2 Dimensional Arts

First place

Audrey hyvonen

"Stay Home" is a portrait presentation in fiber which depicts a plague doctor style masked figure with the words "stay home" overlaid in shadowed writing. The dominant colors are grey and light green. It measures approx. 9 x 11 in . and is intended for wall display. The details of the textures on the face and letters are created with stitched quilting lines.

valerie bassett

This painting was done as a therapeutic response to the loss I've experienced since the start of the pandemic. I grew up dancing in the Berkshires and had recently returned to ballet as an adult to help me deal with several emotional and financial challenges occurring in my life. The pandemic further complicated things, needless to say. Dancing freed me from worry just for just awhile...

Dance studios closed in March, leaving many of without our creative outlets. I decided to paint this sculpture to help alleviate the loss.This sculpture is located on the grounds of Ventfort Hall, a Gilded Age museum in Lenox. It beautifully captures the free spirit of dancers.

I look at often to remember that freedom and joy.

Lyn Horan

Mixed Media watercolor collage - watercolor, acrylic, ink, rice paper, photo.

"Canary in the Coal Mine" is part of a series I'm doing called COVID-19 Diary.  Each page (date) deals with a different impact of COVID-19 either in my individual life and/or in the impact of the larger community. "Canary in the Coal Mine" is from the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic.  March 2 was the date of the first case of COVID-19 in Massachusetts. In this piece I have used the microscopic image of COVID-19 like a cloud, gradually creeping towards me and the state of Massachusetts. I have Progressive Multiple Sclerosis and 2 other immune system diseases, so I'm at great risk if I get this virus. That first case of COVID-19 was like the "canary in the coal mine", the first warning of what was about to come. 

Every day of this pandemic has revealed some new perspective on the way that COVID-19 has impacted the lives around me, and as an artist this visual diary has been very therapeutic for me as it keeps me focused in my studio during a time of fear and the unknown.

Ron Maggio

Bending the Curve" is a suite of 3 mixed media drawings I did as a response to the virus early on. I felt as an artist, I had to make a statement about the virus in order to get on with my work in the studio.

elizabeth parker

During COVID, I have been strongly moved by the images and stories of vulnerable people who are isolated in places such as nursing homes, unable to connect with their loved ones, who are such a vital source of love, and an integral link to their identity. I have felt sad about their loneliness, but also hopeful that families and friends are still Knding ways to connect, even if only through a window pane, illustrating that nothing can defeat the power of love. My friend shared a photo she to took of her mother on her 89th birthday, as my friend and her daughter visited through the window of her mother's nursing home, and in the photo, the reflection of my friend and her daughter appeared along with her mother. I was struck by the inter-dimensional quality of the image, and decided to do a graphite drawing from this photo, striving to depict with realism the mysticism I saw.

LAURIANNE WYSOCKI

In April I was scheduled to have an exhibition of my paintings at the Hope and Feathers Gallery in Amherst. The show was cancelled at the end of March because of Covid 19. At the same time I was informed that the tours I lead for Road Scholar would be cancelled for April and May. With a house full of paintings that wouldn't be seen by anyone and with a lot of time on my hands, I began working on a 36 x 48 inch painting, one that would eventually become the centre of a triptych. I was reading a book entitled Night Circus and felt that the initial stages of the painting were subconsciously influenced by the imagery in that book.

But as the weeks of isolation turned into months and the number of Covid deaths and social injustice cases began to rise, so did my sense of hopelessness. The painting began to change as well, that is, when I actually had the desire to work on it. I felt immobilized - physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Anxious and unable to concentrate, the painting sessions shortened and seemed unproductive. I watched as the colors became muddled and dull; the motifs sharp and angular.

Yet I carried on. And then one morning, a version of Beethoven's Ode To Joy came up on Spotify. It was light and airy. Uplifting. I reacted to it on some level and acknowledged a sudden mood change. What is this I'm feeling? Joy? I discovered other renditions of the song and played them back to back. I looked up Ode to Joy and learned that the poet Schiller wrote it in response to war and desperation wanting to prove that there can be freedom and peace between all peoples. The triumph of the spirit will prevail! That's when I began working on the two flanking pieces of the triptych. Immediately I noticed a difference. The colors were more vibrant. The motifs were softer and more fluid. (With acrylics it's very easy to paint over what you don't like so I began to rework the center painting). Without truly knowing where the painting would go, the same way writers say that their characters develop themselves, mandalas, spinning disks, and a tree of life appeared. Ahaa! I thought to myself. Just because the world is falling apart I can still have joy in my heart. This is my personal triumph of the spirit over the things I can not control. I can do my part. I can choose to be optimistic, hopeful, and positive - not gloomy, fearful, and negative.

second place

lynn peterfreund

I do drawings daily and during this period, many of the drawings honor people or describe the intense situations we are living in. Any number of drawings can be posted or exhibited, and form a personal and often communal journal of time.

Toby Barnes

This piece is composed of 9 smaller paintings that are 16 x20 inches each. It expresses what under this pandemic has become, for most of us, our view of the world. Interacting with most people Via Zoom or google meets, each day countless times for now 6 months I see the world through a grid. It’s both distorting and comforting.

I see others worlds and spaces in ways I never did, and they see mine. I let my mind drift and imagine other worlds as the grid fatigues me. I look forward to connecting with others friends, family, strangers, in this new way, our grid world.

nina ciccarelli

My mom is a doctor and works almost every day. By looking through a camera lens for me who can just see a whole other work. When I took my shot, I was thinking about the days when my mom wasn't home but them realized I should quit thinking about that and think about the days when she is home. My photo represents that even at the darkest times, you can always find the light.

