Oil Monster Katrina Zezza Loading Video . . . Artist and theologian Katrina Ross illuminates the timeless words of Revelation 13:1-2 with a lens of today's potential context. Revelation 13:1-2 Oil Monster By Katrina Ross Credits: Curated by: Spark+Echo Arts 2020 Pen + Photoshop Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link Illuminating this passage was challenging for me, because of how it has been used to terrorize and demonize groups of people, but I chose it because I've always loved drawing giant monsters. There are a variety of interpretations for the "beasts" described in the Book of Revelation, but it is widely thought that the beasts are meant to represent religious and economic powers within society which persuade people to pledge their allegiance to institutional powers, often at the expense of what is good and right. In its original context, the beast of the sea was likely a subversive reference to the imperial cult of Rome and specifically Emperor Nero who was a notoriously brutal and unjust persecutor. However, this story has found its way into the narrative of other battles and culture wars since. As with most Bible stories, Revelation can be used to justify almost any worldview. The beast can become whatever you find most threatening or what you see as the greatest evil of our time, but I think it is important to keep God's faithfulness in mind as we interpret scripture. I find it especially troubling when the beast is said to represent marginalized groups because this text was written to give people hope for justice in the face of institutionalized cruelty, not to further subjugate the powerless. Lately, I've been thinking about how theology is used to uphold unjust systems of power. For our context, I think the beast of the sea would more appropriately symbolize wealth inequality, systemic injustice and corporate greed. The seven heads of the beast, said to be seven emperors who formed the Roman Empire, might today be the seven "supermajors" of Big Oil whose influence disproportionately controls political and economic direction worldwide. I think this story, found in the Book of Revelation, is about God's witness to the oppressive forces in our world, which will be overcome in God's time and with our compassionate action. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Katrina Ross is currently an M.Div student at Union Theological Seminary in New York City, and she has also worked as a freelance graphic designer and artist for many years. She draws things using ink, water-based paints and digital applications. Katrina’s inspiration is often derived from things she thinks she saw, or symbols that want to be reconfigured. She tries to avoid explicit narrative to leave room for a range of experiences, because your contribution as the viewer is central to the meaning. Website: katrinaross.net Blog: katrinaross.blogspot.com Website Katrina Ross About the Artist Samuel and Time Travel Katrina Ross Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . This intimate poem by multi-disciplinary artist Adrienne Oliver invites the reader to explore love through patience and constancy in response to 2 Peter 3:8-10. 2 Peter 3:8-10 Child of Promise By Adrienne Oliver Credits: Curated by: Laura Eve Engel + Rebecca Testrake 2018 Poetry Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link There is a patience in devotion; a giving not just of one’s self, but of one’s time. Devotion is enduring and unwavering, constant in its endless generosity, drawing strength not from the heart really, but from the subject of the heart’s attachment. Motherhood is faithful, and here the faithful are called to do as mothers do: devote one’s whole self, body and soul, with trust. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Adrienne Oliver is a performer, educator, and writer. Her work explores the intersection of the mundane and magical. Through memoirs and multi-modal explorations, she seeks to highlight the nuance and performance of both woman and motherhood. Her essays and poetry have been featured in several digital publications and journals as well as Tribe de Mama, The Village Magazine, Parents Magazine, and Mama, Bare . She lives in Charlottesville, Virginia with her daughter, Pearl. Website Adrienne Oliver About the Artist Adrienne Oliver Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art Beloved, sweet mystery of patience, summation of these thousand silent vows. suspended in promises divine, shrouded in your permanence, I remain. View Full Written Work Child of Promise By Adrienne Oliver Beloved, sweet mystery of patience, summation of these thousand silent vows. suspended in promises divine, shrouded in your permanence, I remain. heart in hand, padding hallways, a small penance for sudden constancy. steady fervor scuttles me ever forward. breath builds, and laps over memories. echoing might rings, as a thousand bells. until, as the dawn, you break me sneaking ambush of spirit. and the heaving sky will bear you earthside, and we and you and I and this deafening world will melt in the fires of love until forever. Idling champion of my redesign, I am awakened. Close Loading Video . . . Beloved, sweet mystery of patience, summation of these thousand silent vows. suspended in promises divine, shrouded in your permanence, I remain. Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . Filmmaker Victor Carrera has created this meditative response to Lamentations 2:18. Lamentations 2:18 TEARS By Victor Carrera Credits: Curated by: Spark+Echo Arts, Selected from Artist Submissions 2015 Film Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link Day and night there is a vivid lament at the heart of God. Sometimes the lament is soft, other times is loud. It is never cold, but is always pure. A Bride cries an infinity cry. Her tears fall over the wall of Zion. She asked God, "How it is called the waterfall?" He replayed, 'The Cry of the Bridge.' God employs tears to calm the Bride. She ends her cry at the Heart of God. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Victor Carrera’s greatest passions are God, youth ministries, evangelism, and beautiful art. He has experience in lecturing and teaching in Bible, Story and Film, in mentoring writers and discipleship, and in producing inspirational content with images, sounds and words. He is the founder and Creative Executive of Kingdoministry -Hope. A project in its 4th edition, in which creativity, academics and other initiatives come to live: www.kingdoministry.org Website Victor Carrera About the Artist Victor Carrera 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 phrase kept repeating in my mind: “he set his face like a flint” Exodus 28:1-5 Exodus 28:29-30 Proverbs 19:20-21 Isaiah 50:6-8 Hebrews 12:2 Romans 7:15 Artist in Residence 2015: Melissa Beck Part 2 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 June 22, 2015 The phrase kept repeating in my mind: “he set his face like a flint” It kept speaking at me, though I didn’t know exactly what it meant. Even so, I adopted it into my thinking, and let it guide me in all I was doing. I imagined myself not being swayed by emotion, but staying the course because determination was stronger. I realized I had been letting disappointment get the best of me without even realizing it. I was in a strange place in life with little motivation but still strong dreams. I had prayed endlessly for some direction in my art endeavors and for a job, but, after so many tries and no success, I felt that my prayers and efforts had gone stale. However, I came to see that responding to the feeling of being stale was a form of giving up and being disappointed. I knew there had to be a better way to respond to these setbacks, even if they indeed were my reality. After chewing on this phrase, I found myself emailing my mom: “I didn’t even know exactly what it meant, but I thought it meant focused, going after the goal whatever the cost, literally making your face like a strong stone that can’t be moved (I guess that’s what “flint” is..? Not to be confused with “lint”…haha! definitely not the same thing).” Although humorous, this contrast of flint and lint was a clear picture of what I was thinking about. Lint is just excess; it is unstable and unnecessary in life. However, at the same time, it is inevitable. Lint is in every nook and cranny of our lives, and, even if we vacuum under the couch, wash our clothes, or clear out the dryer filter, lint will appear again. It floats in the air, visible in certain lights, invisible in others, ever changing its form. I thought about how I can be this way, that I tend to look around without focus, shifting like bits of lint in the air, unsure of what form I want to take. When I read this verse, I realized that setting my face like flint is something I have to do intentionally. Lint just happens, but a face like flint is something that is “set”–it is developed, crafted, and refined over time. So, for this piece, I set out to do a challenging work: I set out to make a pair of glasses. I wanted both the process of creating this piece and the piece itself to reflect this relationship of lint and flint. Bits of lint would be mixed into the resin that would set to hard, usable frames. I would then get lenses made in my prescription to fit the frame, so they could be usable eyeglasses, literally and metaphorically making my “face set like a flint.” Making glasses frames was something I’ve never done before, but that had never stopped me from taking on a project before. I was determined to create these and present it here as my second piece for Spark and Echo, so I did some research, met with a professional mold maker/former professor, and got to work. However, my attempts left me in a sticky mess (literally) and more complications than I want to go into here. I didn’t have a plan B except to abandon it, which I still could … But what was this piece about from the beginning anyway? I knew I still believed in the concept and the verse. And I knew that determination has to keep going even when I don’t feel determined. Therefore, as much as I would rather just not keep trying, I am going to. For this year-long residency, I’m exploring what it looks like to be committed to something, and sometimes that looks like wanting to give up. I think that’s okay to sit in that for a time. Perhaps this post, this in-progress part is more about the lint and less about the flint, more about the effort and process of “setting” our faces like flint rather than what it looks like when it’s polished and ready. To get to that place, to set our faces in flint, it often takes more time than we expect, even when we plan well and are overflowing with determination. In the end, I wanted to present a nicely finished piece, but instead I’m sharing a rough draft, the failed attempts, the linty in-between part that might not seem that impressive. However, these are all a vital part. The multiple attempts that failed give greater significance and meaning to something when it finally does succeed. I know this is nothing new, for every human is linty and failed. We all must believe that failures are not the end of the story, nor should we make them to be. So stay tuned, this piece and the journey is not finished yet. Flint and Lint, Melissa Beck 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 3 Artist in Residence 2015: Melissa Beck Part 4 Artist in Residence 2015: Melissa Beck Breadth Melissa Beck Other Works By View Melissa's first , third , 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 . . . Dancer and choreographer Christine Suarez presents her final post on her project, Dancing the Book of Ruth, created as a 2015 Artist in Residence. Ruth 1:16-17 Artist in Residence 2015: Christine Suarez By Christine Suarez Credits: Title: Dancing the Book of Ruth Curated by: Spark & Echo Arts, Artist in Residence 2015 2015 Dance Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link It is bittersweet to submit my final post on my project. It has been a beautiful journey. And I am so grateful to share it and be supported in this way. On August 29, we performed Dancing the Book of Ruth for a generous audience at 1450 Ocean/Camera Obscura in Santa Monica, CA. It was truly a satisfying culmination of my residencies with Spark and Echo Arts and 1450 Ocean/Camera Obscura. Our performance ran about 45 minutes. I was so pleased to have collaborated with dancers, Carol McDowell and Rebeca Hernandez. A quick re-cap of my process: I was drawn to the Book of Ruth because of the story and relationship between Ruth and Naomi. I identify with Naomi's depth of desperation and feeling that God had forsaken her. I am inspired by Ruth's unshakable faith and hope. And together they do something that no other Biblical women do: they reshape what a family is and how women are supposed to behave. For this manifestation of the work I designed it in part as a site-specific piece and in part as a lecture-demonstration. It was important to me for the audience to experience the real landscape of the location and to see the work from different perspectives. It was also important to me to tell the story while also sharing our creative process. I ended up writing my own version of the story. I quote the Book of Ruth directly twice. The first with Ruth's speech to Naomi: "Don't urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me." Like I do with most of my work, I try to infuse it with some humor. After I quoted Ruth's speech, I looked at the audience and said, "Can you imagine feeling that way to your mother-in-law?" The second passage I quote is what Naomi says upon her homecoming arrival in Bethlehem: "'Don't call me Naomi,' she told them. 'Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter. I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi? The Lord has afflicted me; the Almighty has brought misfortune upon me.'" Our video shows how we were inspired by a series of paintings that capture the