Janet Kozachek and the Power of Ekphrasis Within Art and Poetry

“Port in Sicily, World War II”

Janet Kozachek knows a thing or two about the universal connection between all forms of fine art. Not only is she an experienced writer, but Kozachek utilizes the power of written and spoken word to influence her visual art. This body of work, entitled A Rendering of Soliloquies – Figures Painted in Spots of Time, has been frequently displayed in galleries within South Carolina and across the nation; now, it’s coming to Stormwater Studios.  

The Jasper Project highly values fostering connections within the realm of artists to writers, writers to performers, and everything in between. Kozachek’s multidisciplinary work fits perfectly within this circle, and A Rendering of Soliloquies is a connection throughout her own personal, extensive portfolio.  

“I frequently, but not always, use visual art to illustrate specific texts. Although I write about my other work, like my musical instruments, mosaics, and paintings, the writing does not constitute a body of published work,” Kozachek shares. “This exhibition features visual art that accompanies a collection of my poetry from a full-length book, A Rendering of Soliloquies – Figures Painted in Spots of Time.”  

Audience response is crucial for this particular set of paintings. Kozachek describes the relationship of visual image to the written and spoken word in this exhibition as both “ekphrastic and emblematic.” Audiences may be familiar with the concept of ekphrasis through poetry, and Kozachek hopes for audiences to take away that the written word and visual art reinforce each other, explaining the other form in a different manner. This is in part due to both art and writing both existing within her own work, rather than a second party writing a poem about her art. The poems and pieces, however, still leave plenty of room for audience members to respond in their own ways.  

“The truly ekphrastic part of this exhibition/event will be how the guest poets respond to the work,” she says. “There will therefore be two interpretations of the visual art; the original juxtaposition of artist’s word and image, then a reinterpretation based upon outside observations and responses.”  

Her work is extremely ambitious and showcases just how talented Kozachek is within multiple artistic disciplines. If there’s one key takeaway for audiences to know, it’s that “an artist’s intent, while historically significant, does not restrict the art from growing beyond that original intent, and becoming something more universal. Visual art, in this way, becomes a public intellectual property, there being essentially no one ‘correct’ way to understand it.”  

And, of course, Jasper is always eager to hear what artists think the most important thing they took away from their years of creating and exhibiting is, especially when they’re unapologetically in love with what they do. Upon asking Kozachek what the one piece of advice she would tell herself back when she first started getting into art would be, she aptly said, “I suppose it would be to advise having a marketable back-up or skill trade. But I probably would not listen.”

Those interested can see Kozachek’s work at Stormwater (413 Pendleton St.) from September 21st through the 25th. The poetry collection A Rendering of Soliloquies – Figures Painted in Spots of Time is also available for purchase on Finishing Line Press’s website.

Remembering Thorne Compton, with Thoughts of Peace and Love by Dale Bailes

photo courtesy of Chris Compton

photo courtesy of Chris Compton

Thorne Compton and I met at U of SC in the early sixties. We were on the Junior Varsity, of the Debate Team. We made a mutual friend of Bob Anderson, and did our best to make this first black male student at USC feel welcome. That was an uphill battle in those days. I lost track of Bob after I left grad school in 1965; Thorne kept track and even told me of being in touch with Bob’s widow and child in recent years. 

Thorne and I met again in the early seventies. He had done a stint in the Peace Corps with first wife Jo; I had been a hippie mail man in San Francisco, among other West Coast Adventures. 

Those adventures led to my pulling together a crew of artists, Viet Nam vets, and singers and seamstresses to open the Joyful Alternative. Thorne was a regular there at our original 2009 Green Street location, stopping in for a record or a book every week, and papers. THE VILLAGE VOICE and GREAT SPECKLED BIRD, that is. 

Thorne managed to function in the academic environs better than I had. He earned a doctorate and became an English professor. When I published my first book CHERRY STONES and went to work with the Arts Commission, he invited me to do poetry readings for his classes. He would go on to deanships and department chairs. 

I pursued other interests—running a music hall at Folly Beach, getting an MFA in Screenwriting at USC/West. I taught in prisons and on Navy ships, and a planned two-year gig as an adjunct at Moorpark College in California ending up being twenty-five or thirty years. 

