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

serpentspeaks.jpg Loading Video . . . Premiered on May 28, 2010, The Serpent Speaks by James Hall, is a composition for jazz sextet + two actors, setting Robert Siegel's poem of the same name. The piece reflects on the fall of man in Genesis 3. Genesis 3 The Serpent Speaks By James Hall Credits: Music by James Hall Text by Robert Siegel Musicians: Emily Clare Zempel, voice; Jonathan Roberts, voice; Jacob Teichroew, saxophone; James Hall, trombone; Ryan Ferreira, guitar; Ike Sturm, bass; Ziv Ravitz, drumset; Mike Truesdell, percussion Venue: St. Peter Church, Manhattan Poster design by Christopher Domig Artist Location: Brooklyn, New York Curated by: Jonathon Roberts 2010 Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link I first read Robert Siegel's The Serpent Speaks in 2007, as my love of poetry was just being sparked. Though I was immediately interested in setting the poem to music, it wasn't until receiving a Fellowship at the Trinity Forum Academy that I had the time and resources I needed to realize the project. My setting of The Serpent Speaks blurs distinctions between composition and improvisation using a mixture of verbal cues; traditional, and non-traditional notation. The style blends free and contemporary modal jazz with spoken word. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection James Hall is a trombonist and composer from Nebraska based in New York City. A versatile musician, his projects have spanned jazz, classical, latin, and popular music in the US and Europe. As a composer and bandleader, James was named a finalist in the ASCAP Morton Gould Young Composer Competition, won three ASCAPlus Awards for composition, and was a featured performer/composer at the 2012 Chelsea Music Festival . As trombonist in Williamsburg Salsa Orchestra , he has performed at B.B. Kings', S.O.B's, MassMOCA, The Kennedy Center, The Blue Note Jazz Festival, and has appeared in the pages of Rolling Stone Magazine. He has appeared on several recordings with Postmodern Jukebox , with whom he has toured Europe and the US. James' trombone playing earned third place, runner-up, and honorable mention in the Antti Rissanen , J.J. Johnson , and Carl Fontana International Jazz Trombone Competitions, respectively. James' first CD as a composer/bandleader was released in October 2013. Entitled " Soon We Will Not Be Here " by James Hall Thousand Rooms Quartet, the body of work sets contemporary poems by NYC-based poets to 3rd-stream chamber music. His sophomore release, "Lattice," is currently in post-production. James holds degrees from the Lawrence Conservatory of Music in Wisconsin and Aaron Copland School of Music in New York. His teachers have included Luis Bonilla, Hal Crook, Michael Dease, Nick Keelan, Ed Neumeister, and Fred Sturm. Photo by Bill Wadman. Website James Hall About the Artist Of Blood and Water James Hall Other Works By View the Full Score Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . This work of filmmaker Tien Chi Fu explores the arc of a life while reflecting on the theme of "Harvest" from Daniel 12:8-13. Daniel 12:8-13 The Long Trip By Tien Chi Fu Credits: Actors, Omar White, Thomas E. Wynn; Cinematography, Brandon Dong; Crew: Danielle Pruden, Garrett Born Curated by: Jeffrey Leiser 2013 Film, Short Film Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link Salvation is only the beginning. Part of the challenge in Christian walk is to understand God's will and walk where He desires. Growing up in a broken Christian family, I wanted to escape from the cruel reality to somewhere faraway where there's no family drama. I found the Lord when I was 20, and He has been good to me. He is my hiding place, my fortress, my rock, and my horn of salvation. He cast out all my fear and anxiety, and led me to a higher place. I hired three actors, Omar was 12, Thomas was 23, and an older gentleman (we met in the park) who was in his mid 50s. I wanted to illustrate the loneliness of childhood, the runaway adolescent stage, and the final resting in The Lord as an older man. The child becomes a man, and he is now able to look at his past in a forgiving way. We sometimes look at God's revelation through a remote and distant lens, but The Lord wants us to walk His way and rejoice until He comes again. What a savior we have, what a friend we have in Jesus, who not only cleansed our sin, but pour out himself to us, so we may receive the fullness of life! Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Tien Chi Fu is a New York based writer/director/cinematographer. Tien was born in Taipei. His father is a playwright and greatly influenced Tien’s work. Tien grew up in a Christian family but not until age 20 did he receive Jesus Christ as his savior and get baptized. Tien attended Sun Yat-Sen University majoring in Theatre Arts; here he spent two years learning theatre techniques with a focus on acting and directing. In his sophomore year, he formed a Drama Club and produced a traditional Chinese crosstalk play with several friends. The many dominant drama theories he learned then became the foundation of his creative works. Following that, he moved to the United States because his true passion is in film. He took a gap year to work full time to save for tuition. He then got his associate degree in Radio/TV in Pennsylvania and got into New York University’s Film & TV department. His black & white film All Tomorrow’s Films is a story of Adam and Eve mingled with the transition between the analog and the digital era. He is now working on his thesis film “George Goforth and the Greatest Generation”. Website Tien Chi Fu About the Artist Into the Living Water Tien Chi Fu Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