moment of Ruth’s devotion to Naomi. I had the paintings up on our studio wall throughout our process. We used these images as a source for movement material. We then manipulated the shapes by moving them through space, changing speed and spatial relationships. We morphed these paintings to reflect how these women reconfigured their ideas of themselves. We also played with patterns in space to represent how these two women navigate the cultural structure, which they lived – how they both continued on with their lives together though with great uncertainty. To end the work, we developed a series of improvisation structures to embody different aspects of Naomi and Ruth. Our audience was an interesting cross section of people – all were particularly interested in the Book of Ruth. Some of whom I imagine would not normally be interested in dance-theater had it not been for the subject matter. I love that so much! We had a lot of interesting conversations post-performance about Ruth and her motives – about Naomi and how despite her loses still had a plan for survival. What was most interesting to me was to hear how important this text is to both Christian and Jewish people. In attendance were both a Rabbi and a Roman Catholic priest along with other religious people. I had interesting conversations about how this work could live in churches and synagogues. Or how I could use the structure of the piece to work with congregations to create a new version of it. It was very exciting. I plan on continuing to work on this project in 2016. I would like to investigate further how to relate to the text. How can the performers and myself be in dialogue with these ancient Biblical women? I am curious about new entry points into the story and these women's lives. I appreciate any thoughts or reflections. Email me at info@suarezdance.org . Thanks! Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Christine Suarez is a Los Angeles-based choreographer, performer and educator. Born in Caracas, Venezuela and raised in Baton Rouge Louisiana, Christine made her first works of choreography to the Grease soundtrack. Since then she has created eleven evening-length dance-theater works, numerous site-specific and community events and close to a dozen dances for the theater and film, along with teaching, creating and performing at school sites all over the U.S. While living in New York City from 1994-2006, her work was presented at various venues including Danspace Project, P.S. 122, HERE, Joyce SoHo and Dixon Place. In 1998 she founded SuarezDanceTheater, a not-for-profit, ensemble of dancers, actors and musicians. SuarezDanceTheater examines the unexpected – creating dance-theater in unexpected places with unexpected people about unexpected subjects. Christine and company were Artists in Residence at Tribeca Performing Arts Center from 2003-2006. Her work has toured nationally and internationally to over 20 cities. Her work happens in theaters, houses, parks, Churches, galleries, sidewalks and beaches. She collaborates with multi-generational performers along with parents, children, veterans, high school students and teen mothers. Since relocating to Los Angeles, she has been invigorated by making dances in unexpected places. Wet Spots (2008) was a site-specific performance about female orgasm that she created in collaboration with a multi-generational cast of women. The Los Angeles Times called it “ingeniously crafted…poignant…hilarious.” She has organized community dance participatory performances in parks, beaches and classrooms in partnership with city governments, community based organizations and schools. She has also been touring Wet Spots: Solo to Tallinn, Estonia, Movement Research at Judson Church (New York City), The Garage (San Francisco), Emory University (Atlanta, GA), The A.W.A.R.D. Show! (REDCAT). Most recently she premiered her new evening length work MOTHER . at the Motion Pacific at the Santa Cruz Fringe Festival and Highways Performance Space in Santa Monica, CA. As an educator, Christine has worked at public schools all over the New York City and Los Angeles area. She has been a guest teacher/choreographer at California State University San Marcos, California State University Los Angeles, Emory University, Indiana University, Southeastern University of Louisiana and Louisiana State University. She holds an MFA in choreography from UCLA’s World Arts and Cultures Department and a BA in Theater and English Literature from Emory University. She is a government contractor co-creating a dance program for Veterans at The School for Better Living, a psycho-social research initiative a the West Los Angeles VA Hospital. She also works as a teaching artist with the HeArt Project. She has been awarded grants from the Center for Cultural Innovation, Lower Manhattan Cultural Council, Puffin Foundation, Meet the Composer, the Association for Hispanic Arts, JP Morgan Chase Regrant, the Field and the 92nd Street Y Harkness Dance Center. She is honored to be a Hispanic Scholarship Fund/Cheech Marin Endowed Scholarship Scholar and recipient of the Hispanic Scholarship Fund McNamara Family Creative Arts Projects Grant. (Photo by CedarBough Saeji) www.suarezdance.org Website Christine Suarez About the Artist Artist in Residence 2015: Christine Suarez Part 2 Artist in Residence 2015: Christine Suarez Part 3 Artist in Residence 2015: Christine Suarez Part 1 The joy of our heart has ceased; Our dance has turned into mourning. Christine Suarez Other Works By Follow the developmental journey of Christine's project by reading her first , second , and third post written over the course of the year. 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ddu_image2.jpg ddu_image1-resized.jpg ddu_image2.jpg ddu_image3-resized.jpg ddu_image4-resized.jpg ddu_image5-resized.jpg ddu_image6-resized.jpg ddu_image7.jpg ddu_image8-resized.jpg Loading Video . . . Photographer Daniel Du brings us this beautiful set of photographs in response to the theme of "poverty" and Philippians 4:19. Philippians 4:19 Decay and Provision By Daniel Du Credits: Artist Location: New York City Curated by: Brian Dang 2014 16 x24 inches Photography, C Prints (8) Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link Walking through the streets of New York, there is a pervasive amount of decay and waste. There is a sense of temporality and fragility in the human structures that cross our paths. Looking closer, there is evidence of the passage of time and the stratification of generations of cultures one on top of another in the peeling of layers and in the accumulation of debris. In this photo series, I look to decay for renewal. Is renewal evident as time wears objects from order to chaos? I think the answer lies in perspective, in the viewer's vantage point. Whether it's how light changes, how compositions are rearranged, or how points-of-view are juxtaposed together, there is room to reflect on all the layers behind the veneer of what we see within a wider context. Looking this way shows evidence of sustainability that transcends these structures and materials. This series reveals an enduring renewal through the passage of time. