music festival, primarily of Cape Cod musicians. Not only are the Tune-In Shut Down shows designed to give exposure to local musicians from the Cape, but Vinegrass has committed $5,000 to Cape Cod Musicians and sound engineers who have lost their gig income. If you can contribute to the virtual tip jar, that’s where your money will go. For more information, start with Monica’s Facebook page, www.facebook.com/MonicaRizzio, or her website, MonicaRizzio.com.
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Will Dailey - yes, he’s also contributed to Passim’s “Keep Your Distance” Festival has been streaming performances from home. He calls it his Isolation Tour. Will has
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a goal of raising money to help venues (and their workers) that have given musicians a place to play through the years. He has also posted a previously unreleased song on his website to raise money to help musicians out of work. www.WillDailey.com Bill Janovitz had been doing a monthly residency at The Burren. Now, he has been hosting weekly virtual happy hours, streaming performances from his basement. Each week he raises money for different organizations. These have included local music venues, health care organizations, programs for the homeless, and musicians relief organizations such as the Boston Musicians Relief Fund set up by musician Jim Haggerty, as well as Sweet Relief which has aided music industry workers and musicians in need for decades.
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“Ocean Galaxy #1” by Stephen Levin
Even Josh Kantor has been jumping in. He is losing work both as a touring musician for hire and…..as the organist at Fenway Park! Josh has reportedly been playing live just about every day from his home, taking music requests from fans, and encouraging them to make donations to local food banks.
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To all these musicians and the many I am not aware of who are doing something similar to help others during this extraordinary time, I say this (probably in an acoustic style): For those about to stream, we salute you!
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Take care, be well, be smart, be nice, and spread humor when/where you can. Thanks for reading. Hang in there!
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“Dome #12” by Alan DeMola
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Afterland by Edward Morneau Part Five: Orb, Cube, Cruci;ix
From Part Four: Bailey was taken by surprise by the certainty of the afterlife, even questioning the veracity of his experience. He left hopeful, at least, but terri7ied of what else he saw.
Professor Bailey was more than hopeful. Afterland had con7irmed his suspicions. He had found the Grand Tesseract—the great fold in the universe, the Fifth Dimension, playing upon a Fourth, relegating the other Three Dimensions to mere space, all harvesting variations in time. Death was not 7inal; life’s majesty radiates beyond the mental space of limited in7inity. What a re7lection! Absurd, he thought, and then laughed. Limited in2inity! That’s rich, he muttered to himself. Mollie was still not here and he still missed her. Yet, despite her warning, before she disappeared into the odd, diminishing effervescent lights, Bailey had seen her drop something from her hand. It was a silver orb, a large ball-bearing that glistened in the dark without the bene7it of light. Her gesture was subtle. By the fading light emanating from cubes of all sizes—cubes that served as seats for weary visiting terrestrials of Nowland, he saw her reach into one cube as if it were of hollow matter, pull out the orb, squeeze it, then drop it…and it disappeared, falling through light, darkness, time and space, and the folds of the Tesseract. The terrifying psychometry was not lost on Bailey. By touching and squeezing the orb, Mollie freed it from cosmic restraint— The Gist of Purgatory—the Redemption of Days. II. The Materialization of what was prophesied to be the Second Coming of Jesus Christ for Christians, the First Messiah for Jews, the Serene Return of Allah for Muslims, the Great Waking Karmic Realization on Earth for Buddhists, the Last Reincarnation for Hindus, the Invocation of Dust and Worms for Disbelievers, and so on— takes place over many, many years in an abandoned building in the heart of Mack Ave. & Helen St. —a dangerous district in Detroit, Michigan. In ancient times, religions argued for Holy Ground, but the visual transubstantiation of spirit from mist and ghost into 2lesh and bone, and the vying for righteous possession of Holy Ground—the ultimate territorial imperative—has stalled the Materialization itself. Realizing all prophecy turns on punishment, and hedging their respective bets of faith, the factions, nevertheless, exacerbated and bloodied themselves and their subjects for divine territorial rights. Alas, peace eluded all for millennia, leading their various self-righteous ministers to