The Room Project: Magic Box – Video by Joas Nebe

Still Shining

Created during this lockdown, Joas Nebe presents a short creative video for our viewing pleasure! Go see the abstract perspective and use it to look at the world in new and exciting ways!


INTRO:

THE ROOM PROJECT: MAGIC BOX

(4k, color, single channel video, 2020, 1m55s)

Blooming cherry trees bewitch us for a few days when they are in full blossom. But the magic they create is fragil. Just a light breeze makes blossoms fall and takes the magic with them back on the ground.

http://www.jsnebe.de/film14.html


Artist:

Joas Nebe, who holds degrees in psychology and literature, is a self taught artist, born in Hamburg but now located in South Germany. After a few years in Berlin he decided three years ago to move south close to the French and Swiss border. Important exhibits include the artist´s “Climate Change Cartoons“ on display on exhibition “Letters from the Sky” which accompanied the Durban UN conference on Climate Change 2011 in South Africa and “Machine Fair”- a film about the mechanical site of a metropolis- shown at Museum of Modern Art, Moscow as part of “Now&After” screening in 2012. Other film works has been shown at 25th Festival Les Instants Video (Biblioteca Alexandrina, Cairo), Videoformes Festival 2014 and 2015, Sustain Our Africa, Madatac 3, 4, 5, 6 Competitive Official International Selection (Madrid), Papy Gyros Nights 2016 Hong Kong/ ART_TECTURE, just to name a few.

Solo shows are “Intrude Art and Life” at the Museum of Modern Art, Shanghai in 2008, where Santiago Capriccio, a short epilogue to the Philosophical Cartoon cycle was chosen to be one out of 100 non-Chinese artists to be displayed on public video screens in Shanghai for one day, 2016 “Encyclopedic”, a one night solo show at The Greenhouse, Berlin, 2016, “You Did A Bad Thing For A Good Reason”, solo show at Berlin´s Cormac Weiss Gallery, curated by Marinus Jo Dimitrov, IFEA (International Curatorial Award 2016) supported by Christopher Grape Fund; 2017 “On Nature” at 16:9 Gallery, UTCL, USA curated by Manzi Yang.

2017 Joas Nebe received a M 5 ARTS stipend for his video work “The Dictionary serial” (USA). 2017 he has been awarded with the Residency by Correspondence from The Arts Territory Exchange Program, 2018 with the Social Media Residency by Peripheral Forms and the Online Residency by Coldbench (all UK).
Joas Nebe ́s curatorial works have been shown in different European countries. He developed three projects to which international video artists contributed. “The Encyclopedic Cartoons Video Project” had it ́s premiere in Berlin and has been shown since in many European countries. His second curatorial work “the Proverb Picture Project” again with participating artist from different continents and countries had it´ s premiere on VisualContainer TV in 2014. 2017 Joas Nebe developed a project about democracy, scrabble and wordlists, called “The Democracy Scrabble Project”, had it´s premiere again on VisualContainer TV and (.BOX) Video Project Room, Milan in 2018.

Follow This Artist:

http://www.jsnebe.de/

https://joasnebe.wordpress.com

Lad of Fortune – Short Story by Chiedozie Onyeneho

Still Shining

When needing a rest during the midday slump, I have something for you to relax and read. Check out this wonderfully written short story by Chiedozie Onyeneho! He also has initiated an inspired FB group called Pride oF mY rooT where he encourages art, respect, and equality for all.


