Jasper Project Announces Our Full 2024 Line-up of Artists for JASPER GALLERIES 2024!

Jasper’s first regularly scheduled gallery – Tiny Gallery – opened in October 2018 at an intimate space inside Tapp’s Arts Center on Main Street in Columbia, SC. Over the past five years, many shifts have happened, including the moving of Tiny Gallery online and the inception of five additional gallery locations. As these spaces increased, Jasper Galleries itself was created as an expanding series that promotes Midlands artists’ work. 

Jasper is delighted to announce the lineup of over 60 artists whose work we will have the fortune to support and show in 2024. Be sure to mark your calendars, follow our social media, and sign up for our weekly newsletter to hear more about these creators as their individual shows draw near.

 

Harbison Theatre at Midlands Technical College 

Shows at Harbison Theatre are Jasper’s only galleries that run seasonally versus yearly, with shows opening and closing in conjunction with the theatre’s season of shows. 1-2 final artists will be announced in late summer along with Harbison’s 2024-2025 season calendar. 

January 8th: Laurie Brownell McIntosh

March 1st: Anthony Lewis

June 9th: Barbara Yongue

 

Koger Center for the Arts

Shows at Koger feature artists in The Nook, an intimate open-wall gallery adjacent to Koger’s Donors Gallery. All shows open on the Third Thursday of the respective month. In April, Jasper will feature a group show of artists painting works related to compositions from the Philharmonic’s “The Art of Symphony” event. 

January: Wilma King

February: Dogon Krigga

March: Josef Berliner

April: Group Philharmonic-Inspired Show

May: Malik Greene

June: Jordan Sheridan

July: Toni Elkins

August: Christopher Lane

September: Ellen Yaghjian

October: Heidi Darr-Hope

November: Janet Swigler

December: Ellie Rose

 

 The Meridian Building 

These street-facing windows in the Meridian Building feature group shows accessible to viewers 24/7. On both Washington Street and Sumter Street, patrons can view a pair of 2D and 3D artists in each block-long window. First Thursdays are a wonderful time to walk around and see these two-month long shows.

 

January—February: Gina Langston Brewer, Anna Herrera, Bohumila Augustinova, and Caroline Clark

March—April: Libby Gamble, Debi Kelly, Gretchen Evans Parker, & Curran Stone

May—June: Judy Sellers, Devon Corley, Tennyson Corley, & Lucy Bailey

July—August: Charles Hite, Steven White, Levi Wright, & Renee Rouillier

September—October: Richard Lund, Pat Gillam, Debbie Patwin, & Jennifer Hill

November—December: JJ Burton, Sean McGuinness, Chilly Waters, & Sharon Licata

 

Motor Supply Company Bistro 

These quarterly solo shows fill the walls of Motor Supply Bistro with opening receptions typically occurring the first or second Friday of the respective artist’s starting month. Official announcements will be made on Jasper’s online magazine and social media. 

January—March: Ija Charles

April—June: Laurel Steckel

July—September: Darren Young

October—December: Michel McNinch

Sound Bites Eatery 

These shows at Sound Bites Eatery have artist’s work prominently displayed across one of the restaurant’s main walls, celebrated monthly in conjunction with First Thursday. August, the restaurant’s birthday, is curated by the restaurant’s owners, and December features a unique holiday show whose theme will be announced later in 2024. 

January: Charles Hite

February: Michael Krajewski

March: Benji Hicks

April: Jean Capalbo

May: K. Wayne Thornley

June: Sean Madden

July: Elisabeth LaRose

August: Sound Bites Birthday Show

September: Kelly Bryant

October: Jean Lomasto

November: Jarid Lyfe Brown

December: Holiday Show

 

Tiny Gallery 

Finally, the gallery that started it all. Moved online during COVID-19 and kept there due to its success and the ability to show local art to patrons anytime, anyplace, Tiny Gallery features solo artists monthly with an ornament show to close the year. 2024’s ornament makers will be announced midyear. 

January: Fred Townsend

February: Jamie Peterson

March: Cait Patel

April: Candace Catoe

May: Pat Callahan

June: Pat Gillam

July: Virginia Russo

August: Alex Ruskell

September: Emily Moffitt

October: Olivia Pope

November: Kristin Holzer

December: Ornament Show

 

Jasper is incredibly grateful to the artists, patrons, and especially the business owners that continue to make promoting local art and supporting artists a possibility.

Happiest holidays to all, and we look forward to helping you fill your walls with local art in 2024!


 

Jennifer Bartell's Traveling Mercy Book Launch Drop- In December 20th

Join Columbia’s Poet Laureate, Jennifer Bartell, on Wednesday December 20th from 5 - 7 pm at the Ernest A. Finney Cultural Arts Center, 1510 Laurens Street, for an informal Book Launch Drop-In celebration of her new book Traveling Mercy.

After reading a single magnificent poem in Traveling Mercy, “the sapling in your chest floods with too much water and light.” Read a handful of poems, and find yourself on the poet’s ferry crossing the river “between thens and tomorrows.” Every magical, existential line is an iteration of Jennifer Bartell’s dextrous poetics. This accomplished debut elegizes human loss while celebrating the resilience that persists through witness and language. Traveling Mercy is a dazzling first book.

–Terrance Hayes

 

Bartell’s Traveling Mercy is such an intimate history of a Black girl raised by Black women, raised by church fans and magnolia memories, dream-hymns of Black people pushing through mud and disease and held together by traditions. This rich collection of poems, by a Black girl who knows how and why to style okra seeds in her hair, spills with fat oysters and a community’s petrified pounded grace. Bartell assures she will never give us one chance to hold our breath, as we jump into this never-ending deep end of blazing life, therefore, prepare to be drenched.

–Nikky Finney

Registration for Kinetic Derby Day is Now Open!

Registration is now open for West Columbia's Kinetic Derby Day, featuring iMAGINE STEAM Festival.

The annual event is scheduled to take place April 20, 2024, from 10:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m., and the Kinetic Sculpture Parade will kick off the day. The event will also feature soapbox racing, obstacle course racing, and the iMAGINE STEAM Festival on State Street throughout the day.

As always, the event spurs creative thinking, competition, and family fun as teams come together to build unusual vehicles and awe-inspiring art installations.

To register to build, race, volunteer, or be a vendor, and join in the fun, visit www.kineticderbyday.com.

Poetry of the People: Jerred Metz

This week's Poet of the People is Jerred Metz. Jerred found and befriended me a decade or so ago and is my irregular lunch partner at Arabasque. We talk of poetry and prose, family and friends. He challenges me to become a better writer without losing my voice or becoming derivative of what I read; he is a gift to the poetry community of South Carolina.

Jerred Metz has had seven books of poetry, three non-fiction, and two novels published, and over one hundred poems and stories in literary journals. He taught creative writing at the University of Minnesota, Webster University, and Coker College. For fifteen years he was poetry editor for the Webster International Poetry Review. He has degrees from the University of Rhode Island (B.A., M.A., English) and the University of Minnesota (Ph.D., English and Philosophy.)


        Honey, My Muse


Her wild shadow wakes, rises, and

comes toward me. I love her,

frightening as she is, her eyes

the color of water,

her wings

battering the air.

When she flies the world unfurls

like a backdrop

behind and beneath her.

 

Benevolent bees

fill her hollow body

with hive and honey.

 

She tells me,

never minding the calendar,

 

“In 1929 I had to leave school to marry the banker who holds the mortgage on my poor mother’s homestead since we could no longer meet the payments. Believe me, life was no picnic, me only twelve and missing all my friends and my teachers and what if the townspeople learned that the banker had a twelve-year-old wife? I learned to cook, keep house, and please my husband in bed. Believe me, that was no easy task, me only twelve and him well into his fifties, his hair and moustache still shining black. There were no sex manuals then. Those few who had them considered themselves lucky to have books of etiquette. And this banker had been around and was particular about his sex. Oh, where could I turn? Who could I ask for help?”

