Welcome to Expressions: Art & Verse 2022 Virtual Exhibition

ACA HOSTS SECOND “EXPRESSIONS: ART AND VERSE 2022” EVENT FEBRUARY 19.
The Addison Center for the Arts is pleased to announce our second collaboration between visual artists and the Illinois State Poetry Society. Participating artists have created original artworks inspired by an original poem submitted by one of the members of the ISPS. The public reception and poetry program occurred on Saturday, February 19, 2022, from 1 to 4 pm.
Julie Mars the organizer of the Expressions: Art and Verse 2022 explains, “This exhibition is intended to celebrate the mingling of art forms. In this case, how poetry paints pictures and stimulates our senses. The art of poetry evokes a personal, subjective experience within our minds. In this art and poetry show, the artists have captured their inner experiences of poetry in each of their works of art.”
For those who could not attend the exhibit, the images of the artwork and the poems, some in text and some audio or video recordings, are available to enjoy here.
Illinois artists exhibiting in “Expressions: Art and Verse 2022” are:
Tania Blanco, RocaVaron, Margaret Bucholz, Benjamin F Calvert III, Susan Cargill, Emily Dormier, Ashley Ehrhardt, Andrea Fox, Jeanne Garrett, Re Kielar, Joan Ladendorf, Annette Perone Leiber, Marlene Vitek, Carly Palmer, Jan Reagan, and Julie Mars.

The Illinois State Poetry Society’s featured members are: 
Mary Beth Bretzlauf, Marie Samuel, M. E. Hope, Idella Pearls Edwards, Linda Wallin, Lennart Lundh, Marie Asner, Maggie Kennedy, Charlotte Digregorio, Carole Croll, Susan T. Moss, Mark Hudson, Gail Denham, Hanh Chau, René Parks, Carole R. Bolinski, Dr. Emory D. Jones, Wilda Morris,  Curt Vevang, S. Michael Kozubek, Diane Lotko Baker, Kathy Lohrum Cotton.

Susan Moss, ISPS President about Expressions: Art and Verse:
“In the early 1970s, ISPS began as a single chapter and became a charter member of the National Federation of State Poetry Societies in 1991. Presently, there are seven chapters throughout the state, and all are committed to creating and promoting poetry in all its forms.
ISPS appreciates the opportunity to blend art and poetry that results in a collaboration of these artistic forms in order to present a greater expressive whole.” - Susan T. Moss, President of the Illinois State Poetry Society.

Daily Herald 2/16/22
Artwork by Andrea Fox
“Treasured Memory”
Mixed Media
$500

DUST MOTES
By Maggie Kennedy

Morning slants through the window, 
backlighting the sheers, 
a stage-drop for dust petals 
twirling a chaotic waltz.

I point to the twirling specks,
as my mother would have pointed,
random treasures revealed, 
like that stretch of out-of-the blue rain 
falling on our yard, and nowhere else.
We hurried to the scent-drenched, 
pummeled earth, reprieve 
from a scorching day.

My mother started kicking her heels, 
and we danced until the downpour stopped
suddenly as it began, leaving us 
soaked and deliciously cool. 

“Your grandpa Michael Mulligan 
is at it again,” mom said, and I came 
to think of my grandfather dead 
before I was born as the animator 
of heat lightening, horsepower 
in a moth’s flutter, his love 
energy that could not 
be snuffed, only converted.

So I point to the dust motes 
as my mother would have pointed 
if she had not died too soon. 
My son stumbles forward, toddler legs 
wobbly, to grab fists of flecks 
that scatter in the draft he stirs. 
His grin, naked glee. 

“Your grandma Mary Mulligan Kennedy 
is at it again,” I say, and take his hands 
to prance with microscopic pixies. 
I don’t care if it’s true or not, this pretty 
notion. My mother is with me, 
dancing with her grandson. 
Artwork by Susan Cargill
“Prior Life”
Acrylic
$295


Afterlife
By Charlotte Digregorio
Calm
Silence.
I ascend,
spiraling to
the summit. Seabirds
glide to meet me, from sand
to sublimity, lost in
cantatas of rippling refrain.
Lilac, lilies, and pale peach roses
perfume the dust of a marigold haze.
Artwork by Annette Perone Leiber
“Engulfed in the Unknown”
Mixed Media
$300

​Nature’s Artistry 
Curt Vevang

A crisp morning on my favorite trail, the clouds
are on holiday in some distant land.  The glaring sun
is intruding upon my squinting eyes.
With every step I take I hear the crunch of acorns
hiding for warmth beneath the leaves.