At one point in the eighties, Thorne got in touch to make sure I got the scoop on Carolina’s big celebration of James Dickey.  He got me in, and I was privileged to see and hear such literati as Harold Bloom and John Simon hold forth. 

It must have been about that time I began to make an effort to find a full-time teaching job SOMEWHERE, and I made yet another request of the most stolid academic friend I knew for a letter of recommendation. 

He must have written a dozen letters, without complaint. 

Until I was visiting in Columbia from California in the early nineties and ran into him at the campus bar Hunter-Gatherer. After some catch-up conversation over a beer or three, he blurted out in faux exasperation—I think—“Please don’t ask me to write anymore ________________ letters of recommendation!” 

I didn’t. 

I spent a few more years adjuncting at Moorpark until I got tired of freeways, and retired to live with my best friend Jo Baker at Pawleys Island.  Thorne, having lost his Jo years earlier, was remarried, retired, and removed to Michigan for several years. 

The odds were long that two old friends would meet again at the top of the hill where Saluda meets Heyward , but it happened. About two years ago. 

I stopped at the sign and waited for a man and his dog, motioning them to go ahead. 

Thorne and his dog Bo weren’t taking any chances, so I rolled down the window when Thorne looked closer to check my plans. Two happy old codgers, I guess we seemed to any passersby. And although Bo tugged on the leash and whimpered about having more peemail to check, we caught up a bit. I was on my way home from  my work at U of SC School of Nursing, where I occasionally was a Standardized Patient.  

He didn’t know the term. I explained I portrayed scenarios of different illness situations, with student nurses.  The irony was thick as he managed a smile and said, “I’m the real thing.” He had months, or maybe a couple years, left. 

We ended our car window conversation with a promise to get together soon for a nice bottle of red, and lots of “telling lies.” 

My personal lethargy, isolation at Pawleys, the pandemic…it didn’t happen. Most of us have made the same mistake. 

Thorne’s son Chris Compton messaged me from Los Angeles that if I was going to see him again, it should be sooner rather than later.  Thorne’s wife Raven was kind enough to arrange a visit with him the week before Easter. 

Even without a good red, we had a very good hour. We talked about Bob Anderson, the early days of Joyful, those letters of recommendation. He smiled and mentioned a memory that surprised me. “Those parties on South Walker Street. Live music and a hundred of your closest friends. Some of the best times I ever had!” 

As usual, he asked what I was writing, I told him an artist named Janet Kozachek had provided two pieces of work that had inspired some ekphrastic poems. New as the term was to me, he remembered learning it a dozen years ago. I told him I would send the art and the poems.  

I don’t know if he was able to see the stuff before he passed. One of them, with the artwork that inspired it used with the artist’s permission, is printed below. The poem, “Obeisance,” has a puckish tone that I associate with Thorne Compton, and is dedicated to his memory. As is the next glass of red I wrap my hand around.

Artist - Janet Kozachek

Artist - Janet Kozachek

OBEISANCE

  by Dale Bailes

The posture is apotropaic.

To appease Thanatos, back when.

And now to fend off his vengeful

Sibling, Erinyes.

 

It is not a conscious thing.

It is brought forth by naked fear

As pandemic stalks the land.

The gesture is archaic, bold.

 

Bare haunches taunt our oldest

Dread.  They show contempt

For knowing time is never

Long enough, nor safety certain.

 

What I create may have

A longer span. A gesture, small,

To thwart some master plan.

A wrench in the machine.

 

So. Black-robed, grinning bearer

Of the scythe—or shrieking sister

Eris—bring forth your deadly kiss.

I here present, a target you can’t miss.

 

 

Retired English instructor Dale A. Bailes commutes from the ‘hood in Pawleys to the ‘wood in Columbia for his part-time work as a Standardized Patient at the U of SC School of Nursing. He has poems upcoming in Fall Lines and AMERICAN WRITERS REVIEW.

