janet st. john

Tracee Vetting Wolf. Boy & Bird. 2. 5" x 3.5" Mixed media (collage, acrylic, watercolor, pencil). www.traceevettingwolf.com Bluebird, My Brother It landed on my shoulder and I knew. There were chirps or birdsong, but I heard my brother’s voice. “Told you.” From a distance, I watched our woodpile collapse as our dog Tucker dragged a log out. Tucker is six months old. “They are chewers,” Mom had said when Dad suggested we get a dog, a black lab. The little blue bird flew besid

Lesley Howard. Sidewalk After the Storm. http://artofpractice.com Collage It was early autumn. Not every tree had relinquished its green adornment for a yellow or brittle- brown coat. There was little red or orange to punctuate the iron-weighted clouds. You said it felt smothering. That was the afternoon we left the restaurant I loved and walked to your apartment. I talked about the food, the atmosphere, how it felt like a real London pub. You said, “It’s lame. This is Portla

Katherine Reynolds In the Clouds Steve had boarded the connecting flight in DFW in route to Baltimore, sat in window seat 9F, main cabin, though he had plenty of miles to upgrade. His wife Haley was always saying, “We should use them to fly first class to Puerto Rico.” But Steve didn’t want to see Puerto Rico. He wanted someday to see the U.K., to feel his skin moist and plumped, not a piece of dehydrated potato or the beet he became after too much Phoenix sun. He only moved

Town square called Place aux herbes in Uzès France.Photo.SilverWainhouse. http://womanistics.blogspot.com/p/about-sassy.html Beneath a star-less sky, the square sparkles. In France, everything sparkles. Champagne. Perfume. A meal pops, wine glistens on one’s tongue. Words’ song-cadence, even ricochet-fast, still melodic. The winter-dead trees in the square have manmade sparkle. Wrapped in mini-lights, they draw a woman closer. She is wide awake, stomach full with rich French

Sheri Hoeger. Building Their Lives. From A Touch of Hands series. “16 x 20”. Oil. 2016. Sheri Hoeger Fine Art: https://www.facebook.com/SheriHoegerArt/ What does it take to build a life? She clutches tight to M. Their union, some bond. Dependence. Codependence. Love. Trust. He offers A. Absence, adultery, abandonment? Any of the above? His hands are open because he doesn’t worry. He’s a white man in a white world, or at least a white-dominated country. Plus, he has a letter u

Peggy Acott. Brooklyn Bridge. https://www.instagram.com/pmacott/ Suspension There is a line that divides us. Some keep walking, guided by signs and symbols to keep moving forward. We catch up to others. We fall behind. We are on a bridge that unites city to city, gives us bird’s eye view of river, makes us both aerial and tower-weighted with caissons sunken to bedrock. Isn’t there always such motion? The reaching and grounding. Counter forces. Suspension. A woman stops on a b

Wearing Blanket. 1860–70. Navajo. Wool. H. 69 x W. 48 x D. 69 in. (175.3 x 121.9 x 175.3 cm). The Michael C. Rockefeller Memorial Collection, Bequest of Nelson A. Rockefeller. Courtesy The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Open Access. Tight Weave Hills at my back; dome sky; sun rays through slits of mouth-shut fingers, hand raised to shade eyes. I live here, in this alive place. This place lives in me. I wear it like my tunic or cloak, pull it closed around me. It is life, what I

Joseph Pennell. American, 1857 – 1926. Hail America. 1909. Mezzotint. Print. Gift of Mrs. Jane C. Carey in memory of her mother, Mrs. Addie Burr Clark. Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington. Failing in coal-smoked darkening night, what should we hail about you, America, arrogance, lost empathy, deep-seated racism, sexism, fear? You are nothing to kneel before, no leader to follow. Not this planet’s judge and jury. You don’t have that right, don’t even protect the right

Francesco Paolo. Italian, 1851 – 1929. A Hillside Path with Blooming Cherry Trees under an Overcast Sky. 1905. Pastel, charcoal, and stumping with touches of gouache on blue paper laid down on card sheet: 30.1 × 44.5 cm (11 7/8 × 17 1/2 in.) Ailsa Mellon Bruce Fund Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington Pink popcorn blossoms Punctuating beige-grey day Strip of light beyond If the image or words inspire you to write or create something, please share writing or jpeg in th