Madge evers

11 x 14 inch cyanotype, 2020. I use the cyanotype process to depict a Kgure wearing the ubiquitous hoodie in silhouette, hoodie alight with Fowers (Foeniculum vulgare, Alchemilla mollis, and Hydrangea macrophylla). Through my subject, I try to explicitly connect the veracity of the Black Lives Matter movement with nature’s innate beauty and objectivity. The goal of this work is to challenge everyone, particularly those with privilege, to see beyond the distraction of differences and Knd in all contexts, the sameness that lies within each person we encounter.

nayana lafond

During this time of struggle and fear Nayana is self quarantined. Due to her immunosuppressed state the risks involved are too high for her to venture out almost at all. Nayana has been making work about her experiences in medicine, through a bone marrow transplant and seemingly endless life threatening complications Nayana has turned to art consistently to cope and express her feelings about situations. In her time in quarantine Nayana is spending her time making art. Ths is the page (click link below) where she will post finished pieced produced during the quarantine. To see the works as they are made follow her on instagram @nayanaarts 

STEPHANIE OATES

The tree represents isolation. Being a 100% caregiver to my Dad has me pretty tied to home base and have felt disconnected friends and unable to travel, even within the state to visit my son in Boston, which makes me sad.

The darkness around the edges represents the virus itself trying to invade. But there is always light, hope and good things in the world to seek and that corresponds to the radiating light behind the tree.

dara Herman zierlien

The pandemic has forced the world to stop to see the ongoing mistreatment of its Black, Latino and Asia American citizens by our government, in our work places and the police force. Most Americans have lost their jobs or forced to work, are essentials workers putting their lives on the line for others who can afford or must stay at home due to illness. Thousands of people of color have died to this virus and still are due to over crowed housing, over packed meat factories or living in multiple generational homes. Culturally, educationally the pandemic is a reflection of the differences of how white people are treated versus people of color. From slavery to systematic racism in this country, we are not united as one. As an artist it is my instinct to expose what I am seeing and feeling in the world through my paintings. This has been a hard time for an artist, and not the first time. As an artist depending on commissions, illustration work, book publications, lecturing or touring all have been canceled. Forcing me to depend on the government. I hope my art will create a small window of understanding and compassion for Americans to see people are suffering, trying to hold onto their homes, feed their families or dealing with having lost a loved one to Covid-19 and have been a survivor or victim of police brutality. 

THIRD PLACE

MEG BANDARRA

Painted in the medium of pastel, Tidal wave is a triptych that uses water as a counterpoint to breath. The three stages of the triptych “don’t”, “can’t”, “didn’t”, are my response to three phases of the pandemic that’ve had a particular impact on me: the beginning, the death of George Floyd and subsequent protests/calls for equality, and the death of my mother.

ricky darell barton

Abstract Super Flat Post Animation. Part of the Robot Paintings/EAT series.

Two themes that were present as I painted the painting in June, they are tension and the the yellow sunshine color that some how made me feel at ease. The push, pull energy is the state of the pandemic to me.

nancy haver

Hitched to Everything Else. Black and white woodcuts (18”x12”) on Kozo paper

They are hand-printed woodcuts, image size 18"x12", on Japanese mulberry paper

The imagery is an expression of my wish for connection and optimism for our broken world.

Alexandra Mahoney

Acrylic on paper. We brave the waters of darkness on our journey toward a brighter horizon. Isolation becomes solitude as we recognize our connection with all.

Alie Mahoney grew up in Shutesbury and attended school in Amherst. She has worked at Simple Gifts Farm and Sula Summer Camp.

jace “rascal” smith

Corona Normal is a piece I created within the first three months of the Pandemic while on lockdown. Finding our collective and individual footing during this era of uncertainties became a daily challenge. I found the structure of daily routine helped me work through feelings of isolation and ease the anxieties I experienced around the possibility of contracting the virus.

drew thomas

Digital painting

"Muted" is a digital painting that captures a state of being in America during COVID 19. It represents how ignoring distancing protocols hurts people, something that is often ignored because you can't directly see the impact. It also represents the feelings of loneliness and sadness that can be caused from isolation and being a part of family and friends.

.

MARY WITT

This painting was made during early pandemic times when I learned the term social distancing. Although I completely understood why it was called that, it made me sad, so I went in my painting studio and painted this piece and called it Social Closeness to feel more connected to people.

Peter zierlien

Paper-cut art poster, 11" x 17"

Fear of the novel virus disease, not knowing the unseen enemy, uncontrolled infection rates and learning about the different ways covid19 can take down healthy people in a short amount of time produced this sense of panic, nervousness, and unease in me. Like a hypochondriac, each time I felt slightly off, or felt a headache, or felt queasy in my stomach I thought I might be infected and it's only a matter of time that the disease will take me down. In that constant state of unease I conceived of the papercut poster "Most Infected"

3 Dimensional art

POETRY AND WRITTEN WORD

DANCE AND MUSIC

FILM/VIDEO

COVID -19 The ArtIST Contest

A Call for Artists, Musicians, Poets & Writers

The Amherst Center Cultural District is sponsoring a contest for artists in all mediums to express their responses to the COVID-19 pandemic. A total of $4000 in cash and gift certificates will be distributed to winners in various categories. The ACCD has received a grant from the Massachusetts Cultural Council last fall to develop this year’s ARTWeek programming, but we would like to distribute the funds directly to artists. The MCC is permitting its grantee organizations to repurpose those grants as they deem most appropriate. 

 The impact of COVID-19 continues to broadly affect every aspect of life around the world.  Artists can best communicate, express and decipher complicated and challenging times. Where and how we live, eat, work, communicate, reflect, stay informed, vote, stay healthy, provide for ourselves and our family, stay sane and balanced and resilient are daily, even hourly concerns. We are experiencing this together, but every experience is not the same.  

Our goal with this contest is to ensure all artists are seen and heard. The ACCD board recognizes that racism is a public health crisis. We also recognize that COVID-19 has greater impact on Black, Indigenous, People of Color (BIPOC),  low-income individuals, and the disabled and we encourage submissions from traditionally underrepresented communities. 