 

           She brings me visions. 

In return, I show her

a new place to press

or kiss,

a new position,

a fresh phrase to

utter.

 

Muse, 

whose sacred body—

hive for queen and drone,

worker and larvae,

and honeycomb

rich with sweetness,

 

comes toward me

holding another poem. 

____


I created these “overheard” snatches and snippets of a private detective in Newark, New Jersey in the 1890s. Accounts of incidents in his career, each hinting at a “before” and an “after.” They are from Sad Tales and Sordid Stories: Interruptions. There are about 30 of them.

 

What was Not Her Astonishment 

Harland was a friend of Hattie's

of whom The night before Hattie had written to

 Charlotte of Harland, who was a friend—

"a very fine, spirited man

whom Charlotte would like,"

 

she thought and believed.

 

What was not Charlotte’s astonishment

when she found he was nothing

like the man Hattie described.

 

The Air was Unusually Mild 

Harland strolled out

with Charlotte before

going to the office.

 

The air was unusually mild

for this time of year,

such days being part of

the recent past

or far in the future.

 

Strange to say,

he was empty-handed.

The manuscript—

its worn wrapping

exposing some

of the contents

to public view,

which I expected

him to be carrying—

was nowhere to be seen.

 

I felt safe now;

I knew the lady’s name—

“Hattie the hat”—

an old schemer—

and proceeded to her boarding-place,

had her summoned,

introduced myself, mumbling

a name that sounded like that of a con

from Newark who she had heard of,

and began talking to her

about literary matters,

favoring the popular writers

over the serious ones.


Harland’s Henchmen in the Restaurant

 

Had they hunted her

or were they acquaintances of Harland's

who found her there by accident and

simply followed her down?

 

I wanted to speak with the proprietor,

but they might be customers

who always spent as much as tonight,

and clearly Charlotte was charmed by them.

I was a stranger here— 

why should the owner listen

to my meagre dribble of coin

against the music of

their smiling wallets?

 

 

  

“She is an Angel,” or,

"Her Eyelashes are Harpstrings Angels Thrum" 

 

In spite of all the assurances

I offered her Charlotte

would not single out

any of the men as her attacker.

She claimed not even to be sure

that any of them had been on

the trolley that morning.

 

But when I saw their shy glances

in Charlotte’s direction

I was certain she had made

An impression

upon their minds,

and now they wished

they were not thieves and murderers,

but pleasant young men

who might sit beside her and say,

"Your eyelashes are harpstrings

angels thrum.

Come with me to tented Elberon

and stroll the boardwalk,

sipping lemon ices,

sit in the breeze

at the edge of

the sea."

____

I call these epigramatics, by definition concise, clever, and amusing

1
             Homo Sapiens

       An
               Invasive
                               Species.
2

Technology
Every day
     I learn something
          I wish
               I didn’t
                    Need to know.
3
Our Quietest Meals
Are when we
eat fish.
Not that fish
makes us
more serious,
just more
careful.

4
A Simile on Free Writing
Like looking
For something
In an empty attic.

5
Catastrophe
—the Great Fuck-Up—
is Mother
and Father—
the Hermaphrodite—
of Invention.

____

Positano

Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn’t quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone. 

                                                     John Steinbeck Harper's Bazaar, May, 1953 

I

In Ancient Days

 

Vesuvius’ razed Pompeii and Herculaneum

A rain of burning ash buried Positano.

Before then, on westward treks Greeks and Phoenicians

traded at Positano, so history says.

Named for the Sea God,

Poseidon in quiet and wrath—

the old cosmology still alive.

Or is this what happened?

Pirates stole  a thirteenth-century  

Black Madonna icon from Byzantium. 

When they reached the bay,

in anger at the theft, Poseidon

tore the waters in storm.

The thieves heard a shout, "Posa! Posa!”

“Put down! Put down!”

The storm-struck ship crashed,

a wreck on the shore.

Still alive, the pirates hauled

the Madonna up the steep cliff

to the village, delivered Her to

Santa Maria Assunta’s priest.

The storm stopped, the sea quieted, the sun smiled.

Good citizens of Positano ever after—the reformed pirates.

Posa. Posa. Positano

 

II

 

The Plate of Clay

Whole, then broken, buried,

unearthed, repaired with reverence.

The beauty of the broken,

The marvel of the restored,

marking its own perfection.

The border—geometry, repetition, variety,

the shapes of flowers—holds all the universe. 

The border beyond, before Chaos, its own beauty.

 

III

Praise Invention, Praise Conception

The artificer,

whose brush followed hand,

whose hand obeyed mind,

whose mind embodied the muse.

How much beauty can a wall contain

before bursting forth in song?

IV

Seven Sisters

The single band of cloth twirling, and breeze

 lifts to its own dance, tying sister to sister.

What song do they chant?

“Who are we?

Seven sisters, Pleiades

dance, dive,

divide and gather.

How are we called?

 Maia,

        Electra,

       Alcyone,

                            Taygete,

                           Asterope,

                Celaeno

Merope.

Seven daughters of father Titan Atlas, who holds up the sky,

and mother Ocean, Pleione, Mother to Sailors,

whose Fate she governs.

Zeus, Poseidon, and Ares fathered children

upon us, made us a small dipper

of stars in Taurus.

See us twinkle and nod,

sharing our songs in code.”

“Who are we? Half-sisters to the

seven Pleiades and the Hesperides.

We, the seven Hyades,

sisterhood of nymphs,

the rain-makers,

who fall as rain,

our weeping, rain.

When a wild beast killed the hunter Hyas we wept,

became a star cluster in Taurus’ head,

a dipper to hold our tears.

 

V

Perched Positano

 

Thanks to its location, Positano’s climate is mild—

winters warm, the summers long and sunny,

refreshed by sea breezes, and

by the landscape’s beauty.

Long, steep stair link the village high above

with the valley beneath, the sea beyond.

A hard walk down, a hard climb up.

Below, the happy throng at Positano, blissful,

bless the sea suspended in ecstasy,

bless the patient town,

the happy villas above which become

beckoningly real after you have gone.

 

Visit Sound Bites Eatery on Sumter Street for Delicious Food, Welcoming Vibes, and this month, Art from the Jasper Project's Board of Directors Visual Artists!

One of the great joys of working with the Jasper Project is becoming warm friends with members of our hard-working board of directors as well as the owner/operators of the institutions that work with us and the venues that host us. A perfect example would be the good people at Sound Bites Eatery who welcomed Jasper as soon as their doors were opened and invited us to make use of their walls to hang art by local artists. This month we are combining our appreciation for both by featuring the art of Jasper Project Board Artists, Emily Moffitt, Laura Garner Hine, Keith Tolen, and Kimber Carpenter in the Jasper Gallery Space at Sound Bites Eatery.

Curated by a committee chaired by Christina Xan who serves as the Jasper Project’s gallery manager, Jasper hangs local art throughout the city at Motor Supply Bistro, Koger Center for the Arts, Harbison Theatre, the Meridian Sidewalk Gallery Space as well as Sound Bites Eatery. But we’re always looking for new permanent or temporary spaces to feature the work of Columbia-based artists.

While we enjoy celebrating new shows with receptions, one of the advantages of showing art in these public spaces is that the art is available for purchase any time day or night by accessing a QR code attached to every piece of art. So if you’re still looking for the perfect gift for someone you love, consider giving art by visiting one of the Jasper Gallery spaces easily accessible in the greater Columbia area!