Short story by Chiedozie Onyeneho
LAD OF FORTUNE

“She is such a bad luck. I am sure something is definitely wrong with her,” said Mrs. Elliot.
Edna had been adopted since her age three. Her foster parents Mr. and Mrs. Elliot were peasant farmers who managed a small portion of land on the outskirts of Upavon, a small town around the countryside.
Few days after her adoption, Mr. and Mrs. Elliot were evicted from their two rooms apartment home in London because, they could not afford to pay off their outstanding tax owed for three years. Mr. Elliot had been dismissed from his railway job due to false accusation by one of his colleagues at work. Whereas, Mrs. Elliot was a full time house wife.
Their seven years of marriage without a child was becoming unbearable. Both agreed to go for an adoption at a nearby orphanage home, run by the Catholic sisters of the needy.
Edna was an adorable child, but most importantly, she had a strong instinct that always signaled her each time there was a looming danger. That night, while everyone had gone to bed, she was awakened by rustling sounds around the farm house. At once, she hurried to wake her parents up, but they hushed her and told her to go back to sleep, assuring her it was just the wind. By the time they had woken up from the bed, their entire corn farm had been raised down to dust.
“Calm down Mrs. Elliot,” said Sister Philomena, the matron in-charge of the orphanage home. The loss at the farm was so much that she could not keep the innocent girl under her custody anymore. She blamed Edna for their misfortune including losing their home back then in London.
Two years later, she was adopted by another family who had lost their only daughter by accident to a careless driver while trying to cross the road on her way back from school. Mr. and Mrs. Rogers loved Edna because of her slight resemblance with their daughter Emilia. Edna settled fast because of the care she enjoyed at her new home. Her new parents were both into real estate business and they were very rich.
One Saturday evening, while they returned from a short night out with their driver, they looked very drunk. They held hands and staggered while their driver retired to the guest room. Edna ran towards the door leading to the sitting room as soon as she heard their voice and opened the door, but they made their way into their bedroom, ignoring her greetings. She shut the door behind her and went back to continue her cartoon until she dozed off.
Some hours later, she was woken up by strange footsteps. “Oh no! Someone has broken into our home,” she thought.
“Wake up Daddy, wake up mummy,” she ran quickly into her parents room. “Someone has broken into the house.” But, they would not listen because, they were very tired.
She felt helpless and was about making her way into her room, when the stranger pushed her over by the side and hurriedly shot her parents inside their room and quickly ran out.
She saw the face of the shooter, but passed out after she hit her head on the wall due to the push.
The relatives of her foster parents took care of her health at the hospital until her bruises were healed. During investigation, the police detectives went very far to dig up Edna’s past records from the narratives of one of the sisters at the orphanage home. She was taken back to the orphanage home as soon as her foster parents’ relatives learnt of it.
When she had fully recovered from the shock, she revealed the face of the shooter, and her foster parents’ driver was found guilty. During the court case, she was invited to testify against the culprit. As she entered the court room with Sister Philomena, she was shocked to see her foster parents on bandages smiling at her. She felt relieved that they survived after all. After the driver had been sentenced to prison, her foster parents went to her and gave her a big hug. They took her back as their daughter and willed some of their properties to her name.
The police detectives praised her for her courage. “We all are proud of you, I must say. You are a lad of fortune miss Edna. You did a very good job. Well done,” the police chief said while he shook her tiny hands. And there was a round of applause inside the court room, as she shyly smiled and walked outside with her foster parents, the Rogers family.


Artist:

Chiedozie Onyeneho is a creative writer and designer based in United Kingdom. He is also the initiator of a creative page on Facebook “Pride oF mY rooT,” which promotes inspirational art works and ideas from across the globe. Chiedozie Onyeneho is a graduate of Biotechnology.

Follow This Artist:
Instagram page: johnpax4u

Facebook page: Pride oF mY rooT

Facebook: Afrowest wardrobe & cleaners

Where Is Your Hero – Sculptures by Li Chao

Still Shining

Li Chao is a sculptor from Guangzhou, China! Below are the fantastic pieces he has been working on since the lockdown. I loved being able to see an inside look into his perspective. Take a look below to be inspired and uplifted by his work and his take on the current events!


Li Chao’s description during the quarantine period:
In 2020, the release of a dark aura. The worldwide disaster and has cost us countless losses and suffering. What lies between the truth and the lies? Would ideas of individual and social media collide into sublimity or destruction? What behind it? What don’t we know?
As a human being who with no medical knowledge, I have quarantined strictly in accordance with the relevant precautions. Because my studio is 20 kilometers from home,and all the restaurant were closed. I could only stay at home most of the time, learning how to cook all kinds of delicious food for my family and children, staying home spending times with my children is the happiest thing for me.
But the truth is that, while giving me a pause and respite from the hustle and bustle, this situation also reshaping the structure of the world. The Internet has become an indispensable part of people’s lives, people are rapidly replacing physical objects with technology, and many people’s lives were getting off track.
Who can image that an invisible virus caused the collapse of the whole real life, which made me feel the insignificance of human beings and the dilemma of reality. Will the world get any better? We all full of unknown and lost.
All the things that I can do is try my best to cherish everything around me, love my art, love my family and also love the earth.


Artist:

Li Chao’s personal statement

Since graduating from the Guangzhou Academy of Fine Arts, China in 2004, I am actively engaged in the Sculpture fields, and started to teach at the Affiliated High School of Guangzhou Academy of Find Arts. I am good at sculpting with wood, stone, etc.

I believe that there are two kinds of scars, one is inherent, and the other is by acquire causes. Wood and stone are things of their own nature. They may be loose, skew, crisp, stable, constant and large. The shortcoming can’t be remove as well, it can only be restored. Wood, Rock, restore, and me, all of which compose my work.

The human and natural originally are one, coexistence. But both of their mission, there are some other opposition, human willingness to put some things confuse the essence.

The most beautiful things in the world is that people or the stuff that helping us to restore our insufficients & hurts.