 Who Is Eligible?
You are eligible to apply to this contest if you fulfill the following requirements:

• You are an artist working in any discipline and you are aged 18 or older;

• You work or have worked in Amherst, and/or your creative work has been exhibited or performed in Amherst; and

• You certify that the virus has impacted the income you have expected from your creative work this year.

The Entries

 Your artistic entry can be in any medium as long as it conveys your response to COVID-19. 
We highly encourage artists who identify as BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, Low Income, Disabled and underrepresented communities to apply. 

 The work must be able to be viewed or heard online for a virtual exhibition or performance in the fall. At an appropriate point, the ACCD hopes to exhibit or have the work performed “live.” Only one entry is allowed per artist. There is NO entry fee.

Please reach out if you need help applying. 

 The work could be any 2-dimensional art, photography, sculpture or art installation, musical performance, poetry, essay or other writing, or other creative response to the pandemic. Submission requirements are detailed below.

5 Categories:

●    2-dimensional art (painting, photography, chalk art, etc.) 

●    3-dimensional art (Sculpture or art installation)

●    Musical or dance performance

●    Poetry or written word

●    Film/Video/Other

Important Dates

June 22: Announcement of ACCD COVID-19 Contest

Aug. 22: Deadline for Submission, please fill out form and submit your work ( jpeg/tiff, pdf of written work, or link to music, dance, spoken word)

Mid September: Announcement of Winners and Online E

 
The Awards

Grand Prize - $375  

First Place Prize in 5 categories - $250 each

Second Place Prize in 5 categories  - $175 each

Third Place Prize in 5 categories - $100 each

Honorable Mentions 20 - $50 gift certificates

The Jury

Decisions on all awards will be made by a subcommittee of the ACCD board of directors and creatives in the community appointed by the board.

Submissions

• Visual art must be submitted in jpeg or png format with the longest side being 7 inches; resolution no less than 100 dpi.

• Video submissions (e.g. dance performances) must be either linked to YouTube or submitted in Vimeo format, no longer than 10 minutes in length.

• Filmed musical performances must be no longer than 10 minutes in length, linked and submitted via YouTube, Vimeo, BandCamp or
other platform with original lyrics (if any) submitted as accompanying Word document.

• Poetry & Writing must not exceed 1,000 words.

Submit entry using Application Form: https://forms.gle/vwYjxC6AmA86tPys7

Submit work by email to info@amherstcenterculturaldistrict.org by midnight, Aug. 22.

Please use that email if you have any questions or need help submitting your application.

Film/video

first place

video sketchbook
March-June 2020

melissa mcClung

During this surreal moment in history, every day comes with a new emotion and a new narrative. If my job as an artist is to reflect the world in real time, it seems only fitting to “sketch” days as they come and go. My Video Sketchbook is a diary of four months in quarantine, filtered through my imagination via original footage and animations, archival footage, and stock images. In each entry, I hold moments in my hand and examine them before they shape-shift and flutter away.

SECOND PLACE

Togolese
Storytelling
Good and Evil

karina dise

Link to Video

Storytelling about good and evil just like it's told in the Togolese culture.

Afri(K)que's philosophy is to work with women and girls locally and internationally by presenting their pieces of art to the world therefore fighting against hunger and poverty which affects many children. Our priority is to work with socially and economically disadvantaged women artists and be their voice. 

THIRD PLACE

hugging me, hugging you

michael osgood

Link to Video

Hugging Me, Hugging You is a short looped video made using coding and video manipulation. There are two recorded videos, one of myself and one of a close friend, hugging the air while wearing virtual reality headsets. Using a Java-based programming language called Processing, I spliced the videos together horizontally, interleaving the two videos. The result is us hugging in a ghostly fashion. Hugging Me, Hugging You creates an intimate moment artificially.

While I am grateful to be able to actually hug Devon, my friend and housemate, the pandemic has made such acts impossible if not immoral with so many people we care about. Sometimes the best we can do to embrace is through our technological devices. We spend time on Zoom, read and send texts and make phone calls. And while these technologies are essential, we know they are not entirely substitutable to the acts they seek to mimic. They do not allow us to touch, feel, or physically be with the people we love. As we flow through this pandemic and our technological progress, I worry we will lose touch with this fact, if we have not already. No matter what happens I hope the art of hugging will not be forgotten.

music/dance

first place

Tell Me

Ilana Morris

Tell Me Audio File.

I am submitting an original song I wrote when I was feeling overwhelmed by all of the effects of the pandemic. It highlights a moment in my life where I felt hopeless and powerless. This song and the songwriting/recording process was a way to help me reclaim my power and voice.

Born and raised in Western Massachusetts, Ilana Morris was often described by the folks who knew her best as "a child who sang as early as she talked."  The 25 year old vocalist has been pursuing her musical passions for most of her life. In 2010, she released her first original song, "Endless Lies," co-written with legendary guitarist, June Millington. In 2014, while studying Jazz voice at the University of Massachusetts - Amherst, she co-founded a funk band with fellow musicians and has since graced multiple local bands with her vocals. In 2017, she joined the Albany based R&B/Pop band, Wurliday, as their lead vocalist. She has shared the stage with iconic groups such as En Vogue, Third World, members of Snarky Puppy and the Trey Anastasio Band. In 2020 she decided to pursue her career as a solo artist and loves sharing her personal music with the world!

breeze - I wish i knew how it would feel to be free

By Taylor Mickens

A jazz piece and a spoken word piece combined to speak to how the institutionalized racism ingrained in our country has affected me and my people and how Black people are trying to break from the chains we are still in today.

Taylor Mickens is an actor, singer, dancer, poet, and performance activist currently getting her BA in Theater while also studying Jazz and African American Music at The University of Massachusetts Amherst.