DAVID WILCOX IN CONCERT AT TOL COFFEEHOUSE December 16th

Singer songwriter David Wilcox will be performing at the TOL Coffeehouse concert this Saturday, December 16th at 7:30pm. Wilcox, a Coffeehouse favorite, will present a program including some songs off his newest album “My Good Friends.” The TOL Coffeehouse is located at 6719 North Trenholm Road, Columbia, SC 29206. Tickets are $27 when ordered on line before the concert. Tickets at the door are $29.

Wilcox, who has appeared at the Coffeehouse many times over the past several years, always draws a large enthusiastic audience. In fact, the way Wilcox feels about every tune on My Good Friends proves this is indeed a fan-requested labor of love. “I am grateful for the community that sustains me – my good friends,” he says. “These are the kind of friends that get you through difficult times. The kind of friends that you go to for a fresh perspective when the future looks grim. These songs grew out of conversations with friends, and they hold ideas that I like to have around.”

Tickets are available through The TOL Coffeehouse website tol-coffeehouse.square.site, Facebook page and by scanning the QR code on the poster and other printed materials. Doors open at 6:30pm for Groucho’s deli sandwiches, coffee, and home baked goods. Music begins at 7:30pm.

Due to heightened security please limit the size of purses and handbags. No backpacks are allowed. All bags will be subject to search. To keep everyone healthy we are using ionizing devices on each of our HVAC units. As air flows past the ionizing devices, positive and negative ions actively treat the supply air, reducing bacteria and viruses in the coil and living space This increases the efficacy of our MERV 8 filter. 

Out of respect for our hosts at Tree of Life, we ask that no pork or shellfish food items be brought inside the building.

SC Phil presents a Brilliantly Collaborative Holiday Event with Some of SC's Finest Vocalists, Dancers, and of course, the SC Philharmonic!

SC PHILHARMONIC BRINGS SINGERS, DANCERS AND SANTA TO KOGER CENTER FOR “HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS”

Collaborative creation from Music Director Morihiko Nakahara and Director Chad Henderson promises to be an extravaganza

Vocalist Kanika Moore

Kanika Moore

Katie Leitner

Catherine Hunsinger

Samuel McWhite

Columbia Repertory Dance Company

Santa

Morihiko Nakahara

& the SC Philharmonic

In a brilliantly collaborative act The South Carolina Philharmonic presents Home for the Holidays on Thursday, December 21, 2023 at 7:00 PM at the Koger Center for the Arts under the baton of Music Director Morihiko Nakahara. After years of sold out holiday concerts at Harbison Theatre, The SC Philharmonic is bringing their holiday-themed event to the Koger Center this year for one night only and making it truly grand. The show itself is a collaboration between SC Phil Maestro Morihiko Nakahara and award-winning theatre director Chad Henderson, the former Artistic Director of Trustus Theatre and current Marketing Director of the SC Phil. Tickets may be purchased by visiting 

scphilharmonic.com or by calling the Koger Center Box Office at 803-251-2222.

 

More from our friends at the SC Philharmonic – 

Home for the Holidays is positioned to be one of the last large-scale holiday-themed events of the season, with the performance scheduled on December 21st. The orchestra anticipates that this concert will be appealing to families who have gathered for the holidays, and to those who are looking for new traditions. “We wanted to create a large-scale concert event due to our move to the Koger Center,” says theatre director Chad Henderson. “Audiences are going to get a traditional orchestral experience in the first act, and then in the second half we’re going to enjoy the alchemy of multi-disciplinary work with uplifting, moving and energetic performances from amazing singers and dancers alongside the SC Phil.” 

Singer Kanika Moore is known internationally as the lead singer of Doom Flamingo (Charleston, SC) and Tauk (Long Island, NY). This Charleston native’s original tone and seamless effort is almost impossible to ignore, and this is quite possibly the reason she was named the Charleston City Paper Soul/R&B Act of the Year in 2019. Joining Moore are Columbia singers Katie Leitner of Say Femme, Catherine Hunsinger of Rex Darling, and the magnetic musical theatre veteran Samuel McWhite. 

Wanting to dive deeper into multi-disciplinary work, the SC Phil invited The Columbia Repertory Dance Company to collaborate with the orchestra. In its fourth season, The Columbia Repertory Dance Company’s mission is to broaden the experience of professional dance artists and patrons in Columbia, SC through multidisciplinary collaborative performances year-round. Led by Artistic Director Stephanie Wilkins and Managing Director Bonnie Boiter-Jolley, the company is bringing emotional and athletic work to the Koger stage – a trademark of this company which performed at the DUMBO Dance Festival in NYC in Summer 2023.  

The concert will boast two arrangements by Columbia’s Dick Goodwin, famed jazz artist and composer. Goodwin’s arrangements of “All I Want for Christmas” and “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” will be featured in the second act, with the latter serving as the finale of the evening. Audiences can also expect to hear classic orchestral fare like Leroy Anderson’s “Sleigh Ride,” alongside popular songs like “White Christmas” and “Santa Claus is Back in Town,” and readings of “Twas the Night Before Christmas” and the famous editorial by Francis Church “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.” All of these elements combined with production design from Chad Henderson and Koger Center Technical Director Steve Borders will make for a sensational evening of symphonic spectacle that will entertain the whole family. 

“In the end, we want audiences to have a fulfilling and rich experience,” says Henderson. “We want people to feel a range of emotions while they’re with us. We’re using the undeniable universality of music, dance and, at times, theatre to provide audiences with a joyful evening that will be uplifting, energizing and powerful. Hopefully this will become a signature event for the SC Phil where friends and families join us every year to ignite their celebrations.” 

The SC Philharmonic’s Home for the Holidays will take the Koger Center stage on Thursday, December 21, 2023 at 7:00 PM at. Concert ticket prices range from $10 to $40 currently, and they can be purchased at scphilharmonic.com or by calling the Koger Center Box Office (803) 251-2222.

Student Rush tickets are available for $10 starting thirty minutes before the concert, and group rates for 10 or more are available by writing kathryn@scphilharmonic.com. 

 

Poetry of the People: Ed Madden

This week's Poet of the People is Ed Madden, Ed Madden is a gifted poet and a generous mentor and nurturer across a wide range of our community of poets. He consistently models how to be relevant and present in both the town and gown communities and we are richer for it.

Ed will be reading Sunday at Poetry Church and Tuesday at Historic Columbia 

From Ark (Sibling Rivalry, 2016)

Ark
Christmas 1966

The small box is filled with little beasts—
a barn that’s a barge, a boat—the ark’s

ridged sides like boards, a plastic plank,
a deck that drops in fitted slots, but lifted

reveals that zoo of twos—heaped beasts
to be released beneath a glittering tree,

its dove-clipped limbs. Dad’s asleep
in his reclining seat, and crumpled waves

of paper recede as Mom circles the room.
The humming wheel throws light across the walls.

How to lift him

Don’t pick him up by the pits,
which seems easiest. You risk

broken bones, bruised skin.
Instead, once he’s eased up, sits,

shoulders hunched, fee slung
over the edge, lean down for the hug, 

your arms under his and around,
hands flat against his back, his arms around

you. This is what you do. Then lift him,
his feet between yours, this timid

dance around, this turn. Tell him
to bend his knees as you ease him

down to the chair, its wheels locked,
set him in slow. Kneel in front

as if to receive his blessing.

Lift each foot to its rest. Wrap
a blanket around him—you’re going out.

