Loading Video . . . Musician Aaron Kruziki brings us this beautiful and intricate song in response to the theme of "Lies" from Ephesians 4:25. Ephesians 4:25 When We Lie By Aaron Kruziki Credits: Lyrics and music by Aaron Kruziki; Engineered and produced by Aaron Kruziki, Long Island City, NY; Mastered by Tyler Duncan, Ann Arbor, MI Curated by: 2013 Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link "When We Lie" is a piece based on Ephesians 4:25: "Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body." Because we are all part of one body, we are part of one another. Humans are all part of a collective consciousness that bends and folds, opens and closes, much the same as a lotus flower. As a lotus flower opens at dawn, it's neighbor opens as well. At dusk, when the flower starts to close, its neighbor follows suit. Much in this manner, humans open and close, often simultaneously with our neighbors, friends, lovers and strangers. When we close off, we don't see others closing, and often assume we're the only ones that are closing. This closing is the lie. This lie, whether it comes from family, friends, or ourselves, is this act of closing. We are dishonest and go about our lives in a state of denial, making these lies sound true and be true. With this new false-truth, we start to close, often not realizing how the lie affects those around us. When we face the righteous truth within us, we start to open, and often find others open around us. Like the lotus flower opening with the sun and closing with the moon, we are all connected. The lies we tell neighbors and ourselves connect us, just as the inner-truth connects us. We have to make a choice: to choose the inner truth or the false-truth. We make the choice to either face our demons or to avoid them. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Born and bred in Wisconsin, Aaron Kruziki is a dynamic musician and composer, educator and producer. Currently employed by Steinway & Sons, as part of the Steinway Hall sales team, Manhattan, Aaron’s artistic output includes jazz, rock, pop, and the avant-garde. As a saxophonist and clarinetist, Aaron has received consecutive degrees in Jazz Studies from the New England Conservatory and Western Michigan University, studying with George Garzone and Trent Kynaston respectively. Aaron is a member of “Dapp Theory”, Andy Milne’s M-base ensemble, and is an active member of the Brooklyn and Queens DIY rock, pop and jazz scenes, performing at venues such as Rockwood Music Hall, Glasslands and The Blue Note. His voice moves fluidly from woodwinds to synths and vocoder, performing in genres ranging from synth-pop to world beat. In 2012 Aaron was commissioned by the Chelsea Music Festival to compose music based on John Cage’s “Lectures on Nothing” and is proud to be twice commissioned by “Spark and Echo Arts”. Website Aaron Kruziki About the Artist Ezekiel's Bread Aaron Kruziki Other Works By Lyrics Now you are no longer strangers to us Or no longer foreigners to heaven You are all members of our own family Citizens of our country You belong in our household With every other soul For we are all human Making choices some say are mistakes… We learn these lies to be self-evident And teach ourselves that our truth is now fake Stop lying to each other Tell the truth For we are apart of one another And when we lie to each other We hurt our own Momentary truth replaced by lies I’m wondering through this life And keep on striving Wake up every morning with sun in my eyes And soon enough clouds roll by I keep on trying Over and over I ask myself When it started in my life All this lying Stop lying to each other Tell the truth For we are apart of one another And when we lie to each other We hurt our own Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . Poet Meg Freitag explores the duality of the human experience through her poem which illuminates Genesis 6:5-9:17. Genesis 6:5-9:17 Once to Speak of His Brightness By Meg Freitag Credits: Curated by: Kent Shaw 2016 Poetry Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link I find myself going back again and again to this idea of duality, and how one can feel despair over the state of the world, regret over choices they’ve made, disappointment over unmet expectations, etc., and yet still experience moments of profound joy, gratitude, delight simultaneously. A person can do a horrible thing and still be loveable. A perpetrator can also be a victim. People are burdened with conflicting desires all day long. The desire to be cared for versus the desire to be free, for instance. Or the desire to be respected versus the desire to be liked. I’ve long been preoccupied with the Noah’s Ark story. About God commanding the deluge, and what happens to Noah and his family after the flood. I think it’s an incredible narrative with incredible imagery. But it’s also deeply unsettling. There’s so much going on in this part of Genesis that is so confusing, even unfathomable at times, particularly the moments in which God seems to contradict Himself. I wonder if perhaps coming to terms with the irreconcilably dual nature of selfhood and desire is necessary for all acts of creation. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Meg Freitag was born in Maine and currently lives in Austin, Texas. She has a BA from Sarah Lawrence College and an MFA from UT’s Michener Center for Writers, where she was a finalist for the 2015 Keene Prize for Literature. Her work has appeared in Tin House, Boston Review, Indiana Review, Day One, and Narrative, among others. Website Meg Freitag About the Artist Meg Freitag Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art How do You let your children Go like that, every which Way into the world Like chess pieces Set to a terrible music. View Full Written Work O n c e t o S p e a k o f H i s B r i g h t n e s s By Meg Frietag ( o n e ) How do You let your children Go like that, every which Way into the world Like chess pieces Set to a terrible music. How Do You just stand there And watch them pedal their bikes Away from you, downhill At breakneck speeds. Tiny softShelled crabs so numerous as to seem Like a single, disorganized organism, Clamoring all over The tops of each other Trying to get to the