wait out the Materialization, posting sentinels to guard the Rebirth Place. Eventually, the world grew tired of waiting for the Great Materialization and each faith pulled its sentinels. However, the Materialization persists at its own pace and somehow has the power to keep and repel any force at bay that seeks to corrupt its sanctity. And with each emerging patch of skin, line of tendon and muscle, trace of hair, appendage or internal organ, the sublime architect behind this materialization carves a visage out of spectral cubes, like a Pieta from a block of marble. What remains of these cubes slowly drop from each completed part of the new material Entity and assemble dutifully as a halo at its feet. The New Sentinels arrive— a ceaseless succession of orbs that have dropped from the clouded sky, through the very ceiling of the abandoned
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building, into a room devoid of anything but space, to spread across the 2loor beneath the Entity. The cubes and the orbs 2ill the room, enveloping the entity. Eventually the orbs and cubes over2low and make their way out of the ruins into the empty streets, preventing future gawkers and the new faithful from revitalizing the curiosity of their ancient passions. —Millicent Ivy (from The Tesseract) ________________________________________________________ In a neighborhood near Mack Ave. & Helen St., Baxter Hanley proceeds through a mediocre life, indifferent to anything not within a mile of his existence. Eventually, as fate often claims those who waste precious life and arouse in them a bitterness to persist, Baxter seeks a violent remedy to his stasis and conjures a life of revenge on behalf of his meaninglessness. Seeing the certain ruination of his soul, his friend, Daley Tremblay—a saver of souls— sees Baxter in need of salvation. But her time with Bax is short and troubling, made more so by his faulty sense of geography. So Bax wears a personal GPS so she knows where he is at all times. Daley perseveres on Bax’s behalf and gets him a job working heavy equipment for Barcel & Tide, the world’s sixth largest construction company. Daley moves on to save other souls and over the years Bax works his way up in the company and becomes pro7icient with every machine, but especially the “wrecking ball.” Demolishing things suits his bitter countenance; he calls his machine Demo-N. His newest assignment takes him to the abandoned city, to an abandoned building called The Mansion, where the Materialization is still underway. He is to destroy the dilapidated Heidegger Metals building, diagonally across from The Mansion. On the day of its demolition, Bax’s forgets his GPS and takes a wrong turn. Then it happens: Finding his heavy machine being drawn to a certain collision, Bax realizes he and Demo-N are being carried away by billions of ball bearings emerging through the great oak doors of The Mansion—the orbs descending like Slinkies down the cracked Italian marble stairs. He tries to correct the inevitable, but fails. The orbs surround Demo-N as it rolls towards The Mansion. Bax panics and accidentally releases the wrecking ball… As the The Mansion’s edi7ice staggers, falls, and crumbles, squatters in other abandoned, neighboring buildings emerge like lepers deprived of light and gather around the collapse. When the dust clears, the spectral cubes somehow keep the falling rubble away from the partially assembled Entity. None could venture towards what they could not understand, as the cubes and orbs serve as barriers, making clumsy the curious who chanced a closer look. Within hours Barcel & Tide’s ‘Sweepers Calling’ s ervices would a rrive to Clean up, Finish up, or Give up—that was their motto. They soon gave up, as none of their services were welcomed here. Soon the world would hear about The Mansion, The Materialization, The Entity, and The Orb and Cube Sentinels. Congregants of power, of wealth, of arrogance, of high station, and those without power or wealth, in possession of humility and modest station, and those somewhere in between the extremes of having it all and having very little—all would make a pilgrimage according to the passions of their respective beliefs. To exploit, to adore, to dismiss—whatever the impulse towards beliefs that trade on redemption, curiosity, or fear—most of history and humanity through the eons are drawn to this moment. And far, far away, tucked away in Michelangelo’s Chapel of Second Rate Art, Zorwell laughs, 7irst to himself, then without restraint—loud enough to draw the attention of a Switzer, who is tasked to keep his eye on this mad punk. As a result, Bob the Vatican Attorney is summoned to quell the riotous chortles of their resident lunatic. It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Hours later, Zorwell was still laughing in cacophonous glee when Bob arrived, not surprised to see the seemingly peeved attorney return so soon. Bob faked a smile and handed Zorwell a slip of paper before sitting down.