When she isn’t on the theater stage, Taylor sings and gigs with combos and bands singing different genres of music as well as original compositions and spoken word. Upon graduation, Taylor plans to move to NYC to be a working artist and continue to work toward creating an arts nonprofit for underserved Black communities.

Taylor hopes to empower young Black people to fulfill their dreams through doing what she loves.

Breeze Video

Drive-In

Driving Wheel/Pete Sikowitz

Link to Video

We're submitting an original composition entitled "Drive-in." Since we haven't been able to perform (musicians have been devastated by Covid-19), we created the video you can see here "virtually." All members recorded parts separately and our drummer edited the video's visuals. "Drive-in" is timely (drive-ins have come back in vogue due to the fact people don't venture from the confines of their car for the most part). The video also addresses the scary aspects of a pandemic metaphorically.

Second place

america, the beautiful 2020

nerissa nields & Company

A rewriting/rethinking of America the Beautiful. A recording with a pictoral video.

Featuring Chris Smither, Dar Williams, Vance Gilbert, Peter Mulvey, Kalliope Jones, and Ben Demerath. Audio Produced by Dave Chalfant from The NIelds album November. Video created by Katryna Nields with Nerissa Nields.

back in the ussa

Peter brown

A musical and video commentary on life in the USA during the summer of COVID

VIDEO.

Flight or Fright

By Liz Ryan

A composition for brass band. Solosists Joannie Timberlake on alto sax and Dani Garcia on trumpet.

This is an original brass band composition. I have been meaning to compose an original tune for the band and this contest pushed me to do it. There are tracks of live horn artists in this piece on saxophone and trumpet. I put it in a video format but it is a musical performance submission. I hope to use the piece in the future with Prone to Mischief.

third place

pas de toilet paper

madeleine bonn

This short choreographic piece was my contribution to a larger project that I created via Amherst Ballet called "The Social Dis-Dance Project." This program curated and commissioned short choreographic work from dancers in Amherst, as well as all over the world, to express their experience of the COVID19 pandemic and the social distancing ordinances put in place thereafter. In the face of a lot of sadness, isolation, and uncertainty, I chose to create something light, absurd, and comic, by telling the story of an unexpected friendship, and dance partner, with my chance encounter with a rare roll of toilet paper.

COVID SUMMER SHADES

Daniel Hales

My submission is a 3-song EP called Covid Summer Shades, which can be streamed here: m/covid-summer-shades. These songs, written and recorded in the last month, express my pain, sadness, grief, and frustration after first losing my job and then having my 15-year relationship end when my partner moved out on March 15th... right after quarantine started. Such huge life losses are tough to deal with in the best of times, but they’re much harder when one has to go through them alone while stuck in pandemic isolation—a theme most directly addressed by the first song: “Corona Summer Song.” Song two, “Side Of Your Mind” explores how it feels to grieve the loss of someone who’s still alive—while living alone in a quarantined house surrounded by memories of them. The last song, “Corona Summer Sunset,” is a deeper exploration of the grieving process during a pandemic. Is the speaker addressing a loved one who’s left him, or has died... possibly a victim of the Coronavirus?

poetry/written word

first place

all my might

by dina stander

the middle daughter comes to visit

she rakes leaves in the yard while

I sit nearby but safely far away and

we chat about change and the wild

violets that chose today to reveal their

purple mystery and later when I am

pulling winter off the strawberry bed

she tells me about the thing that makes

her sad and we lean forward for the

hug that comes naturally and then

pull away with a yard of air still open

between us because nowadays we do

not share a bubble in space that way

and the whole time she is here I have

to resist the urge to ask her in for tea

or to reach out a hand and finally while

I sit again she passes behind me with

the rake and plants a kiss on the top

of my head like a blessing while I hold

my breath from the effort of not grabbing

her in for a squeeze because if you had

ever told me there would come a day

when I cannot hold my baby when she

is sad I would have told you to fuck off

with your bad vibes but here we are

I'm learning to love with all my might

and keep my hands in my lap too

~ Dina Stander, April 25, 2020 / covid poems

Breathing

by Matthew Andrews

When I was born, I scooped up some bits of Earth and made my body.
We all do it like that. I saw my son do it, and my daughter too.
Mud and stones and sea and plants and sun; we gather it all up and make an inside and an outside.
And then we climb in and start breathing.
Every day the sun rises and the ocean moves and our blood moves and we breath.
Every day it’s like that.

I drew the stuff of this world into my precious new body:
I consented to the collaboration, to the union of this and that;
I agreed to be us.
My breath told me about relationship, and from within my cocoon, I touched us. Air whirled in through my face and into the hollows in my chest and into my blood. My blood was suddenly my own, and I had to do everything keep it moving inside, And also my breath told me that I was us and all of our blood matters.

This year the Earth that we live inside wanted to remind us about breathing together.
She wanted to remind us that all blood matters, and that our blood can only move when we breathe together.
She thought maybe we had forgotten about that.
It's easy to forget when we have to think so much about keeping our blood safe inside.
Sometimes, when we see someone stop breathing, then we remember our breath, our life, us.

The Earth started whispering, reminding us about breathing together, the sweet secret of the air. Her voice was like an evening breeze in the forest, a little hard to understand, easy to mistake for emptiness,
But insistent.

Her voice grew like a strong ocean wave, majestic, powerful, thundering, definite.
It was easy to be afraid, to think about our own blood again, instead of breathing together.

But somehow, it wasn’t just a voice or a breeze or a wave: there was a love, assurance, comfort.
It was subtle, easy to miss, but once detected it couldn’t be denied,
Like the feeling of sun on a face.
It was like breath, really. Love moved in the air like breath and filled us without us even knowing.
It got mixed into our blood and it warmed us from inside. It didn’t show up on any scientific instruments.

That’s how these things happen sometimes: it’s not our big plans that shape the world. We look around and we have an idea that we didn’t have before.