best air. How do You let them bury Each other in the black Suede of the sea? The first time I rode in an airplane, I felt as if I was somehow getting closer to You. I felt like my prayers For my friend Joanna, who had been hit By a car and broken Her back, would be louder In Your ear. But the higher we went, The farther I realized You were. It didn’t Even occur to me, then, That she might die, or to worry about her Never being able to walk again. I just wanted her to be well Enough to accompany me To the waterpark. I wanted to go to her House and play Operation. She was the only person I knew Who still had all the bones And organs that went to the game. That summer, I listened to the Jewel CD on repeat, singing along Alone in the sunroom of my grandparents’ Pensacola house. Picture A child, small for her age, drenched In a large new vibrato. Picture the shivering Lizards adhered to the window Screens, picture how green. And the rain That came each evening, roaring Sheets of percussive music. I thought then Of the Old Testament God, so notoriously shortTempered, still figuring Himself Out. For the longest time I couldn’t Reconcile him with You. You, Who I spoke to at night when I was afraid I might do something to accidentally conjure The devil and needed reassurance. You with the dovelight That trailed behind You Everywhere you went. How Do the two of You decide When it’s time to reach Down, pick someone Up by the scruff of his neck? The clouds turn to brick Red scabs as the sun sinks, the streetLights flashing on Like minnows. I watched The movie My Girl. It felt like a hole Had been punched through The world when the boy Was stung to death by bees As he tried to retrieve The mood ring his best friend had dropped In the woods. I felt myself projected Into the body of the girl who loved him, When she finally lost it At his funeral Because he wasn’t wearing His glasses. ( t w o ) And in real life, there was Snowflake. They called him that In seventh grade because of how Pale he was: his birch- White hair, his see-through eyelashes. The veins in his arms like radio Wires. I swear they did But when I saw him again, years later, He didn’t know what I was talking about. You’re confusing me With somebody else, he said, And I never mentioned it again. Something happened to him In Afghanistan. Orange dust Rose around him So dense I couldn’t see him Through it whenever he tried to talk To me about his time there. What does one do When they are suddenly void Of all desire? Like they couldn’t grab Hold of a want If their life depended on it. I have been Before to this place, but have always made it Back in time. Desire, this bright Spot we carry by its handle Like a lantern as we move Forward. Without it We are blind as animals that live Their entire lives underground, living The small way, with their mouths Full of dirt. Long ago, The Earth was covered In a fine white fur. Animals Slept out in the open and ate Grain from the palms Of our hands. You learned the hard way That something white won’t stay Clean for long. The bacchanalian Stench became so thick We had to line our nostrils With camphor oil just to sleep At night. You took down Everyone’s number, said I will be back For you later. No one believed You, That’s how hollow the sounds Of Earth had become. But You Showed them. I think Snowflake killed people And he was violent with me, once. I didn’t speak A word to him In the three years leading up To his death. And yet I still remember him as mostly A gentle person. A boy with crooked Wire glasses and filthy sneakers, Who had panic attacks Every time he thought About what would happen Once the landfills filled up. A summer Morning, scored by garish, Unkind light. Blue Jays scatter from the yard Like marbles, every which Way, as I cross To the compost. I know It’s in their best interest, but I wish You’d not taught the animals to fear Us. Everything Is always getting smaller As it moves away. Do you see Me, how alive I am? Growing Old as a saint down here In my little skiff. Caught Between a desire to be loved— Deeply, permanently— And a desire To be weightless. A foil Wrapper in the soup-warm sea, Gleaming Like a beacon every now and again. When the light strikes just right. Close Loading Video . . . How do You let your children Go like that, every which Way into the world Like chess pieces Set to a terrible music. Download Full Written Work

laurel-justice_liminal.jpeg Loading Video . . . Laurel Justice explores the multilayered history of Bathsheba through the stunning, physically multi-layered creation of her work in response to 1 Kings 1:28-40. 1 Kings 1:28-40 Liminal By Laurel Justice Credits: Curated by: Michael Markham 2016 12 x 16 inches Pastel on board Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link When I began engaging with the text, I was struck by the strangeness of it all: Bathsheba is visiting her husband, the dying King David, while a naked Shunnammite virgin is warming him in bed, and Nathan is outside eavesdropping so he can confirm David's intentions for the heir. What significance did Bathsheba have, that she, of all of David's countless wives, be the one summoned to his death bed (but not the one to keep him warm)? That her son, over all sons, had favor to be named king? And what uncommon wisdom might she have possessed to navigate all of the variables that made up her marriage to David? As soon as David confirms that their son, Solomon will be the heir (not Adonijah, who was trying to assume the throne), Bathsheba bowed her face to the ground, proclaiming "long live my lord King David". The rest of the passage is about how David wants Nathan to handle the change over. I started my piece with a bathing Bathsheba for an under-painting, for that is where it all began between these two. I imagined her as a person of great strength, character and courage, and the kind of person who could raise the "wisest man who ever lived". She strikes me as quite pivotal to this moment in history, being included in the genealogy of Jesus, and being a sort of midwife of the temple of Jerusalem that was to come. As I layered pastel paint over the figure, I contemplated the origin of a courtyard bath, adultery, the arc of her losses (Uriah, at least one son, etc.), her significance to David, her remarkable mothering of Solomon, and all that followed in history because of her. I represented her figure somewhat architecturally, and my subsequent marks are meant to hint at her liminal place in history. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Laurel Seibels Justice lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado, where she works from her historic loft studio as a psychotherapist, artist and art consultant. She recently served two terms as a Public Art Commissioner for the Pikes Peak Region and juries everything from latte art competitions and poetry slams, to large scale public sculptures and outdoor arts festivals. She has consulted on various digital art experiences (apps and blogs) for companies based in New York and London. Laurel also writes an occasional arts and culture feature for the local newspaper. As a visual artist, Laurel works in soft pastels, creating abstract and landscape paintings primarily inspired by the Lowcountry of SC, Colorado and New Mexico. Her commissions hail from coast to coast in the US, and her work has been exhibited widely in Colorado Springs. People describe her work as energetic, whimsical, mysterious, topographical and inspiring. A graduate of Agnes Scott College with a BA in Art, she went on to earn an MA in Counseling from Webster University in Myrtle Beach, SC. She is passionate about helping clients restore wholeness around whatever it is they feel they are meant to be in the world. Not surprisingly, many of those clients happen to be artists, writers, musicians, playwrights, dancers, etc. She designs workshops and retreats that support the personal and professional growth of creative people. She is married to Steve and has 4 children. Website Laurel Justice About the Artist Laurel Justice Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . The fantastic musical duo Ben + Vesper created mesmerizing song in response to the theme of "Memory" from Ecclesiastes 1:5-7. Ecclesiastes 1:5-7 Unto the Nor By Ben + Stamper Credits: Performed by: Ben Stamper, voice, acoustic guitar Vox by Vesper Stamper Electric Guitar by Josh Stamper Synthesizer by Nick Shopa Bass by John Mosloskie Drums by Steve Oyola Curated by: Jonathon Roberts 2013 Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link The text for this song is derived from Ecclesiastes 1:5-7. I initially chose this book because it has long been my father's favorite book of the Bible, and I read it to feel close to both my heavenly Father as well as my earthly one. I was drawn to this particular passage as it relates to the idea of memory through routine occurrence. Phenomenon such as the sun "rising" or the course of a river ceases to become phenomenon over time, yet these natural cycles are often the ones that lay entrenched in our subconscious and shape the way we respond to the world around us. Similarly, unique and mundane human patterns can form the strongest bonds to our past, and to our ultimate destiny. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Ben + Vesper are that musical married couple from NJ who are dually described as “lightly entwined earthbound angels” and “two Disneyfied hyenas yowling at each other.” Since joining up with the Sounds Familyre record label in 2005, Ben + Vesper have released four albums while performing and collaborating with the likes of Sufjan Stevens, Daniel Smith (Danielson), Kurt Weisman (Feathers) and Chris Weisman (Happy Birthday), John Mosloskie and Steve Oyola (Holler, Wild Rose!) and Nick Shopa (Papertwin). As a band, Ben + Vesper is a wide musical spectrum, and such versatility on stage and in the studio comes from their love of working with musicians from different genres and backgrounds, while Ben + Vesper’s vocals remain always at the helm. Website Ben + Stamper About the Artist Ben + Stamper Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . Actor Mike Domenyy brings a version of the Christmas story to life with his engaging performance of Luke 2. Luke 2 Luke 2: Unlikely Invitations By Mike Domeny Credits: Headshot by Michael Cinquino Curated by: Mathew Moore 2022 Scripture Performance Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link When a brand introduces a new product, it's common practice to provide advanced copies to influencers, whose opinions hold a lot of weight with a lot of people. The influencers get a first look at the new product, and go public with their announcement. The success of a new product depends on getting as many eyes on it as possible, so brands prioritize inviting the rich, the famous, and the powerful. Two thousand years ago, it was no different. Kings, governors, judges, priests, and the religious elite held tremendous influence in their regions. The success of any up-and-coming figure or new way of thinking would rise and fall on the endorsement of these powerful groups in their high-walled cities. It's shocking, then, that when God introduced the long-awaited Messiah, whom the Jewish people had been anticipating for hundreds of years, his first invitation announcement was to a group of outcast shepherds well outside the city limits. Eight days later, when Jesus' family visited the political and religious hub of Jerusalem, another invitation was given to an old man with no apparent connections in the city. Their meeting attracted no other attention but that of an old widow who never left the temple. These invitations to see a baby born to a poor family, on top of the fact that the next recorded story of Jesus occurred twelve years later, and then again eighteen years after that, shows that God did not intend to play by the typical rules of social influence. Yet Jesus grew up to be the most influential figure in all of history. Today, we are ourselves unlikely influencers in this grand invitation to meet Jesus. Because he was first announced to the outcast, the messy, the irrelevant, and the poor, we can approach him no matter our state. And we have been entrusted with sharing the good news about him to whoever is in our circle of influence. This presentation quotes Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright ©1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Mike Domeny is a speaker and performer