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Daniel Du is photographer living and working in New York City. Born in Shishou, China, Daniel got his BFA at the University of Texas. Daniel is currently an artist in residence with Transform Arts and is a member of the Long Island City Artists Collective. Website Daniel Du About the Artist Daniel Du 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 three bandmembers in SHPWRCK explore their personal connection to the story of the prodigal son in this passionate response to Luke 15:11-32. Luke 15:11-32 Prodigals By SHPWRCK band Credits: Lyrics and Music, SHPWRCK; Guitar, Lead VOX, Brock Elliott; Drums, Kyle Jeremica; Bass, Support VOX, Chris Ireland; Recording and Mixing, Pat Hills at Earthtone Record Co.; Photography and Video, Highflier Productions Curated by: Rebecca Testrake 2019 Song Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link This passage has always resonated with us as a band. As Christians, the story of the prodigal son is one that shocks, frustrates, and warms our hearts. The son, in an act of cold, heartless dishonor, demands his inheritance and leaves his fathers house, wastes every cent and finds himself in ruin. It's in this realization of lowliness, that the son determines to return home and beg for a chance to be a slave in his fathers house. The father spots his lost son returning home and runs to his son, throwing his arms around him, showing immediate grace, forgiveness, and restoration to the family. This story is closely tied to our faith and represents the love God has shown towards those whom He has called. Like the son — who raised his fist to his father, left his home, and squandered his inheritance — we find ourselves in ruin and without hope. We have broken God's law and because of this, we face the righteous judgement of God, but in an ultimate display of mercy God sent his one and only son to take the punishment that we deserve. Jesus Christ took our place on the cross and we stand, justified by Him, rescued and restored, forgiven of every rebellious act we have every carried out. Just as the father greeted and forgave his son, we too have been radically forgiven by God. The music was written with this state of rebellion and restoration in mind; as the song moves from minor to major, mellow to intense, the words paint a picture of two first-person views of the story: from the view of the Prodigal son, and from the view of his father. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection SHPWRCK is a three-piece aggressive indie rock band out of Sacramento, CA. The band consists of: Lead vocalist and guitar player — Brock Elliott Drummer — Kyle Jeremica Support vocalist and bass player — Chris Ireland Established in 2015, their music ebbs and flows from heavy to melodic, driving to ambient, bluesy to experimental, with Christian themes and lyrics throughout. Website SHPWRCK band About the Artist SHPWRCK band Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Sletten Create Clean Heart Lighter Smaller Cef Contrast Adjustment Loading Video . . . Visual artist Ingrid Sletten was naturally drawn to Psalm 51:11 as the longing expressed by the psalmist mirrors the themes of her works that seek to depict the divine residing in the physical body. Psalms 51:11 A Clean Heart, O God! By Ingrid Sletten Credits: Curated by: Laurel Justice 2017 8 x 11 1/4 inches Gouache on heavy paper Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link About the This Work Life is difficult! It has ups and downs. My faith sustains me in the journey. I have a daily prayer ritual that includes Psalm 51, of which this verse is a verse that I recite daily. In that reciting I am fervently asking God to direct me to the light, to the positive side of the soul. So, when Spark and Echo asked for a verse I had an easy choice! I selected what I pray every day from the heart. I am showing my experience of God’s answer to my prayer in me and around me. In the image I am gazing out at you and you can see intimately the spirit at work in response to my prayer. The Spirit is in the abstract forms around me – circles of various sizes and colors. The colors suggest the bright light – and also the essential minerality -- of the Spirit. The varying thickness of the paint shows the palpable, tactile sense I have of the energy of the Spirit. My face shines with the infusion of the Spirit! It is, I am, experienced as having been cleansed. I hold this moment, this image, as another and eternal prayer for continued cleansing of the heart. About My Body of Work I have painted human figures and abstract shapes for the last seventeen years. In some images, the figure is alone in the work. In others the abstract forms occur alone. The human and the abstract forms also appear together. Most of my work is on paper using tempera, water color and charcoal. For the human figure I draw from life using a model. My figures are often drawn larger than life. The abstractions are linear or circular shapes. Both language systems are necessary for what I wish to communicate. Through the figurative language I intend to depict the divine that resides in the physical body. These depictions communicate the presence of the divine spirit, or a divine spiritual state such as joy, peace, tranquility; truth. The abstractions depict the energy of the divine presence that may be within and around the body. My work is connected to meditation and reflection practices combined with the experience of life drawing. Abstract images of shapes and colors may come to my imagination during or after meditation. As I draw from life or reflect on existing drawings of the figure, I imagine the energy in or around the figure in a particular form or color. “My images are intended to represent the divine within the human person, through natural depictions of the physical body as well as through abstract forms.” Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Descended from Norwegian immigrants who settled in Wisconsin in the early 20th century, Ingrid Sletten moved to New York twenty years ago and considers herself a New Yorker. She is proud of her hometown as a collective of diverse, courageous and persistent people. Fifteen years ago, Ingrid began a journey as an artist and a spiritual director. She is now an active visual artist producing exhibit work that depicts human figures and abstract shapes with a focus on the presence of the divine in the images. Ingrid has a Master’s Degree in Christian Spirituality from Fordham University, Bronx, New York. Privileged to serve in the media industry in New York, Ingrid worked in the field for twenty years -- serving Fortune 500 Companies through the dot.com boom and beyond. Six years ago she began a career in the Architecture, Engineering and Construction field where she found joy combining her expertise in business and media with her first love: spirituality and the visual arts. Ingrid's family property, The River Cabin, is located in Chetek, Wisconsin. Her family is beyond dear to her. They help her focus on God’s presence and social justice; areas in which she hopes to champion as long as she is graced to be on this earth. Website Ingrid Sletten About the Artist Ingrid Sletten Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