Stop at the old flat-front desk,
last hiding place for his cigarettes— 

why he wanted up, after all. Stop
at the edge of the porch and lock

the wheels. Make sure he’s in the sun.
Stand silent by, he won’t talk much,

though the lonely cat will,
rubbing its back against the wheels.

Thirst

The nurse said, your father really looks at you
when you walk into the room—

he stares at you,
she said, he must have something to tell you.

But he never tells you.

Later, another hospice worker listened to this story.
She said, no, you know,

sometimes, as we’re leaving this world,
our world contracts to the small space of the room,

to the few things we love.

Your father wasn’t looking at you because he had
something to tell you, no,

he was looking at you because he loved you, she said.
It was near the end, she said,

he was drinking you in.

Poems from A Pooka in Arkansas (Word Works, 2023)

[untitled]

What has been omitted
from the history we learned?
The stubble was plowed under,
sometimes burned.

[untitled]

Sometimes when it’s cold out,
I pull on my dad’s old denim
shirt, warm, worn, the past
a thin jacket, what I have left.

Psalm
after Psalm 23

Tim is my therapist;
I’m learning to trust him.
He motions me to the green sofa;
there’s always bottled water on the table.
He leads me to talk about things
I don’t want to talk about.
If I make my way to the top
of the dark stairs,
he makes a space for talking
and for not talking.
Sometimes the room gets crowded—
my dead father, my distant mother,
all those messages from my brother
I can pull up right there on my phone.
In their presence, he asks,
“What would happen
if you stopped doing your family’s work
of shaming you?”
That question follows me the rest of the day.

From A Story of the City: Poems Occasional and Otherwise (Muddy Ford, 2023)

Postcard: First Baptist Church, Columbia, S.C.
Justitia Virtutum Regina, motto of the City of Columbia

This is where they decided
to divide US, where they said
all men are not equal, where
they pledged allegiance to
the divided states of America
and to the secession for
which they stood, a nation
broken, divisible, with liberty
and justice for some.

Something to declare
July 11, 2018, after William Stafford

The president is overseas this week, that’s the news,
and we’re reading William Stafford in a chilly classroom
and trying to write about where we live now, and how.

Important people are gathered around a big table,
but we sit at our little desks. Sachi talks about what it means
to declare something when you cross a border.

Back home, I know my cat is dying. She’ll amble
stiffly to the door when I return, her blind eyes
wide and bright with what she cannot see.

They say that history is going on somewhere.
Zoe describes her story as a scrap of paper swept
by the wind, litter snagged in a tree.

This is only a little report from a summer arts camp,
where Makenna and Maya and Eva and Micah are writing
about their small, rich lives. We’re here. You can find us here.

A new year

Bert’s outside taking down the strings
of lights, this winter sun bright enough
for a new day, new year. Colleen sent
a thick heart made of seeds—we’ll hang it
in a tree today for birds, for the winter
that persists despite the sun. Last night’s
firewords were gorgeous, though Barry ran back
and forth with his torch to relight them—
the way, sometimes, we have to do for
our little resolutions, for our glorious
dreams, for our tired hearts, when it’s
dark, when it’s still so cold.

UNPUBLISHED POEMS

Epithalamium, backyard wedding
for Mahayla, 20 June 2020

Bert mowed the yard and we spent
some time tidying up, though I know
after next week’s storms there will be
more to do, before the weekend, before
your wedding, before the small service
you asked to have in our backyard.
The mockingbird who takes up a post
every day on the utility pole will sing
for you I’m sure, and I’m certain too
he’ll work in his latest riff, his perfect
soft mimicry of a car alarm going off
in the distance. I will get the words
ready. I’m sorry there’s a big hole
in the yard where we hope to put in
a pond later this summer. But maybe
that’s okay. We’re always trying to make
things better and sometimes that means
a big muddy hole in the middle of it all,
sometimes that means a simple service
in your uncles’ back yard, everyone
standing apart, except for the bride
and groom, maybe your mom and stepdad.
Nathan got the day off, despite the police
being on call right now. I hope he stays
safe this week, his dark skin, his uniform
and gun. I hope I get the words right.
I know you’d hoped for something lovelier,
that wedding in the mountains in October,
but maybe this is best, we don’t know
what things will be like then. May it be
clear and sunny on the day, may the
magnolia still be wearing its perfume, may
the yard be good enough, may this be good
enough. I will ask him to take your hand.
I will ask if you have a ring. I will ask
you to repeat after me. You said no
prayer because Nathan is not Christian,
but I may offer up a prayer anyway.
Maybe this is that prayer.

 

Ed Madden Celebrates A Story of the City at Historic Columbia

Tuesday December 5th 5 - 7 pm

Boyd Horticultural Center at Hampton Preston

Mansion & Gardens

Join us as we celebrate A Story of the City: Poems Occasional and Otherwise! Published by Muddy Ford Press, this collection of poems was written by Ed Madden during his 8 years as Columbia's first poet laureate.

Hosted by Historic Columbia at the Boyd Horticultural Center, the event will include a short reading by Ed and some special guests, with introduction by Lee Snelgrove, former director of One Columbia, and comments by Robin Waites, executive director of Historic Columbia.