Each tree, each fence post, each rotting stump
appears in exaggerated three dimensional stillness.
Curled fallen leaves still display the depth of their veins.
I find myself reaching in my pocket for a scrap
of paper that begs for the first line of a poem.

A scene worthy of a villanelle, perhaps a sonnet.  
Or would autumn's prism be better captured
in a stunning water color of delicate leaves,
perchance an oil in deep crimsons, greens and amber yellows?
Might this be the genesis of a woodland rhapsody?
​Artwork by Emily Dormier
“Reverse Polarity”
Digital Collage
$200                   

Reverse Polarities

            You don’t see money lying around in Antarctica.
            It’s scarce treasure with so few things for sale, 

            like the optimism
            of haunting beauty that stops you
            in your snowy tracks,
            and you forget to breathe cold blue air

            crackling with slushy ice
            scrubbing stones and seaweed
            from furrowed shores.

            You won’t find Midwest skies
            crowning prairie and lake with lyrical wisps

            or pine scents in the volcanic dust   
            sown on glacial winds
            once pitching brittle ships

            past the charted world—a place where
            no price tags hang on ghostly shards
            heaved by waves and whalers
            onto dry boneyards
            with nothing left
            for lighting lamps or shaping corsets.

            And what remains of late day sun
            spilling saffron and marigold
            through two white peaks

            burns transforming light
            filling you with grace,
            
            and real time stands still.
                        
        
                            Susan T. Moss
Artwork by Emily Dormier
“Nature’s Healing”
Screenprint on canvas
$275


Nature’s Healing
    By Marie Samuel

Outdoor treks comfort
Weary isolating souls
All races, genders, faiths
Those healthy or not so
And wealthy or not so

Find solace in sky and earth
Clean waters are beacons
For all nature’s creatures,
Large and small who dwell
And share our sick planet

Depending like us on bounty
Of sun kissed foods and
Drinkable fluids so essential
For all world’s varied humans
Nature’s healing beckons.
Artwork by Jeanne Garrett
“The Pearl”
Mixed Media (digital print on rice paper with stitching)
$550


Pearls

We are like pearls,
Precious for the grit
Each grown in the
Belly of a clam,
Clam bellies clenched
Tightly against the tumult
Forcing our shape
From calcium carbonate.

Pike, catfish, bass
Swirling, tossing us
With the force of their fins
We, sheltered by nacreous
Walls supported by a
Terse tongue. Alone, we
Brace against the current
Growing together

While apart our relative
Density brings us
Closer to wholeness
Shopped out by our families
Pregnant vessels drift
Toward the sea
Homeless and salty,
Fearing the force of change,

The essence of
Our divinity.
Awkward aberrations,
Lumpy and pinched
Lonely hearts until plucked
Lips pried apart. Luminescent
And strung, we sit glowing
Cultured, side by side,

Majestically affected.

By René Parks
Artwork by Jan Reagan
“Chapter 58”
Mixed Media
$385

Noah’s Flood
Yea, foolish mortals, Noah’s flood is not yet subsided; two thirds of the fair world it yet covers. (Chapter 58)

​Two-thirds of the world is watery,
calling the vagabond, the troubled,
the adventurous, the meditative,
to come to the shore and beyond,
to sail out into the deep,
the gull and albatross overhead,
and beneath feet which play the deck like a drum,
teeming villages of dolphin, shark, squid,
and thousands of other species, many still unknown.
We’ve learned to love remnants
of the flood, what flows between continents
and up estuaries, waves that foam,
climb the air and fall,
the white sapphire sparkles on the surface
in moonlight or sun.
Scientists say the ice is melting,
the flood returning.
When the waters don’t recede
and whole cities sink below the crest,
you and I will play the role
of Noah’s neighbors.
~ Wilda Morris
 
From Wilda Morris, Pequod Poems: Gamming with Moby-Dick (Kelsay Books, 2019).
Artwork by Lyn Tietz
“Racoon”
Oil
$195


THE AMAZING RACCOON

Raccoons can make over fifty different sounds,
From a whistle to a purr to a growl.
And sometimes even a whinny can be heard
As through the forest they prowl.