Remember when

By Tara Dasso Bronner

Remember when...

Do you remember when we used to go outside?
Breathe in fresh air, take long bike rides
You did not need a bracelet that flashes green
To go everywhere and in-between.

Do you remember when we could survey someone’s lips? Decide if you thought they deserved to be kissed
No masks to hide the citizens faces
Anti-bacterial mist sprays before embraces.

Do you remember when we would roam museums filled with art?
Gaze at architecture or sculpture
Whatever touched your heart

Do you remember when we learned at a school without screens?
Teachers held their students’ hands
Were there to comfort
When their charges were in need

Do you remember the day the word was put on pause? We never knew what we would be missing
How much we loved the world that was.

If I could,
I would have worried less about lesson plans,
Instead found joy in unexpected laughter, detours to places unknown

If I could,
I would have said yes to lunches with eager 10-year-olds
in place of last minute trips to the copier It would have jammed anyway

If I could,
I would not berate myself over useless data My focus could have been on things
I did that were not easy to measure

If I could,
I would not waste my time complaining
about the student who made me want to give up
instead spoken with a grateful heart about the ones who made each day worthwhile

If I could,
I would have gathered an extra hug, taken another minute to linger, drank it all in

But I can’t so if I could
I would tell you I miss you
I’m sorry we never got to say goodbye

Tara Dasso is a poet/photographer from Western Massachusetts. As a hearing-impaired individual, she was looking for creative ways to express herself as her hearing loss had progressed limiting her abilities to interact with others at times in a meaningful way.  Her work is inspired by the quiet moments and connections between ordinary individuals. She is also influenced by the many social justice causes she supports. She is co-founder of  Write-up Springfield, a monthly creative writing group that comes together to collaborate, share resources and promote artists from the greater Springfield area. She has exhibited and been published in various literary journals and local galleries.

https://www.pagespineficshowcase.com/tara-dasso.html 

http://www.poetshaven.com/archives/8451 https://www.trestleties.ink/issues/two/tara_dasso 

heavy heart, sweet blossoms

By lorna ritz

I had an accident on Amtrak train and was taken by ambulance to a CT. hospital just before the pandemic. Back home, my Dr. called to say I was at high risk. I told her I was strong as a horse, aside from the accident, but she reminded me of my previous medical issues and countless surgeries as a recurrent cancer patient. I thought she was talking about another person, especially when she reminded me of my age.

In March my gallery closed. Everything closed, (restaurants, movie theaters, colleges, concerts were cancelled). Streets were empty. This became a time to be still, to wonder, to create new experiences and support them with good expectation that brings one to new discoveries. I cleaned the garden, planted peas, played with my neighbor's goats and went for sunset walks. I became immersed in new painting, checking on elderly neighbors by email, and trying not to watch the news too much. (I only believed the scientists). How could I best express my most passionate realities I see in the landscape, (the story beneath ordinary everyday life things), producing on canvas much of what people feel when they get religious? As a painter, I am used to a life of solitude, suggesting to people who live alone to choose some one thing they had always wanted to do but never prioritized, and become brilliant at it. No one came to visit, I did not go out, I could focus on moving these paintings further without interruption. Each night I would tell myself before sleep, “I think I am getting better.” That was why I still paint.

By late March many more people were dying. I brought both sadness and the beauty of the season into the painting. Then the sun would come up and the buds open a little more each day, giving me another chance to do what I do even better. Finally, after total seclusion, I needed to peek out into my community, to see for myself familiar roads and places, which were truly empty. It was the wide openfields catching sunlight, and the blue mountains that were steadfast in their stubbornness ‘just to be.’

I doubled my walks from 2 miles to a daily 4, doubled online yoga classes, painting with deep focus, eating well, putting my hands in clay, (my hands that have ‘eyes,),’ writing and reading, to counteract the terror of what this time had become. The nonpolitical virus would teach us to become an even more compassionate people, kinder, more loving, uplifting each other, seeing the best in each other.

I found friends online from Spain, Colombia, South Africa, France. etc., and left food at neighbors’ who needed connection. But little acts of kindness were not enough. Leading an inspired, driven life kept me emotionally strong, (in pursuit of deeper visual expression), in action especially when listening to a neighbor telling me she is afraid.

second place

i will never see the eiffel tower

By Lauren Arienzale

it’s written on the outside of an empty room, just one of hundreds, where there are more dark windows than there are string lights and shadows. and i know it’s just another liberal arts kid coping with their leftover teenage angst, like we all are, and i know this sentence is meaningless in comparison to every other sentence i’ve heard today. 

but i’ve never see the eiffel tower, either. maybe i never will. 

it never really crossed my mind in any seriousness. i spent some time in england the summer i turned twenty, a study abroad trip i never thought i’d have the money or courage to go on in the first place. my newfound friends and i considered paris briefly and decided against it in favor of cornwall, dorset, wales, oxford ... convincing ourselves there was too much to see in a finite amount of time. 

i wonder what else i’ll never see 

the little town in Italy my great grandparents called home, the weird hippie retreat in California that promised me a scholarship this summer--universal healthcare, clean air and water, the fall of capitalism, prison reform, student loans erased, a fighting chance at something beyond struggle and sacrifice and self-preservation. 

it’s march 31st and my fingers are starting to get stiff with cold air. i know it’s the most hypocritical thing i’ve said but i wish the seasons would choose stability over impulse. i wish we’d stop poisoning the only home we have. i wish i didn’t feel so old and young, so weathered and naive, all at once. i wish someone would hold my hand and tell me it’s all going to be okay. i wish i could reassure somone that there are better days ahead. 

it’s march 31st and i know peace and pandemic will never coexist. it’s march 31st and the ending that doesn’t get an ending is fast approaching. it’s march 31st and if i keep letting circumstance and crisis into my head, i will not see april. this will have all been for nothing. because no matter the time or place, crisis and circumstance will follow me though this lifetime and into the next one and the next one and the next one. because if the story ends here, at the cusp of reclaiming and recovery and realization, i will have wasted everything that was and is and could have been. 

because there is always a choice.

