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Woven Tale Publishing Š copyright 2013 ISSN: 2333-2387
The Woven Tale Press
Vol.III #6
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF: Sandra Tyler
Author of Blue Glass, a New York Times Notable Book of the Year, and After Lydia, both published by Harcourt Brace; awarded BA from Amherst College and MFA in Writing from Columbia University; professor of creative writing on both the undergraduate and graduate levels, including at Columbia University, (NY), Wesleyan University (CT), and Manhattanvill College, (NY); served as assistant editor at Ploughshares and The Paris Review literary magazines, and production freelancer for Glamour, Self, and Vogue magazines; freelance editor; Stony Brook University’s national annual fiction contest judge; a 2013 BlogHer.com Voices of the Year. http://www.awriterweavesatale.com
ASSOCIATE EDITOR: Michael Dickel, Ph.D.
A poet, fiction writer, essayist, photographer and digital artist, Dr. Dickel holds degrees in psychology, creative writing, and English literature. He has taught college, university writing and literature courses for nearly 25 years; served as the director of the Student Writing Center at the University of Minnesota and the Macalester Academic Excellence Center at Macalester College (St. Paul, MN). He co-edited Voices Israel Volume 36 (2010). His work has appeared in literary journals, anthologies, art books, and online for over 20 years, including in:THIS Literary Magazine, Eclectic Flash, Cartier Review, Pirene’s Fountain, Sketchbook, Emerging Visions Visionary Art eZine, and Poetry Midwest. His latest book of poems is Midwest / Mid-East: March 2012 Poetry Tour. http://michaeldickel.info
ARTS EDITORS: Seth Apter Mixed-media artist, instructor, author and designer. His artwork has been widely exhibited, and represented in numerous books, independent zines, and national magazines. He is the voice behind The Pulse, a series of international, collaborative projects, the basis of his two books The Pulse of Mixed Media: Secrets and Passions of 100 Artists Revealed and The Mixed-Media Artist: Art Tips, Tricks, Secrets and Dreams From Over 40 Amazing Artists, both published by North Light Books. He is the artist behind two workshop DVDs: Easy Mixed Media Surface Techniques and Easy Mixed Media Techniques for the Art Journal. http://www.sethapter.com Donald Kolberg Sculptor, painter, art marketer and writer. His artwork has been exhibited throughout the U.S. in museums and galleries with his current representation at the Parker Art Gallery in St. Simons, Ga. He has been featured in an NBC short documentary and numerous print and zine publications. He is founder of ArtCore an international newsletter, and continues to be active in art groups presenting classes on marketing and art techniques including workshops on creating Strappo’s, a dry transfer acrylic monotype. A graduate of California State University, Los Angeles, his master work was continued at Otis Art Institute. Additionally he produced Periscope Up an independent television production for a Pennsylvania PBS station. His artwork has been included in the publication ‘Sculpture and Design with Recycled Glass’. Additional artwork and information can be viewed at www.DonaldKolberg.com PHOTOGRAPHY EDITOR: Susan Tuttle Award winning iPhoneographer and DSLR photographer. She is the author of three instruction-based books (published in the US and abroad by F+W Media, North Light Books) on digital art with Photoshop, mobile photography and DSLR photography, and mixed-media art. Her fourth book, Art of Everyday Photography: Move Toward Manual and Make Creative Photos (about DSLR photography and mobile photography) was recently released by North Light Books and has been a best-seller in its category on Amazon. She is currently the Technical Advisor for Somerset Digital Studio Magazine. http:// susantuttlephotography.com
Our staff is an eclectic mix of editors with keen eyes for the striking. So beware–they may be culling your own site for those gems deserving to be unearthed and spotlit in The Woven Tale Press.
Editor’s Note: The Woven Tale Press is a monthly culling of the creative Web, exhibiting the artful and innovative. Enjoy here an eclectic mix of the literary, visual arts, photography, humorous, and offbeat. The Woven Tale Press mission is to grow Web traffic to noteworthy writers and artists–contributors are credited with interactive Urls. Click on an Url to learn more about a contributor.
To submit and become a Press member, go to: http://thewoventalepress.net
http://michaelalfano.com
Sculptor Alfano sometimes sketches his ideas on paper, but most often sculpts a small model in clay or wax. He typically uses water-based clay to create the full-size sculpture. This can take anywhere from a few days to many months. Then he works with specialists to make a mold and create castings in cold cast copper, resin, or bronze.
Cubed is a sculptural puzzle in nine pieces, each in a different sk verted, on the other side. The sculpture can be rearranged into inte 1
Cubed Resin, Ltd. Ed. of 100
kin tone. It forms two faces: a male on one side and a female, ineresting abstract designs, and even fun seating and tables. 2
Alfano made this first small metal dancer from a 55-gallon oil drum, transforming an industrial remnant into a graceful objet d’art. 3
These dancers move with the wind or when touched. They come in stainless steel, in colors or uncoated, and small or large sizes. Each is unique, as Alfano shapes the steel based on its characteristics and the vision he has for the final sculpture.