United States President Calvin Coolidge
Had a pet raccoon that was tame.
They took walks together on the White House grounds.
“Rebecca” was her name.

Our little masked bandits seem to love life,
And have an enjoyable time.
Their paws are similar to human hands.
They can even pick up a dime.

Although they are sometimes found eating garbage,
They are extremely clean.
They wash their food before they eat it,
And even dig a latrine.

Raccoons are great at solving puzzles,
IF...it involves a treat.
They will navigate hooks and latches and levers
To get something good to eat.

~ Idella Pearl Edwards
Artwork by Tania Blanco
Full Moon Day Festival
Acrylic on Canvas
$600

​
FULL MOON DAY FESTIVAL

All eyes concentrate on the glimmering white diva
dancing voluptuously across the periwinkle sky,
stars sprinkled abundantly in her path.
A gift from the creator.

Brilliantine strings of lesser lights
flashing and popping in multi-colored patterns,
swing unmoored from poles carried 
by chanting singers.  

The fragrance of incense hangs heavy. 
Spinning dancers brandishing swords
in virtuoso performance
compete for the crowd’s favor.

The face of the Buddha
reflects peace, joy, and serenity in
the light of the full moon. 

Diane Lotko Baker

(Vesak Full Moon Poya 
   Sri Lanka   May 2017)
Artwork by Ashley Ehrhardt
“Grief”
Photography
$200


Grief
by Carole Bolinski

It’s easy for me to share my grief.
Entering those fiery caverns
creates an excitement.
An invitation to take me further
into a well of emotion.

My grief is who I am.
Carries me through the day.
While it burrows deep within
there’s a need to feel its sap,
and turn this angst
into flames of passion.
​Artwork by Ashley Ehrhardt
“Her Eyes”
Photography
$200
​
I look into her eyes

I look into her eyes
    I see a black sea of reflection
Of countless rain drop
    Pouring down from the sky
Into the deep infinite ocean wave
    Filled with a mother’s grief display
Of a son’s loss.
like losing her own body limb
    drowning in the verge of despair
    submerging of own inner voice
    With a heavily bleeding heartache
    And a burden agony weight
    Is day or night?
    Is right or wrong?
    Is life or death?
    No words are forming
    From her lips
I look into her eyes
    I see an excruciating terrify
Like a needle shoot through the vein
    That put her into life death sentence
        To an end
    with unbearable intake
    incapable to fight
    with no other strength
    to stay survive
    I look into her eyes
And I feel deeply for her pain
    And shattered dream
    In a vulnerable term
Her story reflects of mine
As I have walked in her shoes
    And live through the past
        To understand the 
        Meaning
             Of
            Life

Written By: Hanh Chau
Artwork by Margaret Bucholz
“Rainy Sunday”
Acrylics
$250

Rainy Sunday

Mark Hudson

Went to, church, and got a ride,
and it was really cold outside.
The driver was named Mark,
and we picked up more in Rogers Park.

As we waited for people to arrive,
a man walked by, ready to strive.
He carried a pumpkin in his hands,
“Gotta be festive,” was his reprimand.

Then we got to church, once again great,
I praised God, no need to hesitate.
Felt so comfortable, in God’s care,
that I didn’t want to go anywhere.

Then on the ride back, a car got stuck,
it was just some poor family’s bad luck.
The kids went to the curb, two got behind,
to push the dead car to somewhere to find.

Michelle expressed sympathy for them,
a dead car that they would have to condemn.
I’m someone who simply doesn’t drive,
I’ve somehow found other ways to survive.

Now I’m back at home, the rain is pouring,
is my apartment that much more boring?
I read a good book, while good records play,
but is this me back in my secular Sunday?