Lauren Arienzale (she/her) is a recent Hampshire College graduate, where she studied clinical psychology and psychoanalysis. She aspires to be a psychologist and is also interested in publishing original poetry and creative writing in the future. Lauren works on Small Ones Farm in Amherst and enjoys keeping up regular yoga and meditation practices in her free time.

last time we spoke

by Rejjia Camphor

Last time we spoke,
I told you to go and ask the trees
about the secrets of the universe
and I wonder if you did.

Its been three months since we’ve known
and I can’t help but wonder
if they whispered to you when the sickness would be over?
Did they say when my friend?

Did the leaves tell you the amount of loved ones we would lose from this
or at least, if the people who wore masks before the pandemic would finally stop hiding themselves?
Did they show you my friend?

Did they reveal when exactly Breonna Taylor’s murderers would be arrested?
or at least, when that pandemic of anti-blackness and violence would end?
Did they trust you my friend?

Did they tell you anything about the hurricanes that keep coming?
or when the dam that hides behind my eyes would finally fall?
Did they know anything about me my friend?

Did they know if anymore gas explosions will be happening in Baltimore,
or at least, who keeps illegally dumping trash in my neighborhood?
I just wonder my friend.

Did they tell you everything you wanted to know?
Or at least, if we will survive this, my friend?
Did they know this would happen?
Did they know, my friend?

Last time we spoke,
I told you to go and ask the trees,
about the secrets of the universe.
But never did I imagine
You’d become one of them.

2020 Hindsight

by don ogden

[ A work in progress ©]

what have we learned from
what we have lived here
land of opportunity
lacking for much unity we
travel in circles victims of uncertainty
or the opposite often wasting energy,
angry looking for others to blame
driving each other insane
two wings of our one entity
one-hundred years ago we suffered together so
and soon forgot the pain until
it returned again
then bread lines as far as eyes could see
and the long lost memory typhoid mary
contact tracing leaders with empathy and
not much attention to the source of all this pain,
sorrow death and dissolution not to forget all the confusion.

look over here where the forests once sheltered
so many creatures now helter skeltered
captured and eaten
sold in cages or tortured and beaten
by humans so hungry for profit they’ve
forgotten the comfort of just
living in Nature instead of
their pocket and then get
on guard when we reveal it
or mock it, behavior once scorned
in old tomes and court edicts
now worshiped above all else
another contagion that might not
kill you but could ruin creation
or love and harmony with any given
relation as we witness the end of countless other lives and existence of species we are so sadly mistaken
while watching the news, the
plague on our place the chance
of a cure or the latest sensation
which means nothing or worse for expiring species in diminishing locations
our machines grind down into lifeless dust
drawn out by building hot winds into recorded nightmares of complete devastation.

how much distance have we put between us and this planet,
enough to make sure whoever’s in charge thinking they ran it were making it worse through selfish deceit transparent theatrics folding in stupid with putrid showmanship apprentice to his own devolution and posing, always posing sitting for portraits never hung though hanging may be too good for some culling the herd you may have heard illness self-inflicted and predicted unspoken requests he please just
get sick and die, who will cry.

what about those who silent stood by
or bought in with the sin of hatred exclusion
the ugly fusion muddled illusion
the speeches of mammon more important than life itself life once precious as your child
and the wild, the wonder even the thunder or a sunset or rising from memory or the moment

where did you just put your
hand in what sequence did
it land near that handle or the
lever and how did the weather become such a marker outside that window first lighter
then darker out there where it is
moving about unseen stealth
feeding on everyone’s health
just waiting for your reopening
just groping for your lungs and wagging tongues of freedom locking and loading and corroding
the steely look in your eyes until your loved one dies and you follow suits empty of souls taking endless tolls on your future your dreams yelling won’t help you be more of
a man reacting to something you don’t understand
like the child you once were
still unsure you react you contract
the virus not guileless and stronger than you.

the price of life what is it how much the cost of a casket a chair a crutch is the venting preventing prevention and such grasping we’re asking
for a certain degree of detention for those
we are loath to mention

for there economic pretensions
when time comes unwound day
after day after week when we seek
the usual it goes south to confusional which moon is it what happened on what day would you say it is the
worst pandemic in generations or
one hundred years or recorded
history of misery and purposeful
injury original sin and slavery now kneeling on necks the law on the street among wrecks burning with anger short on regrets the monuments fall and y’all get defensive
or is it ostensive locking and loading
constantly goading
as the ground beneath you slips away
what do you say unmasked in the fray freedom
to get sick and die but
not to drag us along that’s wrong
no mask covers truth with the lie and the party might last to july more likely it won’t while life goes off the charts while heavily armed men with no hearts
lean into faces of others’
no ending no starts just
the same old bodies piling up on so many sad carts...

Don Ogden, known by many simply as d.o., has been active in environmental issues for most of his life. His poetry and commentaries have appeared in a wide variety of publications and on national and local radio. He has produced and performed in ecologically themed street theater in the Northeast for years as well. He is the producer and co-host of The Enviro Show here on Valley Free Radio. His book, “Bad Atmosphere – A Collection of Poetry & Prose on the Climate Crisis” published by Levellers Press in Amherst contains decades of writing on climate issues (you can get it at Collective Copies in Amherst)

Third place

harmful habits for black women to ditch in times of covid - An essay

by latoya bosworth

Black women are winning in education. We are writing and telling our stories. We are building our own table instead of waiting for a seat. Phrases and hashtags like #BlackGirlsRock, #BlackGirl Magic, #StrongBlackWoman have been motivating and affirming for many of us. They can also be detrimental, distorting the way the world perceives us and dictating how we perceive ourselves. As much as Black women have achieved, we are also dying earlier. Stress is killing us. Being further marginalized our male counterparts and white women in their quest for equality is literally killing us. But we have some control of this. Actor and activist Jesse Williams said, “Just because we’re magic doesn’t mean, we’re not real.” Our pain is real, our struggle is real, our fear is real, we are real. While also home schooling, working from home, making everyone feel safe in a time of civil unrest, Black women are using this historic time to create new habits for a happy and healthier future. It’s not easy, but it’s necessary. This boldness might shake some folks up, but it’s time we ditch some of those learned patterns of behavior and take charge of our futures.

