The art of creating a visual response to a piece of writing is known as a reverse ekphrasis ie the inverse of the centuries old poetic form of ekphrasis.
The most well known example being Charles Demuth 'Figure 5' based upon a W C Williams Poem.(see link in notes above)
EMAGI is a recent (fun) variation of a reverse ekphrasis derived by the advent of the widespread use of hand held digital communication devices -where words in digital symbols /letters can be represented as a shape
and uses a poet's poem to inspire the digitised 'drawing'
Edward Thomas 'HAYMAKING'
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The art of creating a visual response to a piece of writing is known as a reverse ekphrasis ie the inverse of the centuries old poetic form of ekphrasis.
The most well known example being Charles Demuth 'Figure 5' based upon a W C Williams Poem.(see link in notes above)
EMAGI is a recent (fun) variation of a reverse ekphrasis derived by the advent of the widespread use of hand held digital communication devices -where words in digital symbols /letters can be represented as a shape
and uses a poet's poem to inspire the digitised 'drawing'
and an EMAGI as entered Sep 14 in this weeks VISUAL POETRY STUDIO
Wallace Stevens Valley Candle
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The art of creating a visual response to a piece of writing is known as a reverse ekphrasis ie the inverse of the centuries old poetic form of ekphrasis.
The most well known example being Charles Demuth 'Figure 5' based upon a W C Williams Poem.(see link in notes above)
EMAGI is a recent (fun) variation of a reverse ekphrasis derived by the advent of the widespread use of hand held digital communication devices -where words in digital symbols /letters can be represented as a shape
and uses a poet's poem to inspire the digitised 'drawing'
and an EMAGI as entered Sep 7 in this weeks VISUAL POETRY STUDIO
Wallace Stevens'ICE CREAM' a 99
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They say the moon flight was staged,
The stars forgot to take their place,
A flag waved in the vacuum of space
The shadows leaned the wrong way too,
The rocket roared, the cameras rolled,
The greatest lie the world was told;
With half a million duped to pray
That 'one small step' was human made.
Why fake a landing? For fame no doubt—
Beat the Soviets, keep Kennedy's promise
Far cheaper to stage than to blast off;
Hoodwinked brains love loony dreams.
A soundstage moon, a painted sky,
Cross hairs appear in the photos
Which all appear too clear-cut
Lighting cache was always just right.
And why’d it take so long to return?
If it was so easy where's the replay?
The silly recent flyby was so easy to fake
Any kid could have done it proud.
But science fakes so many things—
Vaccines, weather, cures, and aliens;
We're all so gullible for a story
Spread as scam jam on wholemeal toast.
So bless the stage, the moon, the men,
The myth that gave hope to a Nation
That we might someday flee to Mars
To live our lovely scams with Elon Musk stars.
my happy place is my art studio
filled with paints, glitter, canvases, brushes
where I create whimsical cartoon paintings
using my favorite fluorescent paints
orange, green, blue, red, pink, violet
a place I use as a haven and escape
as I walked out, a snake slithered in
dark with a white stripe and quite thin
neither of my dogs noticed this
snake was silent, I heard no hiss
I gave an involuntary scream
this was reality, no kind of dream
today I am avoiding my studio
where that snake slithered oh so low
His studio explodes with possibilities
Creativity is a cauldron of bubbling energy
~ Bold pantheon of original expression
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Ah, the sea, the sea,
I love it, it's cleansing
It gives me peace and joy within
A renewed hope and recharge energy.
Oh, the beach, the beach,
Nice to play, and sunbathe here
Oh, I see the sand and me
I know are the same one day.
Oh, the beauty of the sea,
Is contagious, life's inspiring
Adventurous, yet lurk danger
It's vastness is great and wonder.
All creations are the studio of God
The sea, the beach and me are His arts
I can't be ungrateful and abusive
But thankful for I am His masterpiece.
The sun bursts through my window
flooding my world my universe.
I'm energized to start my day.
My mind on overdrive
overflows with creativity,
ideas cascade i wish i could keep up
Open those floodgates,
let’s see what happens ~
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Staircase shifts as my footsteps climb
Trapeze tree swing, springy arm chimpanzee
Undulates gripping limbs, gym sublime
Driftwood bone betides baton twirling frenzy
Intimate sub-sand somersault, primate
Orangutang scramble up slope, slip intended
Double view plateau, marina masts poise
Usher terpsichorean dream, breeze buoys
Nautical cavort awkward flap flail sail pelican
Evolves to swan serene seaside glide elegant
Second of August
Serendipity Robust
Henri Matisse's Studio
Scattered about like fish in a pond
are paintings and objects in a secluded room
in a sea of red, shouting out loud,
“Connoisseurs please enter, others not welcome.”
The pink studio expresses acceptance
of chic bourgeois realism, reinforcing boredom
with sunlight streaming through the window
and a welcome mat lying on the linoleum.
The colour-contrast room interiors
accentuate artworks during creative years
of avant-garde innovations
that have captured an audience’s attention.
One version is neat and tidy, and the other chaotic,
peering into one and looking out from the other,
revealing Matisse’s mind in motion
from realism and post-impressionism to Fauvism.
My sanctuary is my art studio, which we carved out of our garage.
I have paints, canvases, brushes, and loads of glitter.
It’s my creative place where I can sit in silence or listen to music.
If I look up I am facing trees, which outline my three windows.
No one bothers me here. My husband knows better.
Sometimes the dogs want in, so I let them unless they get loud.
Then out they go, usually chasing squirrels.
This is a room we built out of the back of the garage, and I love it.
Whose studio is it?
Johnny Cash? Elvis? Willie?
We made lots of guesses of course.
Not realizing it was our cousin Norris.
Norris is always building one thing or another.
He cannot get along with employers or his brother.
What will he do with it? Someone brave asked us.
Rock and roll bound? Suggested our cousin Gus.
Norris built guitar-shaped studio because he had nothing else to do.
In between jobs again, without a clue.
He still lives at home and he is sixty-two.
Nothing new said his mother. Nothing new.
One would not know, to look at me,
my years spent at the ballet barre -
tights sticking to me in summer,
cold fingers in winter.
And the aching to be better,
to be seen,
to be given a correction from my teacher.
She was the goddess of all dance and knowledge,
the stern angel of technique and artistry.
She made me cry,
yet I loved her.
She made me hate myself
and hate ballet and its impossible standards.
If I had been perfect,
self-loathing would not have existed
in that sweat-wringing studio;
the click of her cane would not have conjured dread.
I yearned to be beautiful-
in her eyes and in my own,
but she always wanted something unattainable.
Now, decades later,
if by chance I hear that music,
I inhale with anticipation,
dancing in my mind -
weightless and lovely,
the movements forever ingrained in me.
Perhaps I do a port de bras
if no one is watching.
But I'm sure she is looking down and frowning,
hoping I will extend my arms a little more.
The strange thing is, I know she loved me.
She just wanted something from me that I didn't think I had.
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 'In an Artist Studio'
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