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Turning Heads Resin
The sculpture Turning Heads moves when viewers push a piece of the oversize face. Each of the sculpture’s components are of a different skin tone, just as we all are comprised of ancestors from around the world. 5
Evolution Stainless Steel
In Evolution, the two oversized facing heads are comprised of smaller and smaller faces, all on rails that slide towards one another. When the faces overlap, their shapes form new designs, an endless complexity of steel and shadow. 6
Questioning Mind Resin With Natural Stone 7
Overlooking Boston is Questioning Mind, in a large size resin. Originally created as a smaller, wall-hanging sculpture, requests for an outdoor version prompted Alfano to re-sculpt it. The high relief face is cut away, surrealistically creating a question mark, a hallmark of the human race.
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http://www.blemishedeye.com
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http://www.bermansworld.net
I loosely describe my artwork as Industrial with “ architectonic and mechanical influences referencing Cubism, Constructivism, Dadaism and the Steampunk movement. Some misinterpret my work as being just about machines; however, whereas the components are portrayed as technical and mechanical, the imagery is in fact genderless – the ’machine’ represents a variety of human characteristics including strength, power, and confidence. – Ken Berman
”
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East Gate Oil and Colored Pencil on Canvas
Unfinished Business Oil and Colored Pencil on Canvas
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Frank Oil and Colored Pencil on Canvas on Panel
Building forms and “ mechanical appurtenances are the primary inspiration for my work. Ever since I was an undergraduate at Lehigh University, surrounded by the Bethlehem Steel Mills, I have explored my own inner ‘factory,’ with the goal of creating a visual language that articulates my own theories of art and life.
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– Ken Berman
No Paint Alley Oil and Colored Pencil on Canvas
Reeling in the Years Oil abd Colored Pencil on Canvas 20
Columbus Circle Oil and Colored Pencil on Canvas
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Coney Island Oil and Colored Pencil on Canvas
The Passage of Time Oil and Colored Pencil on Canvas
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Shake, Rattl Oil and Colored P
le and Roll Pencil on Canvas
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https://tnwalker.wordpress.com
Maidenhead Thicket
“Evidence of dogging,” the grumpy middle-aged surveyor said, as he toed a transparent plastic bag with his shoe. He could see used condoms inside, tied off in knots. “What’s dogging, Mr. Morris?” Ahmed was his new graduate assistant, fresh from college and keen as mustard. They had parked in a lay-by next to a wooded area that needed surveying for a planning application. “Didn’t you get an education in that college you went to?” “I lived at home with my family, Mr. Morris. We’re devout Muslims. I was a day student, so I never mixed much with the other students.” “Well, this here woodland was once roamed by bandits called highway men, as the main London to Reading Road runs through it. Now it’s better known as a place where people come to have sex in their cars. We call this ‘dogging’. Gay and straight couples come here, and sometimes others come to watch them. I know what you’re thinking, us decadent Westerners. Yes, you’d be right. It’s the product of a society without restraint. We call it freedom. Come on, get the yardstick and the odolite out of the van and let’s get started.” They marched off along a footpath into the ancient woodland. *** A cock’s crow woke him, scratching and yawning, on a lumpy straw-stuffed mattress, and he instinctively looked out of the window overlooking the inn courtyard. No movement except for the stable boy leading a brown bay over the cobbles towards the blacksmith’s hut. He would get a quick crust of bread and pewter of ale for his breakfast, and ride out into the thicket on Black Bess to await the morning mail coach. The Dew Drop Inn was a friendly place for highwaymen like Dick Turpin, and the wily old inn keeper knew what to say to the King’s Men who would occasionally call asking questions. Dick spun a coin at the stable boy, swung into the saddle of the tall, spirited mare, and spurred her through the arched entrance to the courtyard. The boy looked at the bronze farthing in the palm of his dirty hand, and slowly read the inscription out loud: “1730, George II Rex….a German gentleman on the throne of England. No wonder there’s lawlessness. Come on Flossy.” He led the horse away and 25 25
