Chitterlinks

                                   Ashley Bell



 

FILAGREE 
Leslie Gore Vidal Sassoon


 

PENTATONIC 
Boy George Michael Jackson Five Easy Pieces of eight days a week



 
NEWTON’S CRADLE 
Eli Whitney Houston Texas Chainsaw Massacre


 

HOSIERY OF POP CULTURE
Patty Duke of Earl of Sandwich is a sandwich but a Manwich is a meal



 
AKIMBO
Ancient Chinese Secret Agent Orange Julius Caesar Romero



 
NO FLY ZONE
Olivia Newton John Singer Sargeant York Peppermint Patty



 
SEESAW
Jason Alexander Pope John Paul McCartney and Wings



 
PLAY-DOH
I Sing The Body Electric Company of Men At Work Will Set You Free



 
A POEM
Sydney and Francis Lewis and Clark Gable



 
TURQUOISE
Fly by Night of The Living Dead Man Walking


 

 SHUTTLECOCK

1.
Smoke on The Water Lilies of The Field

2.
Smoke on The Water Under The Bridge Over The River Kwai



 
MORTAR AND PESTLE
This Boy’s Life On The Fly On The Wall Street Journal



 
EQUUS
Fork, Lift, And Separate (But Equal)



 
FROND
Phil and Don Ho Chi Minh



 
MICRONESIA
Blinded by The Light-Speed Demon Rum



 
DIM SUM
Vincent Price of Milk and Honey I Shrunk The Kids



 
AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STEPS
Ham and Eggs Benedict Arnold Schwarzeneggar



 
MUGSHOT
Crocodile Tears of A Clown Car



 
DIPTHONG
Think Tank Top Drawer







Ashley Bell lives and works in Richmond, Va.

                  The Pastry Shop: Ten Drawings
                                
                                 Nathan Motley

                                Untitled, Fall 2010. 9.12 x 12.87 inches. Ink on paper.

                            Untitled, 2012. 7.50 x 11.37 inches. Ink on paper.

                          
                                          Untitled, 2012. 7.75 x 11 inches. Ink on paper.

                                                
                         Untitled, 2012. 7.75 x 11 inches. Ink on paper.

                                       Untitled, 2012. 7.75 x 11.25 inches. Ink on paper.

                        Untitled, 2012. 7.50 x 11.50 inches. Ink on paper.

                                       Untitled, 2012. 7.50 x 11.12 inches. Ink on paper.  

                                                          
                          Untitled, 2012. 7.50 x 11.12 inches. Ink on paper.

                                       Untitled, 2012. 7.50 x 11.25 inches. Ink on paper.

                          Untitled, 2012. 7.50 x 11.25 inches. Ink on paper.

Nathan Motley lives and works in Richmond, Va.


Website:  http://nathanmotley.com/

                                        A Shadow that Knows

                                               Wen Wen Lin

Among Wen Wen Lin's many gallery exhibitions, her recent shows include the Women Artist Salon Group Exhibition, April Is Not the Cruelest Month, a trilogy of digital images and poetry. She performed in Tigerhead Tarzan & Jane w/ body parts, with artists Jack Cesareo and Paula Brett.  Wen Wen Lin lives and works in New York City.

                          

                                         Poem

                                Andrew Boston

               First Epistle

I always forget to pay attention to your breath
To watch your chest rise and fall
At one time, I was ascending
And you were descending
But before that
I was the moat around a tower
I was moving in linear time
You were moving in cyclical time
Forgive me for not being filled by you
For not molding myself to you
I’m only a man with a limited capacity
To think beyond fried chicken and hibernation
So everything that was yours that I kept alive
Inside myself was a reflection
Of the space in between the self you slip on and off
In your waking days
And my own astonishment at not being allowed to know you
I could not draw your hands perfectly
But the architecture of your voice
Is something to dance about
I realize now that I only moved through your empty spaces
Your silences
The weakness of the conveyance
Convalescing at the beginning of each day
Convoluted at the end
You’ve lost your convex belly
I am concave with hunger
The conclave billows a unanimous smoke
All things, in time, will pass through you
Will circle and underline the facts of your life
Will complete the crossword of your willingness
To part from me
A cool voice passing over smooth stones
When spring was born anew I edged into your light
Summer saw you unveiled
In the pagan hours of my misunderstanding
I understood you through my solitude

Andrew Boston lives in Washington D.C.  He is in his third year 

at New York University, where he is majoring in English Lit.

                                  Street Graffiti

                                  Colette Miller 

Leopard Graffiti in collaboration with Becca Midwood.

Buffalo Graffiti

Horse Graffiti

Two Indians Graffiti in collaboration with Becca Midwood.

Coyote Graffiti

Colette Miller lives and works in the city of Los Angeles.


Website:  colettemiller.com

    



                     Poems: Hypertext Collages

                                  Anonymous

How Pleasant to Know Mr. Lear

(a cento)

On with the giddy circle, chasing Time,

I bear a basket lined with grass.

I who have sat by Thebes below the wall

there, at the foot of yonder nodding beech.

The long day wanes, the slow moon climbs the deep.

Unto the weary and all-watched night.

Children, who early range these slopes and late,

and Marian's nose looks red and raw,

out-did the sparkling waves in glee.

O look at the trees! they cried, O look at the trees!

But most through midnight streets I hear

through caverns measureless to man,

that ugly imp that shall outwear my wrath,

and a hive of silvery bees

on daily visits through the air.

Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see

this is the cow with the crumpled horn.

All the birds of the air:

One has false curls, another too much paint.

What is it that you do, how is it that you live?

Your love by ours we measure

seem chiming haycocks

where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles.

And ever as the minutes flew,

and schoolboys lag with satchels in their hands,

and silver whistles to control the winds,

one moment through thy soul the soft surprise.

And, little town, thy streets for evermore

to Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last.

Like golden lamps in a green night,

the happy highways where I went

to a land all covered with trees.

Where are you going, my pretty maid?

Northward he turneth through a little door,

O dear what can the matter be?

For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:

Let the winds of dawn that blow

their pinions, ostrich-like, for sails outspread

through all the Realms of Non-sense, absolute,

seen by rare glimpses, pensive and tongue-tied,

say, my heart's sister, wilt thou sail with me

waters on a starry night?

Though inland far we be.

Exit Ghost

And when the sun went down.

Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades

in the dead vast and middle of the night.

As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair.

And as to shape, a nightmare has as much. Under the poke and the  


muff-box, that makest my blood cold and my hair to stare.

As when, upon a tranced Summer night

which here enamels everything,

and wrought him mickle woe on sea and land,

almost to jelly with the act of fear.

Till Beppo should return from his long cruise,

come with a Whoop! Come with a call,

with a packet on his back.

Anonymous lives in New York City.

 

                                       Painting

                                Jessica Freeman

Outlook. 18 x 24 inches. Acrylic on canvas.

Jessica Freeman lives and works in Richmond, Va.