The Horticultural Center is a state-of-the-art greenhouse located behind the Hampton-Preston Mansion. Enter from the back gate on Laurel Street. Street parking available (and evening at the nearby Richland County School District parking lot).

~~~~~

Introducing A Story of the City: Poems Occasional and Otherwise by Ed Madden

I remember the first time I sat at a table with Ed Madden.

Drue Barker, who was coming in as the new director of the women’s studies program at USC, had come to town and Ed, Julia Elliott, and I had taken her down to the Hunter Gatherer pub on the university side of Main Street to chat.

It was sometime in 2007 and I felt like I was among royalty.

I knew of Julia because she sang in the alt-band Grey Egg, which may be the most innovative and eclectic musical group Columbia, SC has ever seen. She had copies of the band’s most recent CD to share with Ed and Drue.

I knew of Ed because it seemed like everyone knew of Ed. A proudly-out gay man, his reputation as a poet and activist set a standard for community engagement. I’ll admit now that these three people, all clearly commanders of their own fates, were a bit intimidating. I was just an adjunct instructor looking to find a new place to grow myself, having spent the last two decades teaching, writing, and watching my daughters grow into adults. If I had known then how many tables Ed and I would sit at together over the years to come, how many projects we would hatch and secrets we would share, I would have taken better note of our surroundings than I did. I would have recorded those observations like historical artifacts of the moment. I would have recognized that I was meeting a person who would play a unique and cherished role in the rest of my life.

Fast forward eight years and I had the proud pleasure of cheering Ed on as he took the title of Poet Laureate for the City of Columbia. A brave and selfless thing to do. Ed embraced the role like it was made for him, working with Lee Snelgrove to create a culture of renegade poetry at the same time that he seamlessly elevated the importance of poetry by creating beautiful and profoundly honest responses to the events that occurred in the life of the city.

As the first poet laureate in the capitol city of a state that has gone without a state poet laureate for three years and counting, Ed’s position took on greater significance than it had to. While South Carolina’s first state poet laureate, Archibald Rutledge, had served a lifetime appointment from 1934 until his death in 1973, followed in succession by Helen Von Kolnitz Hyer, Ennis Rees, Grace Freeman, and Bennie Sinclair, in 2020, Marjory Wentworth, the sixth person to hold the title, left the post and, as late as summer 2023, Governor Henry McMaster had failed to fill the position. In the absence of a government or appointing body following through on its responsibility to maintain the continuity of leadership in the poetic arts, poets throughout the state looked to Ed Madden as their guide. And guide them he did. Soon, city poets laureate were being named throughout the state in Charleston, Greenville, Rock Hill, the Pee Dee, and more.

Why does it mean so much to poets to be represented by an honored one of their own? Several reasons, none of which are monetary. In fact, the small budget once allocated to the state poet laureate was rescinded by former Governor Mark Sanford in 2000. There is a smaller budget for the Columbia city laureate, but it all goes toward supplies needed for various projects and never sees the inside of the laureate’s pocket.

It is validating to wordsmiths of all genres to have an artist among them who represents the importance of the part they play, we play, in the creation of our culture. The poet laureate of a city or state is a role model for all of us who confess our words and perceptions to paper in an attempt to make sense of the chaos that surrounds us. That person reminds us that the act of creative writing is not an exercise in frivolity but rather an important practice in interpreting the turns of events that make up our history.

Similarly, patrons of poetry depend upon the writers among us, especially our poet laureate, to help us find truth in ways that sooth and unite us. Time and again, Ed Madden reminded us that in addition to being a city of individuals whose unique gifts intimately design the world around us, we are also a cohort of creatures living life together at this particular place and time and are forever united by the community we create.

So much has changed over the almost two decades I’ve called Ed Madden my colleague, friend, and collaborator. Neighbors have moved, both to and away from us. Elected officials have come to office, created policy, and moved on. Friends and allies have passed away from us, leaving their own legacies on the landscape of our home. And because Ed Madden used his inimitable gifts to record his perceptions of this community and commit them to paper to preserve for posterity, the record of our lives as citizens of Columbia, South Carolina will live on in the volume—A Story of the City: poems occasional and otherwise, Columbia, SC 2015-2022.

By Cindi Boiter

Reprinted with permission from Jasper Magazine, Fall 2023

Marius Valdes Mounts Massive Exhibition of JOYOUS CREATURES at Koger Center for the Arts

The Koger Center for the Arts’ Upstairs Gallery is now home to the wonderous, whimsical works of Marius Valdes. The featured exhibition is aptly titled “Joyous Creatures,” and will reside in the Upstairs Gallery from December 1, 2023, to March 11, 2024.

Marius Valdes is an artist currently based in Columbia, South Carolina. Valdes has been recognized by design publications such as Graphic Design USA, HOW, Print, Communication Arts, Creative Boom, Creative Quarterly, Step, and industry competitions including American Illustration, and The World Illustration Awards. In 2022, the UK's Creative Boom Website named Valdes as one of its "20 Most Exciting Illustrators" to follow. This recent creative endeavor of Valdes’ holds over 200 paintings on both canvas and paper bags. Those familiar with his work can expect to see big, bright-eyed creatures of all kinds, shapes, and sizes amidst boldly colored backgrounds. Anyone interested in getting a sneak peek at the featured work can visit the exhibit’s website, www.joyouscreatures.com. This website functions as a digital catalog as well as the site to use for any artwork purchases.

Joyous Creatures Artist Statement: Joyous Creatures aims to make you smile or laugh if only for a moment. I celebrate characters and creatures from the imagination whether they are dogs, frogs, blobs, or aliens. Character-based art has the capacity to create memorable and engaging visual language that speaks to people of all ages and nationalities. I use my characters to educate, inform, and entertain.

There will be an opening reception for the exhibition on December 6, 2023, from 5:00 – 7:30 p.m. at the Koger Center’s Upstairs Gallery. The event is free and open to the public, and light refreshments will be provided. For more information, contact the Koger Center at kogercenter@sc.edu, or 803-777-7500.

Poetry of the People: Catherine Zickgraf

This week's Poet of the People is Catherine Zickgraf. Catherine, aka Catherine the Great is a mother hen of poets of all ages, educational backgrounds and genres and is a force in South Carolina and Georgia that reverberates throughout the spoken word and written poetry community. If you don't know her you have resided too long in your little office listening to your own voice or parrots who sound a lot like you.. I am honored to call her friend.


Two lifetimes ago, Catherine Zickgraf performed her poetry in Madrid. Now her main jobs are to write and hang out with her family. Her work has appeared in Pank, Deep Water Literary Journal, and The Grief Diaries. Her chapbook, Soul Full of Eye, is published through Kelsay Books.

 Find her on twitter @czickgraf. Watch/read more at www.caththegreat.blogspot.com


Poem to Lost Poems

 

At the riverbank, she writes

while her letters stretch wings,

slip wind, skim away.

 

So she shelters her words,

nails wood without hinges to the floor, 

singes the threshold and corners.

 

Groundwater carves the chalk rock.

She’s learning to find the darkness

in the humid chill of earth’s stone web,

in moss-floored pools that shadow-shift

with a breath of candlelight.

 

Still the arch outside connects the riversides,

brides of the rapids flow home to sea

with the surfaced words of she who

sees now with mind, not eyes. 

 

Where rivers scoop lakes at their estuaries,

a marble she holds encases the oceans. 

Seeking the self inside,

she polishes the sky’s eye.

Pulling rope up the riverside,

she swings into the long line of horizon.

 

 Yasou! A Celebration of Life, July 2020

 

  

In the Dilation of Eye

 

We chilled for three days.

But when you started staring

out my back windows into the woods,

I knew I had to return you to the wild.

 

You have eyes that can mirror earth or sky,

that hide in your environment.

You are oak leaf and grass, aqua and azure.

 

Take me with you.

Let me swim in your iris

and the well of your pupil

toward horizons and the trees.

 

 Vita Brevis, August 2020

 

Saving a winged animal 

that gets lured in by the porch light

requires at least three human hands:

mine to catch/seal creature from escape

and my helper’s to kill lights/open door