who helps people engage with the Bible in a conversational, approachable way through short-form videos, online resources, and live presentations. Mike founded Outloud Bible Project to help people recognize their role in the conversation of the Bible by reading the Bible out loud on screen and on stage. He is the author of Thrown off Script , which draws on his decade of professional improv experience to help readers recognize unexpected changes as opportunities to grow closer to Jesus. He co-founded The Grove: Kingdom Creativity Collective to nurture and equip creative Christians to pursue their God-given mission. "Everything you need to live a fulfilling, impactful life can be found in the Bible." -Mike Domeny Website Mike Domeny About the Artist UnderDog or UnderGod? Mike Domeny Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . Poet Annette Wong plays with the story of the ant and the grasshopper in response to the theme of "Fools" from Proverbs 13:18-20. Proverbs 13:18-20 Entomology (the ant and the grasshopper) By Annette Wong Credits: Curated by: Emily Ruth Hazel 2013 Poetry Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link As I was thinking about Proverbs 13:18-20 I was reminded of fables my mother read to me when I was young. Fables, like Proverbs, teach and correct. One of the most fabled fools in my memory of Aesop's tales is the idle grasshopper, who fails to prepare for winter. Despite the urging of his friend, the ant, the grasshopper piddles his summer away. His days are sweet, filled with song and dance but when winter comes, he's left to freeze on his rickety hind legs with nothing to eat. Some of the hardest words to stomach are "I told you so." A fool is someone who needs telling so. Or is told so but chooses not to listen. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Annette Wong is a 2008 Poetry VONA-ite under the tutelage of Suheir Hammad. She was born in Los Angeles and grew up in Beijing and Hong Kong. She received her B.A. in History and International Studies from Yale University, where she was a member of Jook Songs, Yale’s Asian American Writing and Performance Group. In 2007-08 Annette was a part of New Life Fellowship Church’s Writers’ Group where she had the good fortune of meeting Emily Ruth Hazel. She currently resides in Los Angeles, where she practices civil rights law. Website Annette Wong About the Artist Annette Wong Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art Fall: there was time, still, after a summer squandered in song. View Full Written Work Entomology (the ant and the grasshopper) by Annette Wong Fall: there was time, still, after a summer squandered in song. The scythes still whistled the fruit still hung-so he danced after the cicadas had gone. And as she had, all summer long tried to warn (he paid no heed) with jaws clenched, mined what she could, what she had What more could she do? We know how the story goes: winter. A first frost. A rattling wind. No grass, no song, no swarm (one is the loneliest locust). Hobbling now, at her nest's foot His feeble shrill. Silence. And then- an antennae's twitch (her knowing look) that all familiar refrain: "Don't say I didn't tell you so." Close Loading Video . . . Fall: there was time, still, after a summer squandered in song. Download Full Written Work

the-spirit-full-image-scott-neely.jpg Loading Video . . . Inspired by 1 Corinthians 12:1-11, this abstract piece by artist Scott Neely explores the visceral presence and energy of the Spirit. 1 Corinthians 12:1-6 Three Meditations on the Spirit | 1 By Scott Neely Credits: Title: The Spirit Curated by: Marlanda Dekine 2017 12 x 19 inches Acrylic monotype on paper Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link What is that deep energy that flows through us all, that deep power in each of us, that deep hum within everything? And how is it, in all of our differences of self and culture and giftedness, when excellence emerges from one of us, when one of us really shows up as our full self in the world, even if only for a moment, we know it? We know it. We know. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Scott Neely directs the Project for Community Transformation , an initiative to strengthen congregations to transform our communities. He works intensively with the social justice organization Speaking Down Barriers , which uses facilitated dialogue to build our life together across the differences that divide us. He is a graduate of Wofford College and Harvard Divinity School. Neely served at First Presbyterian Church in Spartanburg, SC from 2006-2015, first as Director of Missions and then as Pastoral Executive. In April 2015 he presented a TEDx talk on race and racism entitled “ What Will I Teach My Son? ” A practicing artist, his work fuses writing, painting, and digital media. He writes: “My method balances expression and simplicity. I make visual poems: succinct, present, for the heart.” His work may be found at www.neelyprojects.com . Website Scott Neely About the Artist Three Meditations on the Spirit | 3 Three Meditations on the Spirit | 2 Scott Neely Other Works By View the Rest of the Series: Three Meditations on the Spirit | 2 Three Meditations on the Spirit | 3 Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . The haunting beauty in this song by Stephen Lyons carries with it the prophetic message found in Zechariah 2:8; 7:9; 8:1-2; 9:9. Read the lyrics to "City of Gold." Zechariah 7:9 Zechariah 8:1-2 Zechariah 9:9 Zechariah 2:8 City of Gold By Stephen Lyons Credits: Composed, Lyrics, Vox, Guitar by Stephen Lyons Curated by: Jonathon Roberts 2018 Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link The book of Zechariah is dense and complicated. In a series of Dreams God speaks to Zechariah revealing that He will return to Jerusalem if His people are Faithful to Him and his covenant. In Zechariah I was looking for the human connections. Jerusalem is in chaos, the exiles are waiting. We read about God’s “jealous” Love. Zechariah is having crazy dreams. What struck me in reading Zechariah and what began to emerge was this connection to the beginning—the Garden of Eden—and how much things have fallen apart. Then there is this verse: "Rejoice greatly O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Lo, your King Comes to you; triumphant and victorious is He, humble and riding on an ass, on a colt the foal of an ass." In Zechariah, God is asking us to rely on Him. God whispers: "show mercy, kindness, lift up the broken hearted, hold no enmity for your Brother." Will God find “kindness and mercy” in our Streets? Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Stephen Lyons is a Harlem-based musician/actor/songwriter. He performs with the band Bonfire Falls which released their debut album ‘ Lifetime ’ in 2016 and currently working on songs for a new EP. Stephen sang the theme song for a Nationally Syndicated Radio show heard by 8 million listeners, and was a semi-finalist for the Unsigned Only competition for his rendition of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" dedicated to his brother and parents. In 2007 he released his first solo album, ‘Fall’ which is available on Bandcamp . As a vocalist, Stephen has performed on rap artist Keon Torres' single, “We Are” and a new audiobook of poetry by LA based Musician/Writer, VK Lynne. As an actor, he has toured extensively working with such companies as Cape May Stage ( Last 5 Years ), Beginnings (reading with Katrina Lenk, Manhattan Theatre Club), The Orlando Shakespeare Theatre, Philadelphia Artists Collective, Pennsylvania Shakespeare Festival, Delaware Theatre Company, Commonwealth Classic Theatre Company. TV and web credits include: The Onion News’ ‘Bomb New York’, Investigation Discovery’s ‘Deadliest Decade’, ‘Grave Mysteries’ (Brian Orr). Stephen worked in Leadership Development for 10 years and recently started his own consulting company, LionsHeart Leadership providing keynote concerts examining courage, creativity and connection. Stephen attended De Sales University where he received his BA in Theatre. Website Stephen Lyons About the Artist Stephen Lyons Other Works By Nicholas Zork Days Uncertain lyrics .pdf Download PDF • 38KB Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . His second work for Spark+Echo Arts, composer Aaron Kruziki created "Ezekiel's Bread" in response to Ezekiel 22:29 and the theme of "poverty." Ezekiel 22:29 Ezekiel's Bread By Aaron Kruziki Credits: Music & Lyrics by Aaron Kruziki Recorded & Mixed by Aaron Kruziki Artist Location: Astoria, Queens Curated by: Jonathon Roberts 2014 Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link “Ezekiel’s Bread” is a song composed in response to Bible passage Ezekiel 22:29- The people of the land have used oppression And exercised robbery And have vexed the poor and needy: Yea, they have oppressed the stranger wrongfully It is a passage that spoke to me because we are all people of the land and simultaneous strangers. We oppress ourselves and are then quick to oppress our neighbor, the stranger. I see it every day as I commute on the Q69 bus in Astoria, Queens. I am constantly reminded of this as the bus departs from my neighborhood and goes through others of different affluence. I hear, see and taste oppression as people flow on and off the bus. The oppression is layered as different strangers come on and off. This song is a trip on the Q69. The text and the lyrics are aligned as one. The song follows a 19 measure chord progression that is repeated again and again, building momentum each time the listener is brought to the top of the form. The lyrics are repeated again and again, as instrumentation is added. Sound is used from a daily commute aboard the Q69. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Born and bred in Wisconsin, Aaron Kruziki is a dynamic musician and composer, educator and producer. Currently employed by Steinway & Sons, as part of the Steinway Hall sales team, Manhattan, Aaron’s artistic output includes jazz, rock, pop, and the avant-garde. As a saxophonist and clarinetist, Aaron has received consecutive degrees in Jazz Studies from the New England Conservatory and Western Michigan University, studying with George Garzone and Trent Kynaston respectively. Aaron is a member of “Dapp Theory”, Andy Milne’s M-base ensemble, and is an active member of the Brooklyn and Queens DIY rock, pop and jazz scenes, performing at venues such as Rockwood Music Hall, Glasslands and The Blue Note. His voice moves fluidly from woodwinds to synths and vocoder, performing in genres ranging from synth-pop to world beat. In 2012 Aaron was commissioned by the Chelsea Music Festival to compose music based on John Cage’s “Lectures on Nothing” and is proud to be twice commissioned by “Spark and Echo Arts”. Website Aaron Kruziki About the Artist When We Lie Aaron Kruziki Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . So far this year, I’ve been looking at commitments. We are the ones who believe in something, strive to make something happen, commit to it, and yet we are also the ones who break those commitments. It’s a contradiction and wrestling we all face in some form or another. Exodus 28:1-5 Exodus 28:29-30 Proverbs 19:20-21 Isaiah 50:7 Hebrews 12:2 Romans 7:15 Artist in Residence 2015: Melissa Beck Part 3 By Melissa Beck Credits: Curated by: Spark+Echo Arts, Artist in Residence 2015 Installation, Film Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link September 14, 2015 So far this year, I’ve been looking at commitments. We are the ones who believe in something, strive to make something happen, commit to it, and yet we are also the ones who break those commitments. It’s a contradiction and wrestling we all face in some form or another. My projects so far, the Disposable Commitments stack of plates and the Flint and Lint glasses look at this in some way. Both seem to focus more on the failure and inadequacies of our nature, which doesn’t exactly leave us feeling great, but know that these are not finished yet. Sometimes the in between, waiting, and unfinished states are the most unclear and yet that is where most of the work is being done. It’s out of sight and beneath the surface. Right now I will say that this is where these two projects lie. In this post I’m giving a peek into a third project. You’ll notice in the clip that I have been working on this since January, hence the snowfall. It’s a video that looks at the subtleness of decisions. In the making and