glanced enviously at the trail of dust heading into the woods. *** “A bit further now, up to that oak tree.” Peter Morris, Surveyor for Windsor and Maidenhead District Council, urged his young apprentice onwards with the yardstick, whilst he stretched to give some relief to his aching back. “Fifty-seven yards. Ok, come back now, I think we’ve got enough data on this patch of woodland.” Ahmed was full of enthusiasm and keen to impress. He practically ran back to Peter, his brown eyes eagerly looking for his next instruction. Peter squinted up at the bright sunlight on a warm April morning, and looked around at the ancient wood, admiring the varied shades of brown and green. A rabbit hopped by. “This wood has been here for over two thousand years. Before the Romans came, the whole of Berkshire was wooded. I hope they don’t start building on it. Come on, let’s sit under that tree for a bit, there’s no rush to get back.” Peter sat heavily and let out a puff of air. Ahmed was full of energy and walked around the big old oak. “Do you think this tree is two thousand years old, Mr. Morris?” “More than likely. If it were cut down you could count its rings to tell its age. But we won’t be cutting any trees down. This is protected ancient woodland.” Ahmed would not keep still, and Peter became irritated by his movement and questions. “Why don’t you climb this here tree and tell me if you can see our van.” It was like trying to keep an active child occupied. Ahmed dropped his bag to the ground and sized up the old oak. He found a suitable starting point and proceeded to climb, gripping the grooves in the old gnarled bark, and digging his knees in as he slowly made his way up to an overhanging branch. *** Dick pulled his black neckerchief up over his mouth and nose, cocked his two pistols and waited calmly as the stagecoach approached. He gently spurred Bess forwards into the centre of the track, and made eye contact with the startled coach driver. “Stand and Deliver!” he yelled, levelling the pistols at the heads of the dismayed driver and his mate. He pulled hard on the reins and brought the coach to a dusty standstill. “Get down from there and show me what’s in them mail sacks!” Dick moved forward and looked in the window at the terrified passengers. This was his favourite part. “Get down from there, ladies and gentlemen, and place your fineries and monies in my hat.” 26 26
In barely ten minutes, it was all over, and Dick rode in the opposite direction from the retreating coach, further into the thicket. He found his favorite oak tree and jumped up
on his saddle as Black Bess stood still, pushing a bag of jewelry and coins into a crock between two branches. He would always hide half of his takings near the scene, in case he was himself robbed as he attempted to fence the goods, and return after a few days. “Here! Mr. Morris! I’ve found something!” Ahmed shouted down excitedly, holding an old brown cloth bag in his outstretched arm. Peter slowly got to his feet and looked up.“Throw it down to me and get down.” Peter waited until Ahmed was at his side, and then worked open the leather thong around the neck of the bag. He looked inside and saw items of jewelry and some gold coins. “Hold your hands out,” he said, emptying the contents into the cupped hands of his young apprentice. “Wow! Mr. Morris! This must be worth a fortune! What should we do with it?” What a question. Peter’s head was swimming with possibilities. He had visions of fast cars and a villa on a Greek island. “It’s the stash from a highwayman, no doubt, judging by the coins, from the 1700s. We should hand it in to the authorities and maybe they’ll give us a reward.” “Ok, Mr. Morris, whatever you say.” Ahmed was keen and excited. Peter knew they had to do the right thing and hand it in. “Come on, we’ll take it back to the office and I’ll catalogue and photograph the contents, then we’ll hand it in. What do you say to a fifty-fifty split of any reward?” “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Morris, you’re my boss, whatever you think is right and appropriate, Mr. Morris.” Peter eyed him and thought of the possible value of the stash. Maybe three or four hundred thousand? Hard to say. Maybe more. “Ok, let’s go, but let’s keep this secret for the time being, until I find out who we should report it to.” “Yes, Mr. Morris.” They walked slowly along the path, high trees overhanging both sides.The sky darkened under menacing black clouds and the temperature dropped noticeably. Just then they 27 27
heard the sound of a horses hooves and a grey, ghostly apparition appeared, coming towards them down the track.