“Ahhhhhh…what is this, counselor?”
“Look at it—it’s the receipt you gave me after our last visit.”
“Ahhhhhh… and why for?”
“Please, Zor. You know why!” Bob was either angry or ironic.
“Ahhhhhh…’Zor’, is it?”
“Stop with that. Please! Stop!”
“Okay. But don’t patronize me, even though this is the prefect place to do so.” Zorwell laughed.
“The names? The names on the back of the receipt?”
“What about the names?” he stopped laughing.
“Don’t play dumb here, Zorwell. When I turned your receipt over to the Vatican Treasurer, he gasped and nearly fainted, but quickly recovered to escort me to a confessional close by to enquire what I knew about these names. I told him I knew nothing, that I didn’t even look at your receipt, and that these names must be some of your clients.” Zorwell stared at Bob with his mind’s eye 7ixed on the back of the receipt. “You know who these people are. Don’t play games with me.” Zorwell crumpled the receipt into a tiny ball and ate it. “You are mad, but you’re right. I researched these names at the behest of higher authorities. Two of them don’t exist; the other three are Kennedy’s assassins, according to you.” “I never said anything to you about who all the assassins are, just one. I warned you not to ask…but here you are.”
“Hold on, Zorro…!”
“Zorwell.”
“Okay, sorry.” Bob had to collect himself or he was out of a job. “These were all suspects, never charged, never indicted, never seriously considered. They’re all dead, except one. There’s no way…” Zorwell had to come clean. “The client you saw on my cell phone the last time you were here—I made him up.”
Bob stepped back. “Why…why on Earth would you do that?”
“I had to be sure, and you kept pressuring me. It was a necessary ruse. But these are the assassins. And they are all in Afterland.”
“What?” Bob jerked on his tie.
“You heard me.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“As much as anything or anyone can be seen in Afterland.” It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
“What does that mean?”
“It means what I said. You know. You were there. What did you see, I mean actually see. Better yet: How did you see it?”
“What the…? I saw it with my own eyes. Why are you being so obtuse?”
Zorwell knew he could never explain with enough clarity so Bob could understand what he and others were really experiencing in the Afterland.” Zorwell himself only realized it a few days earlier. “Let’s forget the assassins for a minute. The two other names—the one’s who do not exist…”
“Fenton and Mollie Bailey. What about them?”
“Fenton was a client who visited his deceased wife in the Afterland several days after your 7irst visit.”
“He doesn’t exist, nor does she.”
“You are certain of that?”
“Yes, we—the Vatican—are certain. We can 7ind anybody. Everybody who comes near the Holy See, we photograph them. Our surveillance is second to none. And we dump these photos into our search engines—the best in the world, I might add.” “Hmmm. “ Zorwell smiled. “So no one can get close to God without you knowing it.” Bob would not be baited. “Correct. We leave nothing up to chance. Unless they are magicians or masters of disguise, they do not exist. No history, no family, voiceprints, no 7inger prints, no DNA—nothing.” “I thought as much. You saved me a lot of time,” Zorwell pulled out his cell phone and deliberately placed it on the table. “Why are their names on the receipt?” Bob insisted, trying to relax, intuiting that Zorwell was burdened by something he not only did not want to share, but did not want to believe. “You know something, don’t you?” Bob was aware of Zorwell’s 7ixation on his cell phone.
“Well, yeah…I have a unique access to Purgatory, so I know a little more than most.”
“No offense, but that doesn’t give me much comfort.”