Using her pen name, Brenda's Child, in honor of her late mother,  Dr. Latoya Bosworth began writing poetry at age 14. She spreads her message of  H.E.R.S - health, empowerment, resiliency, and self-worth in workshops, as a speaker, a life coach, in print and on stage. Dr.Bosworth specifically focuses on giving a voice to youth and women, especially, Black women whom she feels are often overlooked in struggles for equality.

unseen

by wayne grincewicz

We live in a world of seen
And unSeen.

The Seen so obvious to us all, The unSeen an accepted Construct that our minds Know is there, just unSeen.

A child would ask, Daddy, Mommy, What is a virus?
It's a very small living thing that
Can be very harmful if it gets inside us.

And they may ask, What is kindness?
Yes, that too is unSeen
but it is what We see in human behavior
When people are good to each other.

And what is empathy?
That is when we people know what
Another person is feeling by seeing Their emotions.

What are emotions?
Emotions are what people show
On their face when either in pain or joy.

What is joy?
Joy is knowing that we have Kindness and Empathy
To guide us through any
Dark time.

Mommy, Daddy, do I have Kindness and Empathy and Joy?
Yes, you do because you are looking for them
And they will make your life
Full.

panic 2020

by ladonna olaynk

Came from China, we were wary
Twenty-twenty, January

Coronavirus, Covid 19
“Asian Flu” in quarantine

Headache, fever, coughing, wheezing
Cough in your elbow, mucus, sneezing

The news released, the Market dropped
Each day declines, it hasn’t stopped

Business closed, you work from home
Safe inside your private dome

Schools are closed, they learn on-line
Two plus six and five times nine

Next, spring break, the beach and sun
Virus spreading, it’s begun

Cruise ships floating, people cry
Fears and sickness, people die

Airports closed, no one can travel
People’s lives start to unravel

Restaurants closed, just food “to go”
All food service, going slow

People furloughed, then laid-off
Can’t afford to sneeze or cough

Wear a mask for self-protection
Guard yourself against infection

Toilet paper, people hoarding
Supermarkets not rewarding 

Plastic tote bags you can’t bring
Rationing for everything

Panic shopping, not much food
People push with attitude

Courtesy they all ignore
Rationing throughout the store

Two of this and one of these
May I have an apple, please?

Doctors, nurses, all essential
Work beyond their full potential

Ventilators, not enough
Just surviving, getting rough

Social distance, can’t be near
Six feet out, we feel the fear

City lock-downs, stay in place
Our survival’s just a race

Every country, every state
Climbing deaths, alarming rate

Fighting just to stay alive
Hope that mankind can survive  

(Rhyming couplets)

LaDonna is a resident of Sunderland, but grew up in the mountains of Virginia and West Virginia.

“I’ve always been intrigued by poetry; the different ways in which the words and the rhythms are blended together.   Most of my poetry has a definite rhythm and rhyme pattern.  Also, my poetry usually tells a story.  Sometimes you might need to search for it, but it’s there.  My works runs from the silly (“The Public Fart”) to my serious poetry, addressing child abuse, suicide and the demise of mankind.”

quarantine: Day 110

by jena schwartz

I started counting days in quarantine on March 13. The world has changed so many times over since that notion first entered our consciousness.

What quarantine means for my household is that we are mostly staying home. I go out almost every day to run or

or walk. I don't wear a mask when I go running, because I’m conKdent I will not be in close proximity with other humans. When I do see someone, we give each other a wide berth or cross the street. I only go on the bike path if I'm out very early in the morning; mostly I run on surface streets.

Quarantine means we use delivery services for groceries and curbside pick-up from local farms for as much produce as possible. It means avoiding the physical world of commerce as much as possible, only entering a store when absolutely necessary, such as picking up prescriptions at CVS that cannot be mailed.

Quarantine means ongoing negotiations with my ex-husband, since coparenting means our two households are inextricably connected. We've allowed our son to see friends outdoors with the strict expectation that they'll maintain social distance. So far this has worked out, and I'm very grateful he has been able to have any semblance of a social life. As a fourteen-year old, this is lifeblood.

Quarantine has meant sitting on the far side of my parents' porch for visits with them. It has meant I have not hugged anyone outside of my wife and children in months. It means cancelled writing retreats and visits with friends that might otherwise have happened this summer.

Quarantine means Zoom. Zoom worship. Zoom coaching sessions. Zoom activism.

Quarantine means I've entered my lovely once exactly twice in 110 days. Many mixed feelings about this – a mixture of disappointment and acceptance, along with a hefty dose of gratitude that my ability to work virtually was well-established long before the pandemic. On top of that, my children are not small, so I am not simultaneously parenting in a super hands-on way while attempting to focus. My heart goes out to those who are navigating that.

Quarantine means living with uncertainty and anxiety about the unknowns. My son begins high school in September. How will that look?

Quarantine has also shown me that we are capable of adapting, capable to having dincult conversations, capable of making informed decisions.

None of what I'm writing just now reFects the rage I feel about how avoidable this was. It doesn’t reFect the grief about how many people have died or are suffering, physically, Knancially, emotionally. It doesn’t touch the screaming inequities the pandemic has laid bare, nor speak to the isolation and depression many are experiencing. It doesn’t address the fact that mask-wearing has become a contentious issue instead of a behavior that could stop the spread of this virus in its tracks if universally heeded. It does not mention the toll of lost income.