Wasn’t God so ever present in my church?
Is he not in my apartment when I search?

They talked about religion versus the rest,
is God everywhere? Am I really blessed?

In my apartment, it would be easy to feel alone,
but somewhere out there, God is on his throne.
Did I leave my god, behind at the church door?
No, he is my god, who I will never ignore!

Do I judge myself too harshly, as if God would?
Would I be a pastor or missionary if I could?
Am I failing my creator, is there business undone?
Do I think I can fool God, or even his son?

He is here, in this nanosecond of time,
in this difficult mountain I try to climb.
Is this ladder to heaven harder each rung?
Not now, with all the saints I am among.
Artwork by Margaret Bucholz
“Fly Away”
Colored Pencil
$250
 
 
Fly Away
 
 I am always on display –
 
a stained glass that flutters about
 
carrying such color and grace
 
my lifespan is short.
 
 
 
So I shall rest here one moment,
 
inhale deep the scent of this flower.
 
sip its nectar so sweet, then,
 
fly away to pollinate the world
 
with color and grace
 
while there is still time.

                Mary Beth Bretzlauf
Artwork by Marlene Vitek
“All the Colors”
Colored Pencil
$75



All the colors in which I see or dream
finding a poem in a line stolen from Yehuda Amichai

All the colors in which I see or dream
the palomino horse of dawn
the globe of the sun god’s face
the butter oozing down afternoon’s walls

this is the acre of rapeseed
this is wheat at noon
this is the neutral pastel for the unborn child

primrose face, meadowlark,

here is the daffodil holding snow
here is the finch promising spring
here is the marmot at attention

in late summer, I dream gladiola’s trumpet
in late day I caress the treetops
in late twilight I eat the bowl
of the sunflower’s face
as though sacrifice


M.E. Hope
themehope@gmail.com

​
Artwork by Benjamin F. Calvert III
“Deep Freeze”
Wood Block Relief Print
$150


DEEP FREEZE
Dr. Emory Jones

I am not going to say it is cold,
But when you milked the cows,
They gave ice cream,
And you could knock over
Any frozen goat.

The chickens hatched penguins,
And the horse snorted
Ice-sickles.

The windows of the house
Glazed over,
And as the inside heat
Melted the ice,
It became running rainbows.

The thermometer 
Plunged to ten below zero,
And the trees exploded 
Like cannon shots.

Now that was cold,
And if you believe me,
I will tell you another 
Tall tale.
Artwork by Annette Perone Leiber
“Hidden Violets”
Acrylic
$195
 
 
In This Tall Forest
 
No blame falls to the violet
for its smallness.
Its little heart leaf, 
tiny purple petals.
Its modest inches
clinging close to dark soil
in root-gnarled shade
of gargantuan trees.
 
Across the woodland
damp with spring,
my careful step
spares the bloom
that will spread
tenacious toward the sun
and other seasons.
                                                        
I see myself there,
my own fierce little life:
this minute fragment 
clutching slight space,
yet willing itself
to reach out, spread
its shallow-root moment,
its startling beauty.
 
 
from Common Ground
Kathy Lohrum Cotton
Artwork by RocaVaron
“The Trickster”
Oil/canvas
$250


Fiddler at Fair with Jigging Dolls

Jackson, MS, 1939 
Eudora Welty

Four cars in the background are parked by large buildings.
Two boys, in their Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes
gather on the withered grass nearby.
One is distracted by the camera, but relaxed.
The other squats in concentration. 

The old man sits on weathered logs, fiddle to chin.
The bow is blurred from movement.
His foot rests on a flat board 
connected to two puppet-like figures.
I know they will dance when he taps the board.

10/16/18
Linda Wallin
rev 5/27/19
rev 5/28/19
rev 11/11/21
Artwork by Re Kielar
“Shall We Dance”
Collage
$350
 
 
Shall We Dance?
 
A red cup of coffee
cools, forgotten for now
as the old man gazes
at the clouds that blanket
stars and moon. 
 
Coming back to the room,
he lifts a music box,
dust-free across the years,
from its place on a shelf,
twists the key. 
 
Softly, memories return
with the tinkling of
the ballerina’s theme,
filling the cave she left
in his heart. 
 