Henry Peach Robinson. British, 1830 – 1901. She Never Told her Love 1857. Albumen print from a wet collodion negative. Photograph. 17.8 x 21.8 cm (7 x 8 9/16 in.) Paul Mellon Fund. Open Access. Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington She Never Told Her Love She held it inside like the pit of some fruit, no chance to ripen. At a lunch party, Helen met Miranda. While they spoke of the fine day, the hostess’s lovely home, Helen sensed disinterest in the delicate woman, tire

Western Motel. Edward Hopper, American, 1882–1967. 1957 Oil on canvas 77.8 x 128.3 cm (30 5/8 x 50 1/2 in). Bequest of Stephen Carlton Clark, B.A. 1903 Courtesy of Yale University Art Gallery (open access images) Madge the Mysterious, what he called her when they met, waits stiff-backed in red dress on red bed in room with red chair. Viking bones could conquer his pasty freckled skin, towering insecurity about her towering height. Instead, she wears low heels, slouches beside

Irises. Vincent van Gogh (Dutch, 1853 - 1890). Saint-Rémy, France. 1889. Oil on canvas. 74.3 × 94.3 cm (29 1/4 × 37 1/8 in.) Courtesy J. Paul Getty Museum Open Content Program Memory Is Organic Early warmth urged green-fingered hands up from soil. Iris bulbs driven by need to resurrect, unbury what had been blacked out beneath the surface until strong sun penetrated, woke them. When the irises flower this March, I will resist mind-seeing my friend and mentor again, one year s

Drum 1st century. Peru. Nasca Culture. Ceramic H.17 3/4 x Diam. 10 in. (45.1 x 25.4 cm) The Michael C. Rockefeller Memorial Collection, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Wielgus, 1964 Courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art In the News Rhythm beneath the skin, the world. Da dum da dum da dum. A marching to battle. Heartbeat. Drum beat. Energy coils are meant to rise. But this snake is slithering downward, fangs seeking base, wanting to sink in, and take us along. Serpents stu

Blessed Art Thou Among Women Gertrude Käsebier. American, 1852 - 1934 c.1900 Medium photogravure 23.5 x 14.3 cm (9 1/4 x 5 5/8 in.) sheet: 28.5 x 17.2 cm (11 1/4 x 6 3/4 in.) Credit: Robert Menschel and the Vital Projects Fund Open Access. Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington Blessed art thou among women, she who whispers secret wisdom in a daughter’s ear. Blessed she, bold child, face-forward, poised to exit light-belly room, poised to enter dim hallway, dark world.

John Woodhouse Audubon. American, 1812 - 1862 Long-Tailed Red Fox. 1848/1854. Oil on canvas 56.2 x 69.3 cm (22 1/8 x 27 5/16 in.) framed: 62.6 x 75.7 x 4.1 cm (24 5/8 x 29 13/16 x 1 5/8 in.) Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington A fox enters the scene through the mouth of another writer. We are sitting in a large room at a library. Four of us. The words "mouth" and "body" rise from our readings, our writing, our sharing. Then a photograph a week later. I see within a r

Leonard Koscianski (American, born Cleveland, Ohio 1952) Wild Dogs, 1982. Oil on canvas 72 x 48 in. (182.9 x 121.9 cm) Gift of Karl Bornstein, 1984 Digital image courtesy: www.metmuseum.org Wild Some say the wolf you feed wins. But what about the wild dogs? Both white. Both untamed. Fanged. Claws bared. On a moonlit night when clouds travel the blue-black bruise of sky, sometimes covering full-white-sphere light, dewy grasses glisten, glow illuminates paths, can illuminate a

In an era when the arts and arts education are in jeopardy, it feels like a small act of resistance not only to support the arts with dollars, attendance, teaching, and respect of artists’ rights, but also to keep making art and instigating conversations about the arts in the public sphere. To me, using our imaginations, minds, hearts, souls to create and manifest ideas in whatever artistic form of expression deeply reveals us and our times matters, a lot. Especially now, I w