so I can release it into the night. 

 

It’s always been my job to rescue

beings that don’t belong inside

(unless its slithery, bitey, or stingy).

The cats help by gently delivering

me tiny, living lime-green lizards— 

so mostly all these complex little

things get returned to roam the earth. 

 

 Savannah Dusk

  

Now is the hour

when cypress trees dim into shadows.

 

The river is lingering along the bank

in puddles caught among braided roots.

Ageless sky deepens, wavelets go still,

the water seems to slow and fall silent.

 

This is the ceremony of sinking dusk—

when our reflections turn dark and

dim blues fade in the calmness of night. 


 Goodnight

 

Kira and I decided one evening before I had to go in

and get a bath that after bedtime we would call

 

out our windows to each other from across the alley.

First grade, I was still crazy awake when they’d

 

tuck me in, the sky so full of daylight. But having her

to talk to at night would be like double-dutching the

 

telephone lines that crossed the canyon between

our streets—I’d never be bored again. Yet from my

 

row of homes in my treehouse bedroom two and

a half stories up, the only word I heard was goodnight.

 

 Neuro Logical, January 2021

 

Somnambulant                                                                     

When they sleep down deep at night,

she tunnels out the powder room window     

into drizzle and mist, hops fence.  

 

She kicks through currents along the curb,                            

crosses street, descends the bank

toward the creek’s down-streaming sounds. 

 

Twelve and barefoot all summer,

she’s unafraid of treading the pebble beds,

leaps cold rocks to boulders,

splashing the stars of the water.

 

Breeze moves through the woods,

the moon-lattice shifts around her.

 

Though curtained with night and still invisible,

she slips back in through the bathroom window—

almost ready come pain of day

when they’ve opened wide their eyes.    

 

                                                                                                                                                                                             

Overnight

Into my window fall stars long as dreams, I slip through the screen.

Night grows a poem stretching prima toes to cross street then creek

stepping soft on the forest floor. Over shivering beds of dark stones,

the sparkle-moon follows me home.

 

Even through moon and drizzle, the train plumes billowing into the

clouds navigate my backyard valley. They vibrate my candle flame

until its last breath sifts out the window, when whistles trail off and

tracks flow into the starlight horizon.      

 

The pines don’t drip with shadows behind our house, out of reach

of the streetlight. Past the creek line bordering our woods, the oak

leaves close their eyes. The creatures of the low sky hush us calm, 

I’m returning my mind to its dream.

 

 Origami Poems Project, April 2020

 

Minimal

 

In the fullness of summer, mowers decapitate green necks

            of dandelions and red clover,

            slicing their flowers between matted blades. 

 

We stop gashing our lawn as it’s shocked with October frost.

            When the winter wind spreads arms down the valley,

            my garden zinnias turn to death and skeletalize. 

 

On the back porch tonight, I reach through the atmosphere,  

            lengthening glowing arms into space. I ease the moon

            from its netted cradle, an egg nested in my palm.

 

I am minimal, though, under the sky’s dark quilt.

            I’m a speck in the weeds of my acre yard

            on a tiny rock rounding its ancient orbit.  

 

 

Visitant, October 2017

 

The Jasper Project is Thankful

At this time of year at the Jasper Project, we are particularly thankful for the individuals and institutions in our community who help us accomplish our mission of supporting, promoting, and celebrating South Carolina – and particularly Midlands area – artists.

This includes our Beloved Guild Members, our magazine sponsors, and so many people and organizations who lend us a hand when we need it. Among them are …

 

701 Whaley

Bang Back

Black Nerd Mafia

Capital City Playboys

Central Carolina Community Foundation

Coal Powered Filmworks

Columbia Arts Academy

Columbia Museum of Art

Columbia Music Festival Association

Curiosity Coffee

Friends of Richland Library

Harbison Theatre

Heroes & Dragons

Koger Center for the Arts

Motor Supply Bistro

Muddy Ford Press

One Columbia

Palmetto Opera

Richland Library

Rosewood Music & Arts Festival

Sound Bites Eatery

Sound Bites Eatery

South Carolina Humanities

South Carolina Academy of Authors

South Carolina Philharmonic

The Ernest A. Finney, Jr. Cultural Arts Center

The Meridien Building

The Nickelodeon

Uncle Willies Grocery Store

USC School of Theatre and Dance

Vino Garage

and many many more.

On a Musical Mission The Musical Method Bringing An Indie Film to the Big Screen

When it came time to plan his third indie horror film project, Columbia filmmaker Christopher Bickel admits that he took an unusual route to get to the upcoming Pater Noster and the Mission Of Light, which involves a psychedelic thrift store record find that leads the main characters to a forgotten but murderous cult. 

“Rob and Shauna Tansey, who supplied all the cool cars in Bad Girls sent me a message one day, at a point where I still had not figured out what I was going to do for the next movie,” Bickel says. “They had acquired an old school bus that they were planning on painting in psychedelic colors, like Ken Kesey’s ‘Furthur’ bus, and told me if I ever needed it for a movie, they’d have it available. So basically, I wrote a movie around the bus.” 

In Bickel’s creative mind, if you have a bus that looks like a hippie cult transport vehicle, you obviously need a cult to ride in it, and if it’s truly psychedelic, the music should be as well. 

“I based some of it off of The Source Family, a famous cult that had their own house band called Ya Ho Wa 13, and I found one of their records at a thrift store around that same time so I was obsessing over that rare, valuable record–so I wanted the cult in my movie to be like that, and have their own band.” 

Bickel spent many years immersed in the punk and noise scene via his time with In/Humanity, Guyana Punchline, and Anakrid, so his thoughts went immediately to what the music that band might make would be like, and for that part of the process, he called in his many musical friends.

“Before the script was even done I knew that there was going to be an album’s worth of music from the ‘band’ in the movie, so I started asking around, told them what I wanted to do–that I wanted it to sound like music a cult would have made in 1972, if they were a little ahead of their time, and these are some of the themes in the movie–and I asked them all to get together and bring in their ideas for songs.” 

The sessions at the Jam Room included a cast of musicians in and around Columbia, from Sean Thomson to Marshall Brown, Joe Buck Roberts, Stan Gardner, Kevin Jennings, Gina Ercolini, Alex McCollum, Darby Wilcox, Kevin Brewer, Tom Coolidge, and more, over what Bickel describes as a ‘miraculous’ two days. 

“It should have been awful, but I feel like it’s the best record that’s ever come out of Columbia,” Bickel says. “Everyone showed up the first day and all the songs they had come up with were great. Everyone just played on each other’s stuff, adding parts, and locking in quickly. We came up with the basic bones for the entire album in those two days.” 

As part of the promotional push to finish financing the film production and distribution, Bickel shot individual music videos for the album tracks and began releasing them once a week in November–two are out so far, with another due each week until they are all available online.

“Come Out and Sing, Father,” sets the scene perfectly of a slightly off kilter, cult choir sing-along. It’s a composition by guitarist and songwriter Joe Buck Roberts, who sings the lead atop a chorus of multiple voices and instruments including a zither, flute, violin, and more. 

“A World Of Our Own,” increases the psychedelia with a song composed and sung by Stan Gardner that echoes the ‘80s paisley underground, but with a more danger-filled undercurrent. 

It is the multiple levels of input from musicians such as Gardner, Roberts, and others that makes Bickel heap praise on how things turned out. 

“There are three people that I think are mega-geniuses who worked on the music–not that everyone wasn’t amazing,” Bickel says. “Sean Thomson, Joe Buck Roberts, and Marshall Brown. Sean has a couple of instrumental pieces that he did which are perfect for the film, and Marshall gets the psychedelic stuff but he also gets the pop stuff and he and Sean both can just come up with so much on the spot, for songs they didn’t even write, had just heard for the first time and their parts just came right out.” 

Of the remaining tracks yet to see full release, there are some that verge on Hawkwind psych-metal, hippie flower power era songcraft powered by Greenville’s soulful alt-country singer Darby Wilcox, and plenty of trippy, cult-ish chanting and vocalizing. Tim Cappello, the shirtless sax player from the ‘80s movie The Lost Boys, plays sax on one song, even. It’s a heady mixture of musical montage-making that’s potent even without the eventual pairing of the film visuals.  