“Imagine how I feel.” Zorwell had to end this detour. “I believe you are correct: Mr. Bailey and his wife are quite the enigma…” Zorwell told Bob of his 7irst meeting with Bailey and his visit his wife in Afterland. Zorwell reached for his cellphone, logged in, and brought up some footage of Bailey in Purgatory. Bob was noticeably disinterested in the unrequited longings of these lovebirds, but noticed something he did not himself see when he visited his mother in Purgatory.
“Stop!”
Zorwell obliged.
“What…what are those things, those bluish things moving around?”
“The cubes?”
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Bob nodded. Zorwell explained that they were spectral forms that functioned as chairs, or appeared as such.”
“I didn’t see those when I visited my mother.”
“Nor had I in my several visits with other clients. Poor posture in Afterland looked like 7lying. I took your advice and started surreptitiously 7ilming my visits and this is what my camera saw.”
“You mean only a camera can see these cubes?”
“Apparently. I was as surprised as you. But keep watching, pay close attention to Mollie.” The attorney moved in, squinted and saw Mollie reach into the blue cube, which was now red, and pull out a slightly glowing orb, which was once red and now blue. Her movements were barely perceptible.
“What is that, a ball?”
“It’s an orb of some sort. Both the cube and the orb radiate some kind of 7ield that can only be perceived through an intermediary medium, like a camera. And not just any camera. For some reason it has to be cell phone, which makes sense because my Purgatory app is a phone app, and everyone who visits Afterland brings a phone.” “I see.” “You do?” Zorwell smiled. “Oh, funny. I guess I don’t see. Whatever. What does it mean? And why were you laughing like a lunatic when I got here?” “Because I’m insane? Isn’t that the reason you were summoned?” “Answer the question.” Zorwell knew a lot more than he was letting on, but he also knew no one would believe him. And the news from Detroit con7irmed his deeper suspicions. “I’m still piecing things together. You’ve heard of what’s happening in Detroit?” “Of course—some kind of transubstantiation.” “You think?. You say that like it’s a casual thing, an every day event.” “Don’t tell me you fall for that nonsense!” Bob didn’t believe what he just said. He knew his place in the Vatican scheme of things, and having visited Afterland, he could not really dismiss with any sense of conviction that the Second Coming was actually nonsense. But he also could not validate Zorwell’s concern without revealing the Vatican’s concern. “Bobby, you surprise me. My laughter was to draw you in, and it worked. The names on the receipt were to have you and your bosses do some heavy lifting. And you did. Now you play dumb.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You saw the cubes and orbs, you determined that the Baileys don’t exist, you’re the embodiment of Vatican paranoia—so, please, don’t jerk me around. I drew you here to give me some cover.” It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
Everything Zorwell said was true, Bob had to admit. And, yes, the Vatican was freaking out about Detroit. They sent emissaries there to investigate The Entity and couldn’t get any closer than the poorest of the wretched who made desperate pilgrimages there from all corners of the Earth. “What do you mean, give you some cover?”
“Have you seen cell phone visuals of The Entity?”
“Just what’s on the news.”
“Those are not cell phones. The news organizations use cameras.”
“I’m not following you.”
Zorwell clicked on YouTube and scrolled to a cell phone video of The Materialization. Then he held up his cell against the YouTube visuals. “What do you see?”
Bob blinked. “Is that…are those?”
“Yes, the orbs and cubes. That’s why people cannot get near this place. These things are guarding it, and the orbs are 7lowing out of the building ruins like balls of water, setting up a perimeter. But it’s still standing— The Entity—it remains, unharmed, still materializing. And look what’s also appearing behind it, taking form, coming into focus.” “Bob looked closely and had to squint to frame the object with compressed clarity. He jerked backwards, shook his head, stood straight, then lifted his hand to his forehead. “It’s a cross.”
“That’s right. A cruci7ix.”
“Jesus!”
