Call and Response: Collaboration at a Distance Round 11

In March 2020 when we went on lockdown due to the pandemic, the Shoebox Arts team created “Call and Response: Collaboration at a Distance” as a way to stay connected and to check in with and support each other. We are now going into Round 11 and have enjoyed the process, experiences and friendships that we have made. The project draws on the tradition of Jazz and Exquisite Corpse as a way for the artists to ping pong creatively off of each other. We are looking forward to continuing on for as long as we are needed.

Please join us for the opening reception of the online exhibition via zoom Saturday Feb 6, 3-5pm pst.

Featured Artists:

Aazam Irilian, ADEOLA DAVIES-AIYELOJA, Ana Maria Guta, Angela Brooks, Ann Storc, Annie Cunningham, Ashley Hester, ASHWIN A C, Beatrice (Bea) Antonie Martino, BEATRICE WOLERT, Beverley Paulsen, Brenda Oelbaum, Britania Jones, Chris Long, Colete Martin, Conchi Sanford, Corinne Lightweaver, cristina neumann, Cristina Paulos, David Isakson, Debra Vodhanel, Dhruv, Eleanor Greer, Elisabeth Kelvin, Elizabeth Cox, Eva-Marie Amiya, Francisco Alvarado, Galina Kovshilovsky, Genie Davis, Gujju Pavani, Ibuki Kuramochi, James Williams, Jess Levey, Joanne Le Cocq, Jody Zellen, john Hogan, Justyna Jakóbowska, Kamelyta, Kelly Clark, Kerrie Smith, Ki Park, Kim Niehans, Kristine Schomaker, Leo Francisco, Lina Kogan, Lindy Kelman, Lisa Marti, Lyla Paakkanen, Madeline Arnault, Malgorzata Marta Zych, Marthe Aponte, Matt Milligan, Melissa Gonzalez-Lopez, Michael Irudayaraj, Michele “Mish”, Michele Mekel, Ming Wang, Moli Ma, Moya Devine, Nancy Kay Turner, Nguveren Ahua, olga alexander, Ozaques, Pau Gold, Rebecca Major, Reksi Muhammad Sidik, Sabene Rizvi, Sarah Cusey, Sean-Michael Gettys, Stacey Moore, Stacie Birky Greene, Stacy Prihoda, Stephanie Sydney, Theodore Heublein, Vani Gandhi, Vesna Dobričić, Victoria Martino, VIJAY RAGHAVAN, Zsuzsanna Safranyos

Call and Response: Collaboration at a Distance Round 1 can be seen here Round 2 can be seen here Round 3 can be seen here and Round #4 can be seen here Round 5 can be seen here Round 6 can be seen here Round 7 can be seen here Round 8 can be seen here Round 9 can be seen here Round 10 can be seen here

Round 12 is open for participation through February 21st at 4pm pst. Info on how to submit is here

Cover photo by Michele Mekel

Aazam Irilian and Lisa Martin

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Adeola Davies-Aiyeloja and Leo Francisco

---

Ana Maria Guta and Elizabeth Cox

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Angela Brooks and Victoria Martino

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Ann Storc and Michael Irudayaraj

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Ashley Hester and Ozaques

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Beatrice Antonie Martino and Lina Kogan

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Beatrice Wolert and David Isakson

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Britania Jones and Sarah Cusey

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Colete Martin and Cristina Paulos

• 

• 

---

Conchi Sanford and Debra Vodhanel

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Corinne Lightweaver and Eleanor Greer

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Elisabeth Kelvin and Jody Zellen

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Francisco Alvarado and Kim Niehans

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Genie Davis and Kamelyta

1 Genie Davis

I See

I am the roses left at the tide line
where the water
meets the sand.
I see the shadow

of your footprints,
of red velvet,
washed to land.
You are with me

but memory
I am left floating
by your hand.
Adrift,

forever dreaming,
as the sun sets
gold and grand.
I see the conjunction

of the planets
spinning on as time allows.
I see the eternity,
the passage –

And…

• 

• 

3 Genie Davis

Window

You are a window to my soul.
Don’t grow old –
you’re getting old –
array me with lights,

see in to my gold
of setting sun.
I am my own reflection
when the day is done.