The craziest part of this story isn’t that a bunch of cool music got made for an indie film, however. It’s that the film isn’t even done, and Bickel himself hasn’t quite figured it all out yet.

“The film is not edited yet, and I haven’t put it all together so I’m not exactly sure where the music will fit, or even if all of it will fit,” he admits. “There will be some pieces that may not be in the movie at all, but I still consider them part of the ‘world’ of the film.”  

It is that world-building that is the most intriguing part of making this film, Bickel adds, and how each step has led to the next in its creation. 

“It was important to me that I had the world established first,” he says. “I have the short film in the can, ‘Wunderlawn,’ and the music kind of informed what we did for the short film, and then the short film has informed what we did in the feature. When we came together to do the shooting for the feature, there was already a world established for the actors to draw on for their performances.” 

So, why do it in such an odd sequence? For Bickel, it comes down to one word: money. 

“In a way it would make a lot more sense if the music came out closer to the release of the movie,” he says. “Because I don’t have any money, I have to raise money to finish the movie and the music has been the best way to support that effort– ‘Here’s something entertaining for free, and if you like it you can buy the record of it and if you buy the record of it that will pay for finishing the movie, which is the ultimate goal.” 

Each film he has made, Bickel has raised the stakes, and the budget, to realize his vision for the next one. 

“The first two were around $15-16,000 budgets, just enough to pay the actors and feed everybody. This one is coming in around $20-25,000,” He reveals. “Some of that came from donations before we started, there was also a little profit from Bad Girls and then the rest is what I’m trying to raise now. It would be nice if I could make enough to keep doing them.”

Poetry of the People with Kimberly Simms Gibbs

This week's Poet of the People is Kimberly Simms Gibbs. She is South Carolina upcountry poetry. She sees with an eye of southern cornbread sopped in pork drippings gravy. If you want to feel the Carolina hills and mountains read Kimberly Simms Gibbs.

Kimberly's literary voice is rooted in the Southern tradition of storytelling. Her passion for poetry from both the page to the stage has led Kimberly to garner titles such as former Carl Sandburg NHS Writer-in-residence, National Poetry Slam ‘Legend of the South’, TedX speaker, co-founder of CarolinaPoets, former Southern Fried Poetry Slam Champion, and award-winning teaching artist. In her first full-length collection from Finishing Line Press, Lindy Lee: Songs on Mill Hill, Kimberly chronicles the lives of textile workers in the Carolinas with historical accuracy and imaginative insight. Ron Rash, the award-winning author of Serena, says about Kimberly: "she writes with eloquence and empathy about an important part of Southern history - too often neglected."


                                  Trespassing after the Hysterectomy 

The Lily-of-the-Valley 

           pearly bells tremble 

            the way a child’s mouth brims 

                                   with laughter. 

Daffodils 

          headless green arms gesture 

          split-hearts subterranean 

                                leaves blackened. 

Mole, 

          how sweet is your tongue 

           after your feast of bitter 

                                 tulip daughters? 

Dark earth, 

           how do you embrace the emptiness 

            of your bloomless womb 

                                  your crumbling tubers? 

Lady Slipper, 

           my gloved hands long to plant 

            while your tendrils more exotic 

            unfurl sharp leaves, pregnant blossom 

                                   beneath the last living hemlock.  

                                                  Homestead 

                                 But nothing is solid and permanent. 

                       Our lives are raised on the shakiest foundations. 

                                   – Ron Rash, One Foot in Eden 

A bolt of barbed wire, black with age,

hints the way, jutting from the undergrowth 

like a wizened digit— the post long since decayed 

and lost to the crumbling host of litter. 

This sunken corner is a garbled message 

till we catch a tree pierced with another barb. 

A stone pile murmurs, entangled with the metal. 

This forest expands in every direction. 

Our eyes can see no horizon beyond it. 

Mountains surge as we weave 

up and down valleys, creeks, and ravines. 

Eighty years: a forest has fallen and regrown. 

Homestead cleared, tilled, planted, harvested 

then reclaimed by this hummocked beast. 

We follow the ancient line back to a single 

hearthstone and the outline of a foundation. 

A toppled stone wall, a brown bottle. 

All around us: a forgotten fence, an outpost of the past.

Wild Green Soup

          Newberry Cotton Mill Village

           South Carolina 1924  


Fingers of frost stretch across the windows.

Seasoned wood crackles in the wood stove

while I stir the last salty pork knuckle

with a handful of beans, wild greens

into a stock pot just off the boil.

Fall's harvest now a collection of empty jars;

the cupboards breath -- dust, dead moths.

Each stir is more a wish as the day considers

getting warm, sweet herbs summon cravings.

Morning casts its pink sap over frost-risen clay

as I shepherd this thinly-feathered brood

towards the cotton-strewn spinning room.

Today we will piece broken strings, weave

cotton scraps to make them something whole.

Liddy Lee Songs on Mill Hill (Finishing Line Press, 2017)

       Machine Tool Salesman

Bill run that grinder fo ten years

Machine bigger than a brown bear

in Manny's stretched machine shop

in the flats of South Carolina.

The metallic cold milled slack snow

big sloppy flakes. The guys put on

their coats and stuck out their tongues

for the rare southern crystals.

Scraping together snowball heaps,

they watched the yard go dark and drank

black coffee. They stomped their feet

and left their coats on cause the shop

was so cold. That year so metallic.

That's how it happened, the coat.

Bill knew better, but ten years

you get so easy. The machine caught

him-- metal grinding machine --instant.

I sold them that grindernew.

Just horrible, he had two little babies too.

Took a week to get him out of the wheel

but it still ran. Can't keep a machine

something like that happens. I sold

it down the coast. Just horrible, two little

babies too and that year so metallic cold.

                                                     Summer Swagger

Late August, we are still free summer children.

We run over the rocky banks laughing in some

chase game; muscles flex, tense, stretch, climb

the steep --- dig fingers into cracks, wrench ourselves up.

Mountain expanse of water calls to us. My skin

tingles with nervousness as I look down thirty feet.

"Take my hand," you tender, "We'll jump together."

Wind races around my feet! We send out seagull wails,

steal breath for the plunge. My body is a scream!

Down, down forever in bubbles, then buoyant, silent,

We are carp pulling ourselves up through the water.

We burst back into heat, hollowing out triumphant bellows.

Poetry of the People with Loli Molina Munoz

This week's Poet of the People is Loli Molina Munoz. Loli openly shares her otherliness and in the sharing becomes one of us.  Diaspora of a Spanish Tortilla (Recipe and Poem); is exquisitely simple in telling complex emotions.

IT’S THANKSGIVING AND I AM NOT AMERICAN

It’s Thanksgiving and I’m not American.

I have cooked turkey, mashed potatoes, 
collard greens, cranberry sauce, and stuffing. 

My husband has dressed up the house
with fall colors and he is not American. 

A friend has come to share this rainy
day and he is not American.

The dog is staring at us hoping to
get some table food and he is not American.

We have toasted and remembered some
old friends who are not American. 

We are thankful for having each other 
and we are not American. 

I HAVE AN ACCENT

I have an accent

When I go to the grocery store
and they ask me if I found everything I needed 
I answer “yes”
they say: you have an accent!

This accent is my grandmother’s sewing for the rich 
and waiting from my grandfather to return from Venezuela.

When I order a tall decaf coffee with milk 
and I spell my name
they say: you have an accent!

This accent is my mother’s cleaning houses
so I could fly abroad and improve my English.

When I read a poem 
and your faces change trying to understand 
what I say and 
you think: she has an accent!

This accent is their braided hands delivering the fruit
that I will place in your still empty basket. 

THE GOOD DISHES

“But they are grounded
in their God and their families 
they are grounded in their hearts and minds.”
-Nikki Giovanni

my mother keeps the
good dishes in an old
cabinet after fifty 

years hoping I have 
them someday, she also 
holds onto a coffee 

set and a quilt she
made before she got 
married, your dowry

she says while she shows 
one of her few smiles 
buried in a deep wide


hole digged by my father
covered with her dreams
and my nightmares

long lasting nightmares
my mother possesses 