“That’s what I thought…”
To be continued…
Afterland & Collages Copyright 2019 Edward Morneau It's All About Arts Magazine May 2020
MEMORIAL DAY, 1959
by Stephen Levin
The bright light of a late May morning brightens the room with an exuberant yellow glow that shines from wall to wall. I don’t need any encouragement to get up and get going; it’s a favorite day of mine - Memorial Day. Not only is it a day off from school, but the long-awaited messenger announcing that summer is here, school will soon be ending and that the beach and baseball await. The excitement for this day is felt throughout the city which is wide awake and buzzing like a beehive, with people running about busying themselves with morning chores and family barbecue plans. Maybe most importantly, people rush to find a good spot along the parade route, because this little city is home to one the most amazing Memorial Day Parades anywhere (at least I think that must be true). Marching bands from all over the state come here to march in what seems like a mile-long endless blaze of drum and bugle corps, interspersed with the local high school and junior high school bands, other visiting high school bands, and even semi-famous marching bands that compete nationally, like the Lancers who practice nearby, but travel all over the country, having once been invited to the Rose Parade in Pasadena, California. Baton twirlers, drum majors and majorettes, lead the way for each participating band, as the music of one group fades and the next approaches. Politicians and local celebrities march along, some waving flags or wearing flag-emblazoned hats. Some wave to the onlooking crowd from automobiles that lead or are part of the procession. Our group of five friends try to meet up early, at the beginning of the parade route so we can follow it along Broadway, winding itself back to the cemetery where the Memorial Day ceremonies will take place. Prayers and speeches by politicians, men and women decked out in their service uniforms, all make a solemn ending to the raucous parade. Being inside the cemetery is also a treat for us because it’s usually closed, and even when it’s open, it seems creepy and scary to us all, especially at night. In the bright sunshine of Memorial Day, we dare to enter, holding our flags. We place a hand across our hearts. However, today, I think there’s been a mistake. The parade seems to have started earlier than we thought, and it is heading from a different direction. Instead of coming down from the beginning of Broadway, it’s slowly creeping along Central Avenue. Whereas this street borders the cemetery, this seems somewhat correct, but at the same time, something seems wrong because this is not where the parade should begin. Confusing as it seems, we decide that this is just something new and different, and we don’t think about other possible explanations. We simply join in with the small group of other kids who started walking down the middle of the street, exuberantly waving flags and waving to people who we think must be spectators, although most are not waving back, nor do they seem to be standing and watching the parade. We are not dismayed we are just so excited to be marching in the Memorial Day Parade. We’re anticipating joining up with a larger group. Maybe we’ll be joined by other kids we might know _______________________________________________________________________!
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It’s All About Arts Magazine
May 2020
maybe our teachers or other people in Army, Navy or police uniforms. Oblivious in the moment, we are parading behind five cars that are following a lead car. Their blaring horns add to the excitement, and raising our flags and our arms higher, we wave more vigorously than before. It's a dazzling Memorial Day holiday! It’s a Parade and it's sheer joy. Then the parade seems to turn in an odd direction, a direction that I know is wrong. As the lead car turns onto my narrow street, a route the parade should not take, I can see that the lead car is also too familiar. Coming into view as it takes the turn, there are the wide wings of my dad’s new 1959, black Chevy Impala. That’s when I understand the slow pace of the parade. Then I understand the blaring automobile horns. They are not part of a Memorial Day Parade. They are part of a parade that follows behind my father’s car down any road on any day. This is not the grand Memorial Day Parade for which I had woken early and rushed outside to meet up with friends. It is not the one with ten marching bands or the one that ended with the gun salute and the prayers and speeches at the cemetery. It is The Parade - My Dad’s Parade - that is emblazoned in my memory. It is the memory of my father as the slowest driver to have ever sat behind the wheel of an automobile. While there are trophies and awards given for those who drive at very high speeds, none are given to those who drive so slowly that parades form behind them. For this achievement, I present this personal award to My Dad - a memory in my lifetime that I treasure.
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It’s All About Arts Magazine
May 2020
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It’s All About Arts Magazine May 2020