Follow This Artist:


https://www.facebook.com/Leeonechao

https://www.instagram.com/leeone314

http://blog.163.com/lee_1 http://leeone1978.blog.sohu.com

Bewilderment and Dark Reality – Poetry by Chika Obi

Still Shining

These are times for the history books, and Chika Obi paints the dystopian scenario we find ourselves in. Carve some time out of your afternoon to read these gracefully put poems.


BEWILDERMENT
The tussles and diverse show of nuclear might,
Inventions, economic boom,
Espionage turning into sabotage,
Trade wars with the sanctions, provocations and airstrikes,
All trending for a while,
The media awash with news and tip-offs,
The powerbrokers smiling and plotting their game,
With the victims berating, enduring and planning,
The universe was caught in the frenzy,
Then suddenly struck the unknown.

A condition, strange and lethal,
Bringing all to an unplanned halt.
A new turn, the reportage from the media took,
As gradually, every nook and cranny felt the sting.
Suspended now are the political games and permutations,
Unplanned and unconscious,
No mention of nuclear wars, no tussles or sanctions,
No show of might,
The economy began choking and speedily crashing,
Everyone now on their toes.

Remedy is now all that matters,
But to get it,
Now a tedious journey of a million miles.
Only a few manage to walk through the reality,
With the vast majority sliding down the drain.
Daily the victims die in their numbers,
With one or two being able to pull through.
No folk, economy or territory is spared,
Today, no super power to run to,
A challenge so strange to humanity,
At least within a few past centuries.


DARK REALITY
Initially reclined within the corridors of our imagination,
Soon a reality it became,
Very busy streets now as lonely as the cemeteries,
Quietness soon became the loudest sound made,
By folks, within the confines of their homes.
The last time were outside,
We simply knocked elbows,
No one dared shake hands.

As tick tick went the tiny hands of the clock,
Through the windows we peeped,
Paying no attention to the clapping trees and chirping birds,
The humming breeze and whistling pines,
Instead, we threw our gazes outside,
Past the colored pavements and street light,
The beautifully tendered flowers and all we could see,
Just to have a feel of what the world outside still looked like.

As the rabbit packs up hay
Quickly at the rising of the sun,
A month’s purchase, we made in a day.
Home stores all stacked up,
Empty and deserted,
Now are the grocery stores.
Gradually as we approach our wit’s end,
We dream of the doomsday, whilst praying for a better day.


Artist:

Chika Obi


Solidarity – Watercolor Painting by Analia Adorni

Still Shining

Being there for each other is what it’s all about. During this time we have to change the way we usually show it, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone. Analia Adornia is showing that she is there for others in solidarity by painting a touching watercolor picture of unfeigned care.


Solidarity
Self Portrait

Artist:

Analia Adorni

Production and Exhibitions of contemporary interdisciplinary arts

Follow This Artist:

www.facebook.com/analiaadorniarts

https://www.instagram.com/contemporaneartworks/

The Morning News and Other Poems by Margaret Koger

Still Shining

Venture into the strange world as it is now and also be taken to the worlds of others in these poems by Margaret Koger! She has a delightful flow in her storytelling and brings excitement by the visuals she creates.


The Morning News

We want the world and we want it now.
—The Doors

I’m staying safe working from home
where I may have time to clean my mind
organize fear into manageable categories

home school the children, order groceries
find old friends online, chat while I disinfect
everything in sight, hoping for a vaccine—

Mornings I’m revived by coffee from Kauai
shipped across an ocean to my inland home
where I read of a traumatized world.

My laptop query speeds into cloudy algorithms
fed by satellites serving up fear and circuses.
I heed the news of seven billion people

most surviving the weathers of death
hurricanes, a scourge of locust eating crops
cease fires breaking hot in faraway lands.

And Betty’s foot surgery’s postponed
Joseph heart transplant’s unavailable
Alison is suddenly running a fever.

I’m just one of the seven-billion people hoping
to be safe from the novel virus and swelling tides
to keep a roof, food, neighbors—the door ajar.



First Light at Dagger Falls

Follow me into the wilderness
watch the Chinook leaping whitewater
as dawn spreads color on canyon walls
sun silvering the backs of salmon below

there! a female whips above the rapids
her pulse drumming to the coax
of her blush-red roe seeking the stream-
bed where she hatched a smolt maturing
such as her eggs will become

now! the male bursts from the froth, leaping
fighting to follow miles to go into shallows
where they’ll spawn milt, eggs, gametes
as earth’s magnetic pulse imprints

inspiring me my heart in flight
soaring to perch in a ponderosa where
I’m avian soon kited on cliff winds
peering down into pine prospects soughed

in desire my pulse beating as I wait
for an updraft to carry me a lover
a sturdy male ready to find a redd.