Review -- Janet Kozachek's "Small Works" at the Orangeburg Arts Center - by Lee Malerich

I first met Janet Kozachek years ago at the old House of Pizza in Orangeburg, one of the only places to have lunch in that small town back in the day.  I was immediately touched.  She looked exactly like a character in one of my childhood story books.  It was about the Golden Goose, and how the townspeople (in a long sticky line) exhibited their greediness for gold by being unable to unhook from the chain of folks who had tried to pinch a golden feather.  It is an old Russian tale. 

 

 

Janet looked like the girl who was directly attached to the goose in my book.  It was stunning.  Russian in extraction, her almond eyes and her Chagall-like wisps of hair connected me immediately with this old memory. 

Janet came to us with amazing recommendations:  she was the first non-Chinese person to earn a Certificate of Graduate Study from the Bejing Central Art Academy (1985), and a graduate degree from Parsons School of Design (1991).  She studied ceramics in Holland in 1986, and later with the granddaughter of Maria Martinez.  In 1999 she was the founding president of the Society of American Mosaic Artists (SAMA).  Her work is just as broad as this mosaic of an education. 

 

All of this background is represented in her exhibition of Small Works currently at the Orangeburg Arts Center.  In most of the works, one can detect the influence of multiple academic experiences, but clearly created by western hands.  Local art viewers remembering the Impressionist exhibition at the Columbia Museum last year could find common ground between Janet's paintings and the work of Chiam Soutine, then exhibited. 

 

 

The series of little painted vessels (there are seventeen), done in acrylic, stand boldly and aggressively on their trimmed ground, allowing examination of their surface creatures.  One can find small worlds pictorially within these vessel walls.  The grounds on which these vessels sit seem likewise worldly-influenced, and all nervously vibrates.  Janet creates these little wonders by paint removal and scratching as much as by application with a brush.  She calls them "painting/monoprints".  The center Chinese stamp on the wall of this teapot means "the person inside". 

 

Tango dancers done in quick calligraphic-like lines exhibit Janet's Chinese self, tapping into the gene-mixing of her history and coming up with a hybrid.  To some Janet has added cartouches saying (in translation) "Chinese tango". 

 

 

 

The most unsettling and evocative works are a series of paintings of troll dolls (yes, the ones from the sixties), the doll shapes again dominating the clipped ground.  The surfaces of these examples are brilliant and shiny, done in oil paint created by Janet using Renaissance techniques.  Some of the paintings in the exhibition feature likewise Renaissance ground preparation.  This extra work on the part of the painter makes the surfaces seem magic. 

 

The detail and description in these paintings is masterly, and examples include both the fronts and the backs of these dolls.  But why troll dolls?

 

 

In a way, the brilliant colors used in the dolls seem to be pure light and heat that needs to attach to something.  Simple, geometric, vibrating Amish quilts come to mind as similar in color "heat" if not in visual language.  The trolls can be spooky, but their description is not.  Here's why they exist:  Janet was very ill when they were created.

 

Janet has suffered through an undiagnosed illness for some years.  During the time the troll paintings were created, she was at a low point, could barely leave the bed, and could lean up to paint just sometimes.  These dolls were collected by her, at hand, and she could lift them.  Therefore, she painted them. That simple. 

 

Could one make an allusion to the boomer experience with these paintings?  Maybe, who else would know about these strange beings? Further, in the example above, we see a black troll.  There were no black trolls.  Perhaps in this one she asserts a sense of place. 

 

In general, this exhibition is a tribute to the healing nature of art.  All of these small works being done (over 90 in all) during the course of her illness, it is proof that the time she has had to be quiet has not been lost. 

 

 

 

A former instructor of art at Columbia College, Coker College and OC Tech, three time SC Arts Commission Fellowship recipient, and winner of a Regional National Endowment for the Arts award, Lee Malerich shares her home in Neeses with artist Glenn Saborosch.  Her most well-known work consists of personally expressive narrative embroideries; the most topical ones are about her battles with colon cancer. In a new life, and producing new work, Lee is making sculptural work from waste and found objects from flea markets, a long time interest not served by the embroidered work.  What is common about all her efforts, including creating an art village from ten acres, is that creativity heals.  She also blogs at: leemalerich.wordpress.com