In many ways, my wife’s chronic illness primed us for quarantine life. It’s been years since we ate together at a friend's house or in a restaurant, for example. Anyone whose life has been significantly impacted by disability or chronic illness may be familiar with what it's like to not be able to participate in the world at large in ways many folks take for granted.

Earlier in the quarantine, I felt something like relief. Not, of course, related to the reason for it. But because for the briefest moment, no one had FOMO. There was a sense of shared experience, something I know many of us yearn for. Quickly enough, that got blasted open by the truth -- we were not having the same experience at all. We saw this as the numbers of deaths rose and the disproportionate devastation among communities of color became glaring.

We saw this as the question of "essential workers" came into the picture, and there was no avoiding the truth that those with more class privilege would be considerably more insulated from potential infection. We saw it as people with second homes Fed dense cities for safer settings. The pandemic turned inside out the realities that were already here, making them visible and undeniable.

These words from adrienne maree brown, author of “Emergent Strategy,” speak to my heart: "Change is constant / Small is good / Never a failure, always a lesson / There is enough time / Move at the speed of trust."

Without trust, everything falls apart. But trust is not a thing that appears as if by magic. It’s the ongoing result of time, intention, and putting in the work. And it also calls on me, on us, to look at where we have placed trust that has not reciprocated.

Quarantine has forced our eyes open. Where will we place our trust? What will we do to strengthen the systems that deserve our trust – and to dismantle the ones that betray it? How do I use my privilege in tangible ways, in ways Ijeoma Oluo reminds us may be "unsexy, boring, and tough"? What will I do with this day?

Today, I will meet with clients. I will go for a run. I will love my wife and not waste time wishing we were anywhere but here. I will feed myself. I will check in with a friend and spend time with my nearly 18-year- old daughter. I will read. I will make calls to elected officials.

On this day, when the headlines give me chills -- "Actual number of COVID-19 cases is 12 times higher than reported, with 50 percent more deaths, says MIT study" and "New Cases in U.S. Are Up 80% in Past 2 Weeks" -- I will stay in quarantine, both to protect myself and my beloveds and to do my part in protecting others.

It is literally the least I can do.

3 Dimensional Art

First place

laura holland

Stay-at-Home Still Lives, a 16-Panel Accordion Book

In early March 2020, I started a series of photographs based on the ventilation system in the ceiling of the building where I worked in Amherst. I loved the way the muscular industrial forms changed as light and shadow shifted during the day. Then came the coronavirus—and the lockdown. The building closed and I sheltered in place at home. Without inspiring a conscious change of plans, the coronavirus provoked a complete shift in the focus and scale of my art. As my home became my world, I focused on small scale, intimate still lives. The domestic clutter I previously overlooked now caught my eye. And as the lockdown stretched on, these stay-at-home still lives proliferated. I strung the photographic images together in a 16-panel accordion book, twice the length of any large-scale piece I had done before. The zigzag structure of the book, stretching over 10 feet long, was completely unwieldy and close to unmanageable—which mirrored the tension and confusion I felt about dealing with a global pandemic.

therese brady donohue

Shadow Puppet Box 10" x10" acrylic paint/moveable figure/matte board cutouts.

The figure inside is animated when a ring on the top of the frame is lifted. The 2nd shows the hands up. When the ring is moved up and down the hands go up and down as if "crazy" from the Covid.

I founded Amherst Ballet and my art career shifted to designing and creating costumes and scenery for The Amherst Ballet Theatre Company. I was known for my breathable masks that were exhibited at the Leverett Arts Center. I was commissioned to create and perform ballets based on Joan Miro, Henri Matisse and Jean Dubuffet by The National Gallery of Art and the Hirshhorn Musems. These ballets were also performed at the National Portrait Gallery, Philadelphia Museum of Art and The Guggenheim Museum. After retiring from Amherst Ballet in 2004 I was asked by Eric Carle to create ballets of his stories. I had to exactly replicate his illustrations into costumes and scenery. I then founded Picture Book Theatre that performed at The Carle Museum for 15 years and did art residencies in public schools within a 50 mile radius.  Eventually I combined puppets with ballet and then it became all puppets for the last 8 years before our final performance in Nov. 2019. That is when I shifted to making shadow puppet boxes when our Covid lockdown came in March and I needed a creative outlet. I have made over 40 of these boxes so far and have sold them just by posting photos on Facebook. I continue to teach art in my home studio to neighborhood children.

Second Place

maria fitch

A series of medical masks created using molding and casting techniques, as well as organic and nonorganic materials. Mask modeled by my quarantine-mate.

robert markey

A globe surrounded by a heart carved from wood. I have been creating art inspired by peace songs. These are paintings, sculptures and mixed media pieces, each referring to a specific song about peace and love.  I put the songs on my website so when a viewer looks at a piece, they can use their phone and listen to the song. So each piece is both visual and audible. I started working on this because the songs, many of them from the sixties, are so relevant and important for what is going on in the world and in our country today. 

Clearly, “What the World Needs Now is Love” was a song I had to do a piece of art about.  

rochelle shicoff

This submission titled "It's True" is mixed media consisting of 5 dolls hands/arms, a pastel drawing, photo of a garden and handmade paper. The hands represent the protocol of hand washing and reaching up for answers that I think all people need at this time. The drawing is of a person dismayed and uncomfortable but the garden represents a life giving force and hope.

third place

vincent frano

Ritual mask created with living, found, and natural materials, harvested and prepared by the artist. The mask is representative of regeneration, regrowth, and rebirth following destruction/tragedy/death..

juliana shepard

Juliana created “Bring It In” on the barrier on North Pleasant Street near Judie’s Restaurant.
The subject of a hug is a reminder of what is missing during the pandemic.