veridical_claire-bateman.jpg Loading Video . . . The lush visuals of Claire Bateman's work hearken to the tangible abundance of God's mercy offered in Jude 1:2. Jude 1:2 Veridical By Claire Bateman Credits: Curated by: Jonathon Roberts 2017 Alcohol inks on three stacked layers of polyester film Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link May mercy, peace, and love be lavished on you. In my piece, "Veridical," I imagine this lavishing as a kind of botanical abundance, as expressed in Hildegard of Bingen's poetic statement, "The Word is living, being, spirit, all verdant greening, all creativity. This Word manifests itself in every creature." Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Claire Bateman is the author of eight poetry collections, most recently, Scape with New Issues Poetry & Prose (Kalamazoo). Her other collections are The Bicycle Slow Race (Wesleyan University Press, 1991), Friction (Eighth Mountain Poetry Prize, 1998), At the Funeral of the Ether (Ninety-Six Press, 1998), Clumsy (New Issues Poetry & Prose, 2003), Leap (New Issues, 2005), Coronology (Etruscan Press, 2010), and Locals (Serving House Books, 2012). She has been awarded Individual Artist Fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Tennessee Arts Commission, and the Surdna Foundation, as well as the New Millennium Writing Award and two Pushcart Prizes, and has taught at Clemson University and various workshops and conferences. She lives in Greenville, SC, teaches at the Fine Arts Center, and is an advisory editor for Orison Press. More of her work can be found at clairebatemanwork.blogspot.com Website Claire Bateman About the Artist Hannah Claire Bateman Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . In this collaborative project, musician Peter Mawanga and visual artist Nicora Gangi teamed up to produce a multi-sensory response to John 16:33. Below are the lyrics and images from their project. John 16:33 Yimbira (Sing) By Peter Mawanga + Nicora Gangi Credits: Collaborating Artists: Peter Mawanga + Nicora Gangi Song Written + Composed by Peter Mawanga Nylon Guitar + Vocals by Peter Mawanga Electric Guitar by Faith Mussa Bass Guitar by Alfred Sitolo Nkhoma Trumpets by Kelly Dehnert Saxophone by Rick Deja Drums by Dryson Mwimba Visual Artwork by Nicora Gangi Curated by: Spark + Echo Arts 2020 6 x 9 inches Paper + Glue Collage Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link Peter Mawanga This collaboration was an eye-opener for me as a musician, and I believe it can only be the works of the Holy Spirit. I believe that merging art and music means a new door has opened for my music ministry and another step taken towards the great commission. Nicora Gangi Collaborating with Peter Mawanga was like crossing the threshold of joy — the Spirit of Christ lifted us out of our flesh and placed us in the realm of making melody in our hearts, singing with abandoned exuberance to Him. “Sing to the Lord a new song!” ( Psalm 149 ). Process: By means of a concordance and commentary I studied the John 16:33 passage “so that in Me you may have peace.” I was lead by the Spirit through color and design to create a series of paper collages (pieces of colored paper cut from magazines and glued to a support). The colors and movements of this passage are ones based upon both activity and passivity. Jesus' statement, represented by colors of red, yellow, and orange) is active: It is what He will do for those who believe in Him. We are the passive recipients of this peace which we did nothing to deserve (represented by colors of blue, brown, green, and white). The will of Christ that His disciples should have peace within, whatever their troubles may be without informed my designs concepts of opposition, transition, and subordination. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Peter Mawanga has attracted worldwide acclaim with his music, Nyanja Vibes , performing on world stages in Africa, Europe and America. Not a stranger to the BBC and other media outlets, Mawanga has established himself as one of the living legends in Malawi and Africa. Blending traditional instruments as the Nyanja’s Nsansi (thumb piano), Visekese (shakers), Valimba (xylophone), and Kaligo (a single-stringed instrument), with contemporary instruments, he produces music that is fondly described by many as therapeutic and spiritual, drawing from the Nyanja’s core values of love, peace and calm. Nicora Gangi was educated at Syracuse University, Syracuse, New York, USA (BFA 1974 and MFA 1976). She was a Professor of Art at Syracuse University for 29 years. Gangi has been awarded many Grand Prize and First Place awards and grants including the Pollock-Krasner Foundation Award. She has been and continues to be published in numerous artist books on pastel paintings. She has lectured regionally and nationally as a visiting artist at universities and artist’s guilds. She is represented by: MME Fine Art (New York, NY), Bender Gallery (Asheville, NC), and LM Gallery (Saratoga, WY). To view more of her work visit www.nicoragangi.com . Website Peter Mawanga + Nicora Gangi About the Artist Peter Mawanga + Nicora Gangi Other Works By Lyrics Lekani kubvutika ndi zinthu zapadziko (Do not be troubled by the affairs of this world) Musekerere kuti tiziyimbira Yesu (Rejoice in the worship of Jesus Christ) Chorus Timuyimbire Yesu Mpulumutsi wathu (Sing for Christ our redeemer) Musaziunjikire chuma chapadziko (Do not focus on the accumulation of riches) Poti dzimbiri ndi njenjete zimachiononga (In due time riches will be lost) Image Stills STILL 1 FROM YIMBIRA STILL 2 FROM YIMBIRA STILL 3 FROM YIMBIRA STILL 4 FROM YIMBIRA STILL 5 FROM YIMBIRA STILL 6 FROM YIMBIRA STILL 7 FROM YIMBIRA Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . As the fourth work in a collection also featuring the works of Vanessa Kay, Mary Jane Nealon and Alan Heathcock, curated by Shann Ray; this short story by Shann Ray explores the theme of "Light and Darkness" from the perspective of Isaiah 61:3. Isaiah 61:3 Fourteen Types of Hunger By Shann Ray Credits: Curated by: Shann Ray 2013 Short Story Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link In this story I’ve tried to speak to the inner life that accompanies both desolation and consolation. The overwhelming fact that all people experience pain and joy, and that sometimes we have no idea of the great sorrow the person next to us carries, is one of the central inspirations for the art that informs my experience of our shared humanity. In my own inner life “the garment of praise instead of the spirit of despair” is both a leap of faith in this world of violence, and a deep and enduring hope in the intimacy that exists here and now. When we love others and we are loved, I believe we are given the grace to see the Divine in them and in ourselves. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Shann Ray ’s collection of stories American Masculine (Graywolf Press), named by Esquire as one of Three Books Every Man Should Read and selected by Kirkus Reviews as a Best Book of the Year, won the Bakeless Prize, the High Plains Book Award, and the American Book Award. Sherman Alexie called it “tough, poetic, and beautiful” and Dave Eggers said Ray’s work is “lyrical, prophetic, and brutal, yet ultimately hopeful.” Shann’s creative nonfiction book of leadership and political theory Forgiveness and Power in the Age of Atrocity (Rowman &Littlefield) explores the nature of categorical human transgressions and engages the question of ultimate forgiveness in the context of ultimate violence. His book of poems, Balefire, is forthcoming with Lost Horse Press. Shann lives with his wife and three daughters in Spokane, Washington where he teaches leadership and forgiveness studies at Gonzaga University. Website Shann Ray About the Artist Isaiah 61:3 Collection Shann Ray Other Works By As the fourth work in a collection also featuring the works of Vanessa Kay , Mary Jane Nealon and Alan Heathcock , curated by Shann Ray; this short story by Shann Ray explores the theme of “Light and Darkness” from the perspective of Isaiah 61:3: and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor. Related Information View More Art Make More Art THE HALLS are set with grey-white tile that shines a dull light, the walls built of hard red brick tall and straight. As the boy walks, the other students look at him funny. Everett Highwalker is a freshman in high school. View Full Written Work FOURTEEN TYPES OF HUNGER by Shann Ray 1 THE HALLS are set with grey-white tile that shines a dull light, the walls built of hard red brick tall and straight. As the boy walks, the other students look at him funny. Everett Highwalker is a freshman in high school. Shock of black hair. Slender, he holds his head down. He carries his basketball wherever he goes, places the ball under the chair during class, cups it like a loved one everywhere else. He is five feet seven inches tall and weighs just over one-hundred pounds. From sorrow over the loss of his father, he does not thrive but he gets taller, and as he does he works and the school seems to grow smaller as he grows larger. Sophomore. Junior. He studies, plays, puts time in the gym, runs, shoots, lifts weights, gains strength. He grows to six feet four inches tall, weighs one-hundred ninety-five pounds, and starts for one of the top teams in the state. A velocity breathes in him and he sees how the other athletes seem to look at him as they might a lion that paces and peers. He lives in Portland, Oregon where the mouth of the Columbia opens wide and wounds the body of the ocean. 2 HIS SENIOR year he walks more upright but still he keeps his head down. When teachers ask him about last night’s game he says how well his teammates played. When they ask him about his vertical, his jumper, his defense, how he won the game on a last second shot, he replies, “Still working. Gotta work hard.” “Where did you learn to work like that?” asks the Vice Principle who overhears the boy in the hall, and always loves to talk hoops. Sandy haired older man of slight build, he played shooting guard at Duquesne in the late 60s. The boy holds the ball in his hands, shuffles his feet. “My father,” the boy answers, and the VP says, “How about getting some lunch?” and the boy says, “Sure,” and they walk together to the cafeteria. They find a place near the far wall. The boy’s father was half-Cheyenne, and big. He loved basketball like he loved family. “He taught you what it takes to be great, didn’t he,” says the VP who looks the boy in the face. The boy stares back and says, “He did,” and puts his head down quickly and clenches his jaw to keep the tears out of his eyes. They sit at a table folded flat on benches attached by metal to the under works of the table frame. The boy cups the ball, turns it, rolls it, considers the curve and the channels, the leather, the feel of heat in his hands and despair and loss and love. 3 HIS FATHER had cupped his face and said, “When you shoot you focus on a target within a target. Got that? If your shot slips in and out, it’s always the eyes. Lock your eyes in and that won’t happen.” “Yes sir,” the boy said. “Got it.” “And I got you,” his father had replied pulling him hard to his chest and holding him tight. This, a month before his father’s death. He is gone, the boy thinks. And the thought eats at the edges of his mind and only stops when he is working on his game. Ball fake, drive left, pull up, nothing but net. Shot fake, drive right, pull up, bank off the glass. The movements and the rhythm provide a sense of calm. The VP knows the boy’s dad worked at the mill. Worked heavy machinery and died when the boom of a crane broke loose and crushed the man’s chest. A giant of a man, bold in the world. 4 THE VP reaches, touches the boy’s shoulder. “Your father could shoot the J,” he said, “and defend like no one else.” “Serious baller,” the boy says, and looks down. “A thing of beauty, watching him play,” says the VP as he holds his own follow through in the air and smiles. “Meet me for lunch again?” “Sure thing,” the boy replies. 5 THEY EAT lunch every Wednesday. They talk hoops, life, family. The boy gets offers from a few small colleges. He dreams Division 1 and decides he will walk on at the University of Oregon in the storied Pacific Athletic Conference, the PAC 12, where the Wizard of Westwood, John Wooden, guided UCLA to 10 national titles and four undefeated seasons. That summer, the VP invites him to travel on a tour team of all-stars from the Pacific Northwest, an international travel team to Great Britain, Scotland and the Isle of Man. The VP is the coach. The boy averages 37 a game. He feels unstoppable. The team goes 9 and 2 beating Wales, Liverpool and Manchester. They lose to the London Knights and the Torches of Edinburgh. In the US, at the D1 level, no one knows his name. He walks on at Oregon and makes the team. The coaches dog him. Run him. Yell at him. Curse him. Though he thinks he has no chance at earning playing time he works hard and sacrifices himself, and his hunger grows harder and his love for the game grows stronger. 