“Look Mr. Morris! A ghost!” Peter could see the ghostly rider coming straight for them, a transparent grey highwayman on a snorting stallion. He grabbed his young companion by the arm and stepped off the trail into the bushes. The ghostly rider flew by them and carried on along the track, leaving them shivering with cold. They stepped out onto the track, and Peter could see the ghost rider approach the tree in which they had found their treasure. “It’s Dick Turpin! He’s looking for his stash!” he whispered, as they watched in fear as the ghost rider stood up on his saddle and then vanished. They hurried back to their van and drove off, Peter glancing nervously in the rear view mirror. His heart was beating madly and he could feel the adrenalin rush. They got back to the Council office and he reminded Ahmed not to say anything until he found out more. In his office, Peter fired up his computer and did an internet search on Dick Turpin and Maidenhead Thicket. After a while, he called in Ahmed and read to him: “Listen to this…Dick Turpin was a highwayman operating in Maidenhead Thicket for many years, but after shooting an accomplice who was then captured, he fled to York with a large price on his head in 1737. There under the alias of ‘John Palmer’ he ran a business as a horse dealer. Arrested in October 1738 for horse theft and poaching, his true identity was revealed when his distinctive handwriting on a letter was recognised by his former schoolmaster. He was executed by hanging in York in April 1739. So that was the end of Dick Turpin, famous highwayman. And we have one of his hauls here.” Peter emptied the contents of the bag out onto his desk and separated the coins from the other items. Bracelets, necklaces, a gentleman’s pocket watch and a key. He held the key up. “I wonder if Dick was looking for this. Maybe he was locked out of his room and his ghost keeps returning to look for the key!” He turned to his frightened colleague. “Mister Morris, I don’t know what we’ve seen today, but I’m scared. You dispose of that stuff, it’s haunted.” “Don’t you worry about it. Dick Turpin’s ghost may be looking for his stash, but he can’t take it out of the tree, so we’re in the clear. I’ll hand it in and give you your share of the reward. Until then, keep it under your cocked hat!” Peter leaned back in his chair and dreamed of a Greek island – like the one in Mama 28 Mia! “Now, where’s that card for that dodgy antiques dealer…” 28
http://www.elwilliamsart.com
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Cinnamon Mixed Media and Fabric 30
(Detail) 31 31
In My Mind’s Eye Fabric and Mixed Media 32 32
Pink Ribbon Mixed Media on Fabric 33 33
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Women Of Honor Mixed Media on Fabric 35 35
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Reflection Mixed Media and Fabric 3737
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http://www.tomvenning.com
Paintings – Small brush calligraph
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Nuit (Egyptian heavenly India Ink
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Venning’s art is based on Zen Calligraphy, but being autodidactic and having no emotional connection to Chinese characters, he developed his own unique form of asemic writing that twists dimensions and challenges perception. To help explain the process and mindset of calligraphy, he regularly performs as a live painter.
n goddess of the sky and y bodies) on Paper
Untitled India Ink on Paper 42
Tresor Lizard India Ink on Paper
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Luftbad Lizard India Ink on Paper 44
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Flink and Frech – Swift and Cheeky India Ink on Handmade Paper
Butterfly Wings India Ink on Paper
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https://jeanreinhardt.wordpress.com
The Well She sat among the marigolds and asters, smacking unhappy lips together with each gulp of wine. Eye-stinging smoke rose from a cremated steak. Leaning over the fake stone well they had built together, she let her tears drop to its dusty, dry bottom. The last rays of sunshine washed over the carefully chosen shrubs as the old, not yet converted barn released its wave of bats to feed soundly on the night’s offerings. Soft whimpering drew her back towards the cottage. Paws and fur scrambled excitedly across her feet through the opening door. Following the trail of drool, she smiled at the sight of the meticulously planned anniversary supper being devoured voraciously. That meal had gone the way of too many before it. Emptying the wine over her pool of tears, she wanted a clear head when packing. Standing in the Italian tiled hallway, she took one last, lingering look at ten years of boredom. Stepping outside to an uncertain life brought fresh beats to a tired heart. A note, hastily scribbled, fastened behind the gleaming brass knocker, fluttered as the door slammed shut. “Your dinner is in the dog, and your wine is in the well,” it said.
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Blind Terror
I hear him screeching. I must keep following the sound – ugh, what a stink. I’ve bumped into a bin. Dex, I’m coming just stay there. As soon as I get this gate open I’ll be with you. I don’t like being in unfamiliar territory. It’s not safe. This bolt is so stiff. Ouch, my finger.You still there, Dex? I can’t hear you. I’m pushing with all my strength but this stupid gate won’t open. Maybe I should pull instead. That’s better. Dex, where are you? Why are you suddenly so quiet? Yuck, what’s this all over my face? It feels like cobwebs. Dex. Dexterrrr. I’ve moved too far from the house, I’ll never find my way back. What’s this on the ground? Oh, it’s a metal bucket. My heart’s pounding in my ears, I need to get home but which way should I go? Dex, where are you? I wish we had never moved here. Mom, Mom. Can you hear me? I’m lost. Mo-th-er, pleeeease come get me. She’ll never hear me, I’m too far away. What if someone else gets here first? Someone bad finding me late at night on my own. Maybe shouting for help is not a good idea. I’ll turn this bucket upside down and sit while I think. That’s better. Oh no, I can hear scuffling sounds from behind. Rats. I hate rats. Mom, Mom, M-o-o-o-o-m. “Izzy. Stop screaming. I’m here.” “I got lost looking for Dex.” Sob. “Here he is. Hold him tight. We’ve only just moved here, give it time. You know you’ll get familiar with the layout of the place. You always do.” I feel Dex purring in my arms.“I wandered really far from the house, didn’t I?” “You’re in the next-door neighbor’s shed.”
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http://www.paultoussaint.com
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Before Effects
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After Iphoneography Effects
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Astoria Side Streets
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Call Me Maybe
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Leslie Red
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MIrror Mirror 54
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Stranger With Candy
Long Island Ferry
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ISSN: 2333-2387