And he smiles,
young again, taking her
ghost in warm, empty arms,
to sway across the room
as clouds lift and stars shine.

-Lennart Lundh
Artwork by Joan Ladendorf
“Threes”
Digital Photo Collage
$250


Threes 
​by Carole Croll

Sleep comes easy at three PM, that’s right,
midday. A cloudy sky and patting of rain,
 
anthems of the wind, a blanket and book
 when snow piles deep, they all play 

their parts. And yet, the song of the sun
can lull as well, shadows that sprawl
 
on grass, the blue of the sky 
that hushes eyes when a hammock 

sways in June. Sleep comes hard 
at three AM when all should be slack 

in the night, breath in its bosom, the tongue 
in its mouth, bones in their sack of flesh. 

What opens eyes at a time like this 
to the clock on the shelf with its green-glow 

three and the shape of the chair near the wall? 
What hearkens ears like a sentinel to the creaks 

of an unwalked floor, the hoot from an owl 
on a beam of the moon, the sound of nothing 

at all? 

cZcroll - 11.08.2017
Artwork by Joan Ladendorf
“The Kite”
Digital Photo Collage
$250

The Kite
​by Carole Croll

The sun is bright, the air is clear,
the winds proclaim a holiday.
The kite you gave me months ago
is disinclined to disobey.

It leaps and climbs in maiden flight,
tugs me toward the lavish sky,
soars above the field and trees
and makes me wish that I could fly.

It beckons to the drifting clouds,
that flock of wooly lambs,
then swoops and dives with stylish flair,
inscribing unseen monograms.

A nearby hawk flies by to note
the presence of this caller rare
that hovers in bright rainbow wings,
disrupts her game of solitaire.

I pull the string; the kite retires
and settles on a hill,
the former scribe and acrobat,
earthbound as a daffodil.

I look above to see the sky
now solemn and alone,
a sky where clouds and hawk
and wind
and kite
and I
had flown.

cZcroll
Artwork by Carly Palmer
“Mirage”
Acrylic & Mixed Media on canvas
Not For Sale

Off the Path


Weary of aching pavement, 
I sally past the clank 
and clatter of traffic, 
coal and smokestacks 
and step off the worn path
through sawgrass to the sun,
the rolling sea and wonders 
of sand and sea urchins.

As night slumbers in, 
I slurk past shadows, 
the homes of saints and thugs      
I dare not enter and peer at
the mystical dome without end,
comets and supernovas,
spinning galaxies in timeless space,
one Being. 

Toward daybreak,
as the orange frees itself
from the dark earth
and rises in a rose-colored sky,
I feel the light as like the first morning
and skate barefooted through the dew.
Children scamper, bicyclists spin,
lovers embrace. 
All later part, in the gloaming 
of happy day that too quickly
softens and fades again to night. 

S. Michael Kozubek
Artwork by Joan Ladendorf
“1863”
Digital Photo Collage
$250



1863

Borders had been drawn and words would not cross them.
Our guide took us through stands of grass so tall
they were like young trees and you could smell primrose here.
By the river, we moved silently along the shore
and shadows befriended us with hidden spaces.
Up the shoreline, we could see others had been here
by bruised tall grass on the trail.

Along the horizon, was an old wood cabin
with open windows, leaning chimney,
but carrying a secret hidden inside.
We quietly backed away into the dark green thicket
and went to the east to hide before the moon had risen.

When I dream, it is the same one. A morning lake breeze
moves my grandmother’s lace curtains she brought
from the old country and they touch my face.

In this hidden space, we hope for rain tomorrow
to hide our tracks. We keep alert, our breath but a whisper.

                                       Marie Asner
Artwork by Julie Mars
“Swarm of the Monarchs Suncatcher”
Alcohol ink and beads on plexiglass
$395 (80% donation to ISPS)


Swarm of the Monarchs
…cinquain

Beauty
fluttered round my
feet, lit on my bald spot,
sat, wings flapping, gears ready for 
take off


By Gail Denham
Addison Center for the Arts
213 N. Lombard Road
Addison, IL 60101
For more information, please call (630) 458-4500 or email us.