breaking of our commitments, we are essentially making a million little decisions. Often those decisions are so subtle we don’t even realize them until we find ourselves somewhere we never thought we’d be in life. Those decisions weave a thread through our lives everywhere we go, in the people and places we interact with, the work we do, the attitudes we have… Sometimes it’s a lot of pressure to decide if we should do this or live here or take this job or… Exodus 28:1-5 Have Aaron your brother brought to you from among the Israelites, along with his sons Nadab and Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar, so they may serve me as priests. Make sacred garments for your brother Aaron to give him dignity and honor. Tell all the skilled workers to whom I have given wisdom in such matters that they are to make garments for Aaron, for his consecration, so he may serve me as priest. These are the garments they are to make: a breastpiece, an ephod, a robe, a woven tunic, a turban and a sash. They are to make these sacred garments for your brother Aaron and his sons, so they may serve me as priests. Have them use gold, and blue, purple and scarlet yarn, and fine linen. Exodus 28:29-30 Whenever Aaron enters the Holy Place, he will bear the names of the sons of Israel over his heart on the breastpiece of decision as a continuing memorial before the Lord. Also put the Urim and the Thummim in the breastpiece, so they may be over Aaron’s heart whenever he enters the presence of the Lord. Thus Aaron will always bear the means of making decisions for the Israelites over his heart before the Lord. I read this passage in Exodus earlier this year and was struck by the idea of a decision maker. Aaron was called to be this for the Israelites. What a role. While the chapter hardly relates to our modern day life as it contains mostly detailed instructions on priestly garments, I found the idea of a decision maker to be most relevant knowing we each are our own decision maker and yet we often make better decisions when we don’t do it on our own. So I took pieces from the passage and blended these with our modern day life. I am filming in each season, one season for each of the four colored yarns that are used to make Aaron’s priestly garment. It’s still underway and I am still processing what it is all culminating to. Since it is reliant upon the seasons, I can’t speed up the process. I have to wait. This makes me think about how we often make our decisions expecting visible and immediate results. Yet in reality, our decisions are only the beginning. Any results take far more time to cultivate and then produce something. Often the result is not dependent upon us. So like you, I am watching, waiting, anticipating what these decisions and threads will weave and create. While it may not be as I want or plan, I know that whatever it is, it’s going to be good. Decision Threads (in progress) Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Melissa Beck ’s work explores elements of the everyday redefining the familiar in unexpected ways so as to reawaken our eyes to what is often overlooked. She is an emerging artist living and working in Brooklyn, NY. Melissa grew up in Los Angeles and San Diego. She achieved her MFA in sculpture at Pratt Institute and graduated in 2013. Her dream is to create large-scale public artwork and to become an art professor. When Melissa isn’t making art, life for her consists of freelance sewing and display work, nanny-ing, dancing, laughing with her friends, visiting the California sun and taking life one step at a time with her Creator. Website Melissa Beck About the Artist Artist in Residence 2015: Melissa Beck Part 1 Artist in Residence 2015: Melissa Beck Part 2 Artist in Residence 2015: Melissa Beck Part 4 Artist in Residence 2015: Melissa Beck Breadth Melissa Beck Other Works By View Melissa's first , second , fourth , and final posts to follow the development of her 2015 Artist in Residence project. Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . This rich short story by public historian and author Sara Makeba Daise provides for the reader a taste of Revelation 1:1-3. Revelation 1:1-3 Blessed Are We By Sara Makeba Daise Credits: Featured Image by English Purcell Curated by: Marlanda Dekine 2019 Historical Fiction Short Story Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link Before even choosing this text, I knew that I would like whatever illumination I offered to be grounded in Womanist theology. I choose to center Black women and the people who are most marginalized in all that I do. The short story I told is historical fiction, based on real-life events in my hometown of Beaufort, SC. Black and white people gathered on New Year’s day to hear the Emancipation Proclamation being read aloud. And when I thought about Revelations and the idea around this earth-shattering message from God, I wanted to imagine a message with that level of severity being offered in real life. I know many people think of the Bible as fiction. As a Public Historian, I know many people think of the history of American slavery as fiction. In both cases, the stories of Black queer people, trans people, non-binary people, cis women, disabled, and other marginalized folks are rarely centered. Rarely given reverence. So this was me re-imaging a story I’ve heard my parents tell countless times about free people on St. Helena Island. The idea that the message, and the messenger, and those who received the message were all blessed. And that this message would change the world. I wanted to push that further to say, if we were centering the voices of the most marginalized from the beginning, we’d all be all the more blessed. Jesus, as I have understood him, was a champion of the most marginalized. Sandy and Hurriya are fictional. But Black people being born free into an unfree world is not. I believe liberation is possible. I believe Heaven on Earth is possible. I believe that those who came before us are waiting for us to remember the Love and Light we come from. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection As a Cultural History Interpreter and Public Historian, Sara ’s work connects past, present, and future in accessible, healing, and liberating ways. Her research and praxis include Gullah Geechee women, Womanism, Black Feminism, Afrofuturism, queerness, sexual freedom, Black affirmations, and the power to imagine and manifest better worlds. Sara is a Program Assistant for The Charles Joyner Institute for Gullah Geechee & African Diaspora Studies at Coastal Carolina University. She was one of the 4 original Interpretive Aides at Mcleod Plantation Historic Site in Charleston, SC when it opened to the public in 2014. She is a living historian with the Slave Dwelling Project. She is also a Digital Archivist for Real Black Grandmothers, an online archive centering the stories of Black Grandmothers throughout the diaspora. A native of Beaufort, SC, She earned her B.A. in Communication with a minor in African American Studies from the College of Charleston, and she received her M.A. in Public History from Union Institute & University. Sara is one of the 2018 recipients of the Brian Webb Award for Outstanding MA Thesis in History & Culture. Website Sara Makeba Daise About the Artist Sara Makeba Daise Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art It was warm that day. Unreasonably warm for New Years in Beaufort, SC. Damp air blew in off the saltwater. View Full Written Work Blessed Are We by Sara Makeba Daise It was warm that day. Unreasonably warm for New Years in Beaufort, SC. Damp air blew in off the saltwater. The sweet, salty scent from the marsh filled everyone's noses. It was still early as they gathered. In hundreds. Black and white. Free and formerly enslaved. The spirits of The Ones who 'd been there centuries before were also present. Watching. Those alive and in their bodies gathered under that big oak tree on Smith Plantation. One woman, Sandy, wore her daughter Hurriya wrapped to her body in Mama Venus' old shawl as she walked deliberately toward the growing crowd. Venus hadn't been her real mama. Sandy's real mama had been sold when Sandy was just a lee gal. Ain nothin but 5 years old. Mama Venus had swept in, like the old folks do, bringing the young Sandy into her own cabin on Laurel Plantation, a cabin that she shared with her sister Osha, and three other kids. All girls. It was rare in some places. A cabin full of women-folk. But rare things often happened on St. Helena Island. The folks there expected the unexpected. Expected the rare. "What a day, Riri. What a day." Sandy murmured into Hurriya's ear. The two had arrived on foot, like most of the other Black people in attendance. Some had walked for miles from nearby plantations. Sandy and Riri, too, had made the walk from the plantation where Riri had been born. Hurriya was big enough to walk, but the closer they'd gotten to the growing crowd, Sandy had chosen to pick her up again. It wasn't fear she'd felt. But excitement. A stirring in her spirit. And affirmation. And she wanted to feel her baby's heartbeat close to her own. They gathered today to celebrate the proud Black US troops. And to hear that man Brisbane read them freedom words from Lincoln. William Henry Brisbane, a Baptist minister and former slave owner, had seen the sin rooted in his ways, sold all of his slaves and moved to Ohio. Becoming an avid abolitionist, he later returned to the South, repurchasing and freeing all but one of his former slaves. And it was he who was given the great honor of reading the Emancipation Proclamation to the people who built this nation with their bodies. "That on the first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any State or designated part of a State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free; and the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom." Sandy and many others on the Sea Islands had been "free" for months. Since the day of the Big Gun Shoot. White masters had fled with their families, trying to escape the Union army. Sandy had almost been snatched up that day--her Master Long violently pleading that the women and girls in Mama Venus' cabin pack up and leave with them. "You ungrateful Black wenches!" Long yelled angrily. "This war don't mean nothin! Lincoln don't mean nothin! You still belong to me, and I said ‚'Get yerselves together and come on!'" Mama Venus had looked unbothered by his rage, and communicated silently to Sandy and the others that they were not to move. Sitting in front of the open fire in their cabin, Venus just kept stirring a large pot of something faint, staring into the flames as if she couldn't hear anything. Long had left shortly after. Venus hadn't threatened him. Hadn't acknowledged him at all. His own fear or a world he couldn't explain sent him and his family along with a caravan of other white plantation owners. Attempting to outrun the root of their lies. The costs of their delusions. Sandy, Venus, and thousands of others had BEEN free for months. Free when the Union came. Free when the masters left. Free when Union troops began raiding abandoned plantation communities for able-bodied Black men to fight in the war. Pillaging for women to service their wants and needs. Free when the abolitionists and missionaries brought education and contempt for their ancient ways of knowing. Free. But Lincoln had called them "contraband." Today that was different. Brisbane read: And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defence; and I recommend to them that, in all cases when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages. And I further declare and make known, that such persons of suitable condition, will be received into the armed service of the United States to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service. And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution, upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind, and the gracious favor of Almighty God. The crowd at Smith Plantation had grown to the thousands. Black and white. The Sea Islanders, the formerly enslaved dressed in their finest wares. Aprons crisp and white. Brightly colored headwraps. Their Gullah language spoken quickly and with passion. Anyone from out of town who might've heard the Sea Islanders' creole, seen the ocean of shining, Black faces, might've wondered what part of Africa they'd stumbled upon. Sandy listened intently to the proclamation, sifting