6 HIS FRESHMAN year, he plays a total of 22 minutes in four games. He shoots 0 for 3, gathers 2 rebounds, fouls twice, and garners 1 steal. His sophomore year, three guys get injured. He weighs 210 pounds and gets 14 minutes per game, averages 4 points, 4.5 rebounds, and 1.3 steals. He takes care of the ball. The team improves and breaks .500. Midway through the season he sweeps in from the wing for a rebound in the half court offense. Untouched, the players seem to part before him and he plants, launches into the sky and catches an errant shot that has caromed wide off the rim. Everyone is far below him as he tip jams over two defenders, the force of the dunk like the barrel-swing of a sledge hammer. He lands off kilter in the middle of the pack and bounces to his feet as the crowd erupts and the sound is deafening and the air seems to compress and expand and roar. He looks at his hands, sees a red mark high on his wrist, like a blood wound from the rim, and his teammates mob him and holler and pound his chest. The team talks about the high wire smash for weeks. From this single event he gains the nickname: Tomahawk. The play is the first of many more to come. Twenty games in, the coaches tell him what a huge contribution he has made to the team and that they will scholarship him next year. After the season, the coaching staff confirms their promise. At home for the summer, he holds his head high and walks into the gym and tells his friends from high school. They give him 5 and hug him and laugh and look at him almost as if he is from another, brighter world. In the dark at night, he sits beside his father’s grave and tells him about the scholarship and weeps. “I miss you,” he says, “I need you,” and as he walks from the cemetery he remembers how the sorrow takes a long time going, and perhaps is never completely gone. In his dreams, his father walks with him. Everett has lunch with the VP and tells him about the scholarship too, and the VP slaps him on the back and looks him in the eyes and says, “Congratulations! You’ve worked hard for this. Keep working.” “I will,” he says, and before he leaves, he looks up at the VP and pauses. “I wouldn’t be where I am without you,” he says. The skin on the VP’s neck turns red. The man looks down at his feet and taps the boy on the shoulder a few times. “Count on me every home game,” he says. 7 MID-SUMMER before Everett returns to campus, an assistant coach calls. “Couldn’t give you the scholarship,” he says. “We have to take it back because we need it for other positions.” 8 “THAT’S NOT right,” the boy says softly. “You lied to me. You broke your promise.” “Happens,” the assistant retorts, “get over it.” The boy does, but a fire burns in the chambers of his heart, burns at the dishonesty of men, men unlike his father, unlike the VP. He burns and he works. He runs and jumps and increases in power. He weighs 220 pounds now and benches 260. His vertical tops 40 inches. He dribbles all over town, the ball an extension of his body, the jumper, the follow-through, the release, the backspin like a gift from his father, the net on fire, the sound of the swish roaring inside him like a blaze to consume the world. “He plays defense like an army of men,” his old teachers say. “He rebounds like a wrecking ball.” He knows what they say is true because when he defends he feels alive, alive for his father. And when he crashes the boards, the other players fall away from him like trees felled in a forest. He remembers when his father took him to the Beartooth Mountains and the boy shot his first bull elk on the pass north of Two Oceans Plateau, the animal huge and ominous in the early light, a rack of tines hung back from the head, the horns thick and pointed skyward even in death. He’d used his father’s Remington .243, the stock warm against his cheek, a deep breath blown smooth from his lungs as the report rang over the valley and the animal fell before the echo died. He held the legs as his father made the cut from neck to base and drew the skin away from the rib cage with clean swipes of the hunting knife so that the white inner lining shown in the half-light. His father pulled out the entrails, his arms drenched in blood to the elbows. He looked to the boy then and said, “My father’s people went hungry.” He shook his head. “Don’t forget that, son. Ever.” “I won’t, Papa,” he’d said, and he watched as his father boned out the animal, cutting through the joints with the bone saw, quartering the elk and removing the hooves. In the end his father caped it out, bagged the meat, tied the head and horns to his pack and the boy and his father walked the land in tandem as something angelic and ethereal, the horns above his father’s back heavy and arched like wings. 9 BEFORE SUMMER’S end the boy and the VP travel to Alaska to put on an assembly for a school in Seldovia where the VP’s good friend is the principal. Seldovia, a harbor on the edge of the ocean, a town of blue water in a bowl of forest and rock surrounded by small well-built homes, smoke adrift from tight round chimneys. Every kid in town shows, and their parents with them, and the box gym is filled to the rafters as the VP speaks to the kids about school, and leadership, and grades, and dreams. The boy comes to the microphone in a baggy sweat suit and clean white Nike Air’s and speaks about life. The kids are a mix of Indian and white, native, and northern, and the people who gave them breath fill his field of vision, mothers and fathers, and they are strong and good, he thinks, and he feels thankful for them, for his own family, for the VP, and for basketball. He tells the kids he believes in them, and he places his hand over his chest and tells them God resides in the strength of their fathers, in the joy of their mothers, and in the end he says, “Don’t stop dreaming your dreams.” He removes his sweats and walks onto the court in a white t-shirt and baggy silk shorts bordered green and gold. He lines up the kids under the basket on one end and the dunk show begins. He throws himself alley oop lob passes from half-court. He tosses the ball high and it bounces off the hardwood and lofts itself to a point far above the rim. He runs and flies and meets the ball in the sky. He rises up and hammers home one-handed tomahawks and two-handed shoulder blades, a flurry of reverses, windmills, and 360s. “Clap out the beat!” he says and the people clap in unison to a deep drum rhythm as he puts backspin on the ball and watches it return to him before he lofts another lob from half court, rounds the turn, launches, and soars on a sideways lean with his back to the rim. In mid-air he snatches the ball in his hands, touches it to his heels, and when he smashes it behind his head he hears a bang louder than a gunshot. A sound like a shout from the barrel of a cannon. The rim breaks free and the backboard shatters. He lands in a rain of glass, and everyone goes silent. Shards of glass fan at his feet, and out from him in an arc that reaches to the top of the key, and wider still and more dispersed passed the half court line. He sees the rim on the hardwood floor, displaced like the shed horn of an animal. He turns to the kids packed along the baseline, their eyes wide and mouths open. Finally, one of the kids stands and starts clapping, then the kid shouts and lifts his hands and the others stand then and applaud loudly and the