You were the one,
of Christmas colors
and after-glow,
the burning ember

of your cigarette when
smoking was romantic,
when noir was my thing.
Silly wings,

this bird took flight,
under an iridescent moon
in the dark of night.
Later there was love again,

lost – like paradise itself,
there is always a cost.
Adorn me and ignore me.
I am the fireworks,

the kaleidoscope,
the sky ignited at twilight and it’s
dawn echo.
You see my soul –

remains opaque.
You can almost look in,
when I pull
the curtain down again.

• 

• 

5 Genie Davis

Incandescent

The night was incandescent,
like the mother of pearl inside
a shell,
like the moon still high

in early morming
like the stories you would tell.
I loved your voice
and bright smile.

You woke in joy
to be alive,
opal glow in half dawn
darkness,

the embers rising
against a Big Sur sky.
There are no necessary
tomorrows,

So taste the honey
well. Drink deep
of the sweet goodness
before the breaking of the spell.

• 

• 

7 Genie Davis

She Dances

She dances because
what else would she do
on a ship at night
with the vast Herculean

waves lifting under her.
And now again,
beneath colored lights
and quarter moon

when the Gypsies come
to play along the sand.
Oh the life she might’ve had,
if that night she said

I don’t have to go home.
But she did.
She went first
to New Orleans

and watched other
ships sail.
And the outline of
future ghosts

chase drunken footsteps
down the jazz strewn alleys
til morning came.
She dances

through this time until
the next
it’s not the third act,
not just yet.

• 

• 

9 Genie Davis

And So

And so you are tonight,
awash in a sea of light,
drifting on a wave of darkness
to the ever-bright.

Born of song and age,
caught up in the wave,
birth and death
and flight.

On the wings of
silver sage,
I float up and away
to wherever I once stayed

when we were love.
Lost – those talks at night,
the melodies you used to write,
there is always a reckoning.

Come on paths of sacrifice,
follow queens into their might,
trail the roads wide and thin…
And so –

on we go, red of wine,
washed in sin.
To the coming of the dawn,
as the tide turns

and is gone,
as it was all along,
as it will be.
Just so – for eternity.

• 

• 

11 Genie Davis

Running

How does the time fly past,
moving on wings of glass…
and I am running.
Running back at last

to the ghostly night
in deep green grass,
to the filaments that flash,
boats helmed across the Southern bay.

Then there were fireworks
in winter
frigid fingers,
your hand in mine;

a blizzard on Boston streets
that winter.
In summer the low tide sea foam
left silver beaches along Cape Cod.

California: raw coast stil wild,,
orange trees, white cat,
children. Taming everything.
There is a marker of time,

other loves lost,
vowing old was
just a state of mind.
And I drove across the country,

under a tender New Mexico moon,
to a Tennessee twang,
the shrimpers on the gulf coast,
morning grits and toast.

Stood in Texas sunflowers and plains,
Oklahoma rain,
and coming home again
was never all that sweet.

The song of the road lured me.
But going off alone –
not my thing.
Running

in place waiting
for what the tide under the pines
at Waimanolo brings.
Always: the road and the ocean.

I take you places from the last
life I led
though you do not ask
and I think it doesn’t matter –

you’re incurious beyond
the now.
We are different in that
and other amorphous ways

although I can’t say how.
So much loss and so much love,
is it thrown away if lost?
Why do I think about

the many might have beens
just now, like birds
running along the shore line
on fragile legs,

this fading foggy stage
not meant to last.
When the curtain falls…
it will fall fast.

• 

• 

13 Genie Davis

Disembodied

I have nothing in me
tonight, just the sea
awash In fog
after the wind.

It’s cold again.
Words seem an
empty bit of warmth.
You can filter me

but I remain
disembodied.
A great inchoate wave,
trailing ribbons

of white lace and sea grapes.
A salty wine they make.
I am not bitter,
only sensing

the restless roiling toll
of loss. Every declaration
comes at a cost.
Answers escape me,

like the tide, moving
ceaselessly out of reach.
Yes, a clear pool would
be safer.

But I am drifting here,
in this current of mist,
as the evening heaves with
the damp weight of the fog.

---

Gosia Malgorzata Zych and Sean-Michael Gettys

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

---

Gujju Pavani and Michele Mekel

• 

•