The Enticement

A rogue lover saunters into the garden
chanting my name, my name, my name.
He limbs his shoulders against my wall

offers pitfalls of spring blossoms
mockeries of leaf-mold
wavering bees

I spell the ivy to cover him with green
I spell his name in the water and quicken the river
I call the hawk to watch over his captivity

He curses me with a blizzard of rhyme
He curses me with the names of my father and mother
He beckons a snake to anaconda my heart

I tell him NO

Many have armed me against his claxon call
(She’s a stumble finger, fumble foot;
she’s got a nose just like a book.)

He stretches my name around me

stands astride my garden
offering peaches in a basket
pits ready for planting

I tell him no

He jangles the air I breathe with ripe scents
He immerses my mind in satin dreams
He waits for me to flow to him

If I step forward, will he erase me?

If I am his if he is mine whose name will survive?


River Therapy

webs of swooning capillaries
(any of the fine branching streams
penetrating the flanks of mountains)

water wraps swiftly, surrounding the drop of a hat
March shivers its banks as the river’s hunger mounts
gush of refusing confinement
flush as if her water broke

say this morning is the beginning of the world
who is to know it’s not?

the earth is another story
all solid, whirling through space
turning its rumtum body round
facing the sun

the sun never fails
mornings the gnatcatchers’ peeping
from the river mouth could drive an anemone mad
a cracked plate sailing on ocean seams

I certify the crack in the plate
we’ll have it notarized by noon

how does nothing compare with nothing?
or is absence the fulfillment of no thing?
notice the corner where I kept the brash container
floating on the river of mis understanding

days pour through me like complaints
traveling upstream, searching a mellow meadow
near 8th and sunflower
but the morning saunters

water has no color
water is always hungry
step into the river
be swept away
listen, skinned logs



The Reservoir: The Return

Our craft bucks across waves
furrowed by boats before us
their wakes rising and falling
as we slowly round the curve
nearing the Robie Creek dock.

One by one shore birds take wing
avocets and a gray heron startled
stick-feet tucked, wings spread
instinct calling them to move on.

The inlet stream’s sparkling eye
temps children arriving by car
to race (barefoot) across concrete
their tangled voices echoing
days we remember as our own.

To wade in and splash—garlands
of joy—sparkled into rainbows.


Artist:

Margaret Koger is a school media specialist with a writing habit. She lives near the river in Boise, Idaho. Her poetry adds new connections to the wayward web of life.  See a few more poems on: Collective Unrest, Inez, Voice of Eve, Headway, and Tiny Seeds Literary Journal.

Candy Makers and Other Poems by John Grey

Still Shining

A feeling of coziness mixed with a unique perspective is what you can get from John Grey’s poetry. He is an Australian poet, a US resident, and has words for us to enjoy! Go take a look!


CANDY MAKERS

I’d watch them through the window of the store,
in white shirt and pants, floppy hats on heads,
stirring the steaming vats of melting sugar,
stretching out yards of that magic concoction,
a buttery, vanilla slide for a boy’s excited tongue.

Always a pane of glass those days between
the boy and the dream, always that hard sidewalk
of reality looking in on the shop a kid could never
enter on his own.

No one ever cooked cauliflower in full view of all.
No one ever mashed potatoes, peeled lettuce from the head,
while kids looked on in hungry awe.
The food I reluctantly ate
was just a threat acted on.
It was never a promise fulfilled.


TO A SWALLOW

I wonder what becomes of you
once the poet is done singing your praises.

After he’s described you
as all the sweet, weightless things
in his earth-bound life,
what will that do to
all your chirping, flapping noisy pleasure?

There’s no benefit to you
in his words.
He’s like the dark sky
and the drumming rain
even as he comes to you,
pen raised, trying to lift you higher.

He’s what you shake and
cower from, even at his most
sentimental.
He’s what you sink from
at his most uplifting.

He can’t appreciate that
down-stroke, up-stroke,
lift and drag
make perfect sense.
It’s sensibility he’s after.

You don’t need his gravity.
He could use your flight.


IN SEARCH OF A FOUR-LEAF CLOVER

The clovers
are gathered by witches
on full moon nights,
but she’s no witch,
and it’s the bright light of day.

Spells are of no interest
but good luck’s always welcome
and so what if the mutation occurs
only once in ten thousand,
those odds are far superior
to the lottery’s.

She’s on her knees,
threading pink-and-white bolls
with eager fingers,
avoiding bee stings,
her eyes as keen
as a gold miner’s.

One magic sprig of trefoil
would lift so many shadows.
Forget the bright sunlight.
It’s surplus to her requirements.


Artist:

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Sin Fronteras, Dalhousi Review and Qwerty with work upcoming in Blueline, Willard, and Maple and Red Coyote.