whole gym gives an unforeseen but extended cheer as the kids gather around Everett. They touch his hands and his arms. They pick up pieces of shattered glass to take home. He shows them the bruises the rim has made on his wrists, and he smiles directly into their eyes. 10 IN SEPTEMBER he returns to the team. He gets 22 minutes a game his junior year. He weighs in at 225 and hauls rebounds like a freight train. He runs faster, jumps higher, and grows stronger. He gets time, goes after every loose ball, turns the momentum of the game. “He’s a beast,” the head coach whispers, secretly in awe, and the boy’s numbers ascend. The coaching staff again promises him a full ride. The team takes another step, battles for a top four position in the league and ends up third. They lose their first two games in the league tournament but win two games in the National Invitational Tournament, the NIT, losing to Seton Hall one game before the semis and Madison Square Garden. He meets with the coaches post season. “No scholarship,” they tell him again. He puts his head in his hands. The words pierce him like bullets; they circle his head like barbed wire. “We don’t have any scholarships left,” the head man says, “we gave the last one to the big man from Germany. You know how much we need a big man.” That weekend the young man goes home. Face flushed and heart pounding he tells the VP. They return together to meet with the coaches. 11 THE HEAD coach begins and his words are smooth but they sound brittle and foolish in the air. “We’ve been more than fair here,” he says but already the VP has had enough. The VP stands. “Shut your mouth,” he orders the coach, “I’ll do the talking here.” He slams his hands on the table and leans across the open span until they are eye to eye. “You are a liar,” he says, “and a two faced liar at that. This boy is like a son to me, and to the whole town he comes from. You need to treat him right.” The VP’s face is red, the tendons in his neck like taut wire. He turns and looks at Everett and his face softens and returns to itself. He draws himself back and sits down again. He stares at the coach. “You need to be a better man than this,” he says. “This is beneath you and your program. Treat him right. He’ll give his all for you.” The coach’s head is down now. He looks up into the face of the boy. The boy stares hard back and does not waver. “We will treat him right,” the coach says. 12 AND THE COACH treats the boy right. The boy signs a scholarship and enters his senior year ready. He is elected team captain. He starts every game, averages 11.6 points, 12.4 rebounds, and 2.1 steals. He is named conference Defensive Player of the year and the team advances to the championship game of the league tournament winning 92-87 in double overtime as the fans swarm the court and the players and coaches dance. The VP meets him near the center circle, and they embrace and cry together as the streamers rain down on their heads. After the nets are cut down, the team gathers in the locker room, where the head coach holds one of the nets out to Everett and says, “To our captain,” and he places it around his neck and the team shouts, and the point guard punches Everett’s chest and says “For playing die-hard ball,” and the first assistant yells out, “For leading us here!” Everett bows his head and the team bumps his shoulders and he embraces his teammates and they go all the way to March Madness where they ride a wave of momentum to the Sweet 16 before they are finally knocked off in Indianapolis by eventual champion North Carolina. 13 WHEN THE BOY returns home, he goes to the high school early and asks the VP to breakfast. The VP gladly accepts and they walk in the dark to a bright-windowed diner two blocks north. Midway through the meal the boy takes the net out of his backpack, reaches out his hands and places the net like a necklace over the older man’s head. “For all you’ve given me,” he says. “It was nothing,” the VP says, and his voice cracks, “and thank you.” 14 WHEN BREAKFAST is done they stand and the VP grips Everett’s arms. “Let’s go show your father,” he says, and in the dim light they go to the grave where the boy listens as the VP tells the story and thanks Everett’s father, and tells the father his strength runs like mighty horses in the boy. When they walk together from that place the ground is soft beneath their feet. Down a slight slope the grass rolls, deep green and glistening. A remnant of darkness still holds the land as they walk among granite forms uplifted from the earth, crosses over apexes of stone, marble angels whose arched wings and raised swords beckon dawn. In the distance the trunks of great trees pattern the land, their limbs reaching steadily upward, and when Everett Highwalker looks he finds the trees alive with light, the sun a bloom of fire in the sky. Close Loading Video . . . THE HALLS are set with grey-white tile that shines a dull light, the walls built of hard red brick tall and straight. As the boy walks, the other students look at him funny. Everett Highwalker is a freshman in high school. Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . “The Capture” and “The Escape,” written by Nicolas Destino, respond to Jeremiah 13:20 and the painting, “From the North” in further correspondence with Spark+Echo Art’s “Sheep” theme. Jeremiah 13:20 The Capture, The Escape By Nicolas Destino Credits: Curated by: Seth Hiler 2012 Poetry Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link “The Capture” and “The Escape,” written by Nicolas Destino, respond to Jeremiah 13:20 and the painting, “From the North” in further correspondence with Spark+Echo Art’s “Sheep” theme. “Lift up your eyes, and behold them that come from the north: where is the flock that was given thee, thy beautiful flock?” (Jeremiah 13:20, KJV) Like the missing flock from Jeremiah’s passage, Nicolas notes that in his writing he “invests in the constellation of objects within a landscape, [so] that which is missing from the story is often more tangible than what’s explicitly narrated.” Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Nicolas Destino ’s work has appeared in The American Poetry Journal , Bellevue Literary Review, Broadsided Press, 322 Review, Barge Journal, As It Ought To Be, Assaracus, Verse Daily, and others. He is author of the double chapbook, “ Of Kingdoms & Kangaroo ,” First Intensity Press, and his first full length poetry collection, “Heartwrecks,” is forthcoming through Sibling Rivalry Press, in February 2013. He works as a part-time English professor in New York and New Jersey. Website Nicolas Destino About the Artist Nicolas Destino Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art The Capture If you're counting on the arrival of soft creatures, some miracle, forget it. They won't come. View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . The Capture If you're counting on the arrival of soft creatures, some miracle, forget it. They won't come. Download Full Written Work