the first and the last 

of my days, the 
first and the last of
my nights, the fist 

and the last of 
my 
thoughts. 

ON ALL SAINTS DAY

Don’t leave me.

Those were your last
words. 

And we left you.

We closed the door
and we went home. 

Your eyes were begging for more 
time with us, more time alive.

But we left you
abuela Lola.

And the morning after
you were gone.

And the memories became 
a attempt to order the chaos.

My chaos. 

Diaspora of a Spanish Tortilla

(Recipe and poem)

I
Ingredients for 4 people
2 cups of Spanish extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons of Spanish extra-virgin olive oil
1 pound of potatoes
6 eggs
Salt

II
My mothers tells me it’s time to go to bed before the Three Wise Men come with the presents. I have to cook the tortilla for them, she says, and I think it’s not fair I don’t get to taste the mixture before being cooked. I close my eyes and I think about the smell of the potatoes and the eggs before jumping into the pan. 

III
Heat 2 cups of olive oil in a medium pan, slowly fry the potatoes until beautiful golden brown. Drain the potatoes on a paper towel. 

IV
It’s 1997 and I am an exchange student in Coventry, England. The first week someone organizes a party at our house. I don’t remember who. It wasn’t me. Everyone brings something for their countries. I cooked tortilla the same way my mother taught me. We eat, we drink, and we sing songs that we all know. 

V
Beat the eggs in a bowl with 1 teaspoon of salt. Add the cooked potatoes to the beaten eggs and let stir for 1 minute. 

VI
Last night I went early to bed as my mother told me and this morning Melchior came home with a present for me. It was the doll I wanted. Her tortilla must have been really good this year. 

VII
Heat the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a 6-inch pan over high heat. Once the oil is hot, pour the egg-potato mixture and reduce the heat to low. 

VIII
Last week I cooked a tortilla for lunch and he smiled when he saw it. This is so good, he said. You are even better, I thought. 

IX
Once it begins to set and the edges turn golden brown, place a plate over the pan and flip the pan and the plate so the tortilla ends up on the plate, uncooked side down. 

X
Wisconsin was cold, too cold for a Southern Spaniard used to the sun and the scent of the Mediterranean. Someone asked me to make a tortilla but this time it didn’t flip right. I had to go back to Spain. 

XI
Once the tortilla set, flip the tortilla again and transfer to a platter. Season with salt and cut into wedges to serve.

XII
In 2006 my mother confessed that she never cooked tortilla for the Three Wise Men. I was so disappointed that I cried. I was 32. I was 32 and I cried. And I never stopped making tortillas. 

 Bio

Loli Molina Muñoz is a Spanish teacher in Lexington, SC, with a Phd in Modern Languages. Her poetry has appeared in different Spanish and American publications and anthologies like VoZes, Label Me Latin and Jasper Fall Lines. In 2019, she published an essay on gender and sex identity in feminist science fiction as part of an anthology called Infiltradas. This anthology was awarded as Best Essays Anthology by the Spanish Science Fiction Society Awards in 2020.

REVIEW – The Legend of Georgia McBride at Longstreet Theatre

The show runs from November 10-17 starting at 8p.m. with matinees on the 11th and 12th at 3 p.m.


Georgia McBride opens on Casey, performing his Elvis impersonation act at Cleo’s, a dive bar in Panama City FL. Casey is a rather decent “Elvis” (though Casey’s estimation of his skill is higher than mine). Casey, bless his heart, believes he is on the proverbial cusp of stardom. So certain is he of his impending fame that he purchases a new white jumpsuit befitting The King. After the show Casey heads home to his wife, Jo, only to have his excitement flattened by her pronouncement that the rent check bounced – again – because of Casey’s propensity to use the debit card before checks have cleared. The young couple is threatened with eviction. Not only are they unable to make ends meet, they aren’t able to make those ends wave at each other. Jo unleashes her frustration on Casey and storms out of the room. She returns moments later to announce, proof in hand, that she’s pregnant. Casey is over the moon happy and exuberantly embraces Jo, proclaiming that they will be the best parents “since Mary and Joseph”. Jo reminds him that “their kid died”…

Casey returns to Cleo’s the next night and performs for the usual small house. Afterwards the club owner, Eddie, tells Casey that the club is going in a new direction in an effort to increase business. Eddie has hired his cousin Bobby to be the nightly performer. Casey pleads for another chance which Eddie cannot/will not give. Enter Bobby, aka Miss Tracy Mills - a tall, gorgeous, awe-inspiring drag queen, followed by her co-star, Rexy (full name Anorexia Nervosa. She’s Italian.) Casey is devastated. Tracy suggests he stay on as bartender, which he grudgingly agrees to do. After all, he now has a family to support. In an unsurprising twist, Rexy gets absolutely totally thoroughly and completely wasted before going onstage. Eddie storms in and demands that Casey go on in her place – not as “Elvis”, but as Rexy’s “Edith Piaf”. Casey has never heard of Piaf. Quelle surprise.

Rexy’s binge results in Miss Tracy Mills’ split-second funny clever and “how the hell did she do that” transformation of Casey from Florida cracker to drag queen. Using padding, pantyhose, false eyelashes, a wig, and non-stop performance tips, Tracy deftly “creates” Edith Piaf (well…sort of….). (The last time I saw a transformation like that was watching Jim E. Quick and John Erlanger in Greater Tune at Longstreet.).

Casey is not thrilled with doing drag. He is after all a straight white guy from rural Florida. He has no firsthand knowledge of the art of drag or of the gay community. However, he manages to stumble through his act and somehow the audience buys it. He starts bringing home enough money to pay all their expenses with money left over.

He is embarrassed by what he’s doing and so does not tell Jo.  As far as she knows he has a really good bartending gig.  He is caught out in the lie but I’m not giving up any spoilers there.

This show could easily have been a contrived caricature. In the deft hands of Jessica Fichter and Terrance Henderson (Director and Choreographer/Drag Consultant, respectively), Matthew López’s script is a study in not just the art of Drag (and it is an art) but in humanity.  Casey treats this as an “act” only. Tracy explains that it’s far more than an act for her and for Rexy and for countless other drag queens. When Rexy re-enters, she gives an explosive monologue on the true meaning of the art; “Drag is a Protest”. (Ms. Fichter’s director’s notes in your program explain the historical importance of drag far better than I can here. Read it.)

I saw the show’s preview. There were some halting deliveries at the beginning but those few were quickly smoothed out as the show progressed. Every member of the cast deserves kudos. Terrance Henderson (Miss Tracy Mills) is a gift. He creates a Tracy who is sharp-tongued, witty, and acerbic but who is also caring, empathetic, and (dare I say) motherly. Keyontaye Allison is Rexy, a most bodacious, assertive, fractious drag queen. Rexy’s monologue (mentioned above) is fierce. Anyone who listens to that speech will never again treat drag as “fluff”. Dear Jo, Casey’s truly long-suffering wife, is played by Morgan Passley. Her Jo is frustrated, but she is married to a human bubble machine. Being the only “adult” member of a marriage is a thankless task, but Ms. Passley’s Jo is also funny, clever, and kind. John Ballard plays Jason, the landlord/neighbor/friend faced with evicting Jo and Casey. He balances his conflicting “roles” beautifully. (He also really knows how to fall off the arm of a sofa.) David Britt either had an absolute blast playing Eddie, or he’s an even better actor than I know him to be. His character grows and transforms as much as Casey’s. And Casey, the reluctant drag queen. In the hands of Koby Hall Cayce goes from head-in-the-clouds, youthful Elvis impersonator to a splendid Georgia McBride. His “ah-ha!” moment when he suddenly recognizes his drag “persona” is wonderful to see. 

Brava to Ashley Jensen, Lindsay K. Wilkinson, Lorna Young, Danielle Wilson, Makenzie Payne, Marybeth Gorman. Lamont Gleason, Valerie Pruett, and Lisa Gavaletz. Every aspect of this production deserves applause. I’d forgotten how much I love Longstreet Theatre. Ms. Jensen’s set design utilizes the levels and the voms and takes advantage of every corner of the space. Costumes, makeup, lights, sound, and traffic direction were spot on. A very special thanks to Terrance Henderson. He and Ms. Fichter make a formidable team. I truly don’t know how this show could’ve been produced without the two of them. (If you missed their “Little Shop of Horrors” at Trustus earlier this year, I hate it for you.)

This show was just delightful. And thought-provoking. And gorgeous. Don’t miss it. 

Notes: There is considerable construction going on along Main Street between Greene and College Streets, so those on-street parking spots are gone. There is after-hours parking in the Wardlaw College lot next to Drayton Hall. The production runs about 2 hours with no intermission, so keep that in mind whilst having another cocktail before the show.