through its meaning. She waited to feel seen by those bringing this long, long-awaited message. Waited for the words to match some truth she knew. And then a young man's voice broke through the crowd, piercing through the excited chatter. "My country 'tis of thee..." There was a hush. And a murmur as the young man sang. As if encouraged by those unseen spirits, other newly free Sea Islanders joined in his song. "Sweet land of liberty..." Sun shown on her face, and the face of her baby as Sandy, too, added her voice to the thousands. The song felt like a long exhale. "Land where our fathers died." Sandy sang... Thinking of Venus. Thinking of her mama. Carved out her space in time as she sang. "Let freedom ring..." Even if only remembered by her daughter. Hurriyya. No longer slave. No longer contraband. Sandy and Hurriyya were free. Their people were free. Free. She wept. Shuddered as the eloquent and prickly words washed over and through her. Other people hugged loved ones close. Men did not attempt to hide their tears. The crowd swayed and shook. Their words lifted, swirling and spiraling around the egrets whose wings flapped, seemingly bringing the voices higher. And higher. Free. Sandy smiled. Finally feeling seen. Tears slid down her cheeks, pooling in the kinky hair of her daughter. Her daughter Hurriya who knew. Who'd known before the white man came and read the words that caused her mama's heart to thump thump thump. Hurriya had known before she came to her mama. Before she'd swam around inside her. Sharing blood. Nutrients. Breath. Before being born into government-sanctioned slavery. She'd known before all of this. Came here knowing. Came here free. No. This white man hadn't brought her any new information. Lincoln wasn't offering some new perspective. They were born free. Born free into a world where folks had decided based on some supposed divine authority, that they were slaves. Hurriya giggled as the harmonies soared around and over her, reminding her of the home and love she came from. Her mama's tears reminded her of things she knew. Things she'd come here to teach. Ignited. Charged. Message received from messenger. "Free" she gurgled to herself. "Free" her mama said back. And everything around them affirmed this message. "Free to be as we are," the birds seemed to sing. "Free to be as bright as I was created to be", the sun seemed to shine. "I came into this world with everything I'll ever need," sang the birds above the crowd. "I am not to be owned. My presence is a present. A gift," spoke the grass. "We belong to no one. We are connected to everything and attached to nothing. We are one." The trees stared. "I am limitless space," the sky exhaled. And Blessed were those who gathered there. To feel everything around them affirm their freedom. And Blessed are free Black women, whose liberation necessitates the destruction of every form of oppression. Sources: Conley, Casey. "'Oh, Freedom': Hundreds gather in Beaufort to mark the 150th anniversary of slavery's end." The Beaufort Gazette, January 1, 2013. https://www.islandpacket.com/news/local/community/beaufort-news/article33493509.html Transcript of Emancipation Proclamation (1863). https://www.ourdocuments.gov/doc.php?flash=false&doc=34&page=transcript Close Loading Video . . . It was warm that day. Unreasonably warm for New Years in Beaufort, SC. Damp air blew in off the saltwater. Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . Desimber Rose Wattleton's poem, "Naked Grace," looks at our broken tendencies transposed with grace in her creative interpretation of Genesis 9:18-28. Genesis 9:18-28 Naked Grace By Desimber Rose Wattleton Credits: Curated by: Marlanda Dekine 2019 Spoken Word Poetry Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link This poem explores the nature of God's grace as it pertains to Genesis 9:18-28, a God who sees our sin, but covers us with mercy, and refuses to allow our process to cancel our purpose. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Desimber Rose Wattleton is an author, poet, and pastor of The Rock Worship Center in West Union, South Carolina. She has served the Body of Christ as a teacher, motivational speaker, and spoken word artist. Empowering believers and reaching the world with love and truth is what she seeks to do with every opportunity to share the Gospel. Desimber Rose has authored a book of poems entitled Interpretations , a children’s book entitled Gumbo World , biblical study resource God Does Not Want Your Bill Money, and digital devotional “Jesus Is King.” Facebook: Desimber.Rose Twitter: DesimberRose Website Desimber Rose Wattleton About the Artist Desimber Rose Wattleton Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art Somebody said opportunity knocks, but I have to disagree, if destiny 's the house, opportunity is the door, and the only one knocking is me View Full Written Work Naked Grace by Desimber Rose Wattleton Somebody said opportunity knocks, but I have to disagree, if destiny’s the house, opportunity is the door, and the only one knocking is me… Bang, Bang on the door till my knuckles bleed, while my soul leans on the bell, every now and then I try picking the lock, but shortcuts always lead to hell…so foolish…if I’d stop asking amidst I’m sure butterflies would lend me their wings…but every failed attempt to pimp the effects rape grace repeatedly…so ruthless…make Him my homie lover friend, side piece, or a one night stand…throw a prayer up, ask The Word to turn a trick, I want miracles on demand…we do this Parade our sins across the stage, invite Jesus to the show…exposed…naked and unashamed because of what I know, if I shake this world hard enough to make faith clap maybe bondage will fall to the floor…transposed…and for every article of sin I take off I become more of a bride and less of a whore…composed…red letters spell my name, “it is finished” indicate He could do no more…case closed…in the meantime, I’m grateful God’s a big tipper, I swear I heard Christ whisper I’m in love with a stripper, when He opened the door… Close Loading Video . . . Somebody said opportunity knocks, but I have to disagree, if destiny 's the house, opportunity is the door, and the only one knocking is me Download Full Written Work