collected-thoughts_chris-knight_featjpg.jpg Loading Video . . . For a couple of summers, I worked as a private investigator, mostly just recording the comings and goings of people into an office building. Someone was suing someone else, and my job was to create a record that they either were or weren’t doing the things they said they were. What I offered was knowledge, information that could be used to make a point or draw a conclusion. But there were always limits to the information I could provide. Find the complete progression of the work linked below. Ecclesiastes 1:8-13 Artist in Residence 2016: Chris Knight Part 2 By Chris Knight Credits: Curated by: Spark & Echo Arts, Artist in Residence 2016 2016 Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link June 13, 2016 For a couple of summers, I worked as a private investigator, mostly just recording the comings and goings of people into an office building. Someone was suing someone else, and my job was to create a record that they either were or weren’t doing the things they said they were. What I offered was knowledge, information that could be used to make a point or draw a conclusion. But there were always limits to the information I could provide. In the film I’m developing, those limits are slipping away. If it were possible for a person’s memories to be recorded, accessed, searched, we could know what they knew. Everything they knew. That kind of knowledge wouldn’t only be sinister — it would be an unprecedented historical opportunity to see, hear and understand what everyone alive has seen, heard and understood. The people who did it could describe themselves as the keepers of the greatest library the world has even known. What might begin as a voluntary way to ensure you leave your mark might quickly become compulsory, to make sure no data is lost. I’ve written what I think are going to be the two central scenes for the film — well, one scene and one sequence. The film is about a woman who doesn’t want to remember, doesn’t want to be remembered as she was. On the other side are the technicians whose job it is to record her history. I’m still not sure how these scenes will fit together. To begin with, they both take too long to get where they’re going. But more importantly, while I think they stand well next to each other, they need to integrate in some way. I’d like to avoid a simple crosscut, since I think that would weaken the one long conversation. The conversation itself is having to do too much expository work, so another scene to establish the world and the rules might likely help. And right now things happen, but there’s no real trajectory to anything. So yeah, a plot would probably be a good next step. Read Chris Knight’s working script here . Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Chris Knight is a director and writer based in New York City. His short films and feature scripts have been selected for a variety of film festivals across the country. Website Chris Knight About the Artist Artist in Residence 2016: Chris Knight Part 1 Artist in Residence 2016: Chris Knight Part 3 Carried from Jericho Artist in Residence 2016: Chris Knight Chris Knight Other Works By Follow the developmental journey of Chris' project by reading his first , third and final post as a 2016 Artist in Residence. Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . Playwright Chandler Crawford brings us a fascinating script, written through inspiration found in Proverbs 25:21-22. The excerpt (Proverbs 25: 21-22), in summation, speaks about the virtue of human kindness; even to your enemy. Proverbs 25:21-22 the road ends. By Chandler Crawford Credits: Curated by: Lauren Ferebee 2016 One-Act Play Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link As I was sifting through the seemingly endless Book of Proverbs, I stumbled upon a passage that really struck a chord. The excerpt (Proverbs 25: 21-22), in summation, speaks about the virtue of human kindness; even to your enemy. Solomon wrote these proverbs as a means to exemplify wisdom and raise questions of ethics, morality, right from wrong and even the meaning of human life. As an artist and a playwright, I am constantly asking myself what does it mean to be right or wrong, as well as always challenging the ideas of human existence. Why are we here? Where are we going? Where have we been? And most importantly, how do the people around us influence the paths we take? I attempt to ask all of these questions in the road ends., but not necessarily answer them. I believe, as a human race, we all take similar paths in life. I also believe our morality is one of the greatest powers in guiding us on our path. We all have friends, and we all have enemies, and how we treat the ones who mistreat us, speaks loudest to our own morality. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Chandler Crawford Born and raised in the South, Chandler has been making theatre happen since his early teens. A recent graduate of USC Upstate, Chandler has been working as a theatre artist in the sleepy town of Spartanburg, SC where he helps bring theatre diversity to his community through writing, acting and producing. He is a co-founder of AiR Bud Improv and a member of a playwriting collective, Playhaus, which aims to produce new works from young and emerging playwrights. Chandler also collaborates as a writer and producer with HUB-BUB, a non-profit arts outreach organization in Spartanburg. the road ends . is Chandler’s first published play, and he is thrilled to working with Spark and Echo. Website Chandler Crawford About the Artist Chandler Crawford Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art A fork in a dirt road in the middle of an arid desert. An old man sits on the ground in the center of the fork. View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . A fork in a dirt road in the middle of an arid desert. An old man sits on the ground in the center of the fork. Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . This beautiful combination of poetry and film created by playwright and film artist Don Nguyen with voice work by Charise Greene examines the plight of Lot's wife from a new and intriguing perspective. The piece is based on the theme of "destruction" and Genesis 19:26. Genesis 19:26 My Million Spectacular Moments By Don Nguyen Credits: Performed by Charisse Greene Curated by: Chris Cragin 2014 Poetry, Film Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link The first time I learned about Lot's wife was in Sunday School at the age of twelve. I remember being completely frightened at the thought of someone turning into a pillar of salt just because they made a poor decision. I also remember thinking "what a foolish woman! All she had to do was listen to the angel and she would've been okay." It implanted in my mind the believe that Lot's wife was a weak woman who gave in to temptation. She was a character in the Bible that came from a position of weakness. It's a passage in the Bible that's always intrigued me, and now that I have the chance to revisit it as an adult, I knew I wanted look at Lot's wife from a different perspective. What if Lot's wife wasn't weak? What if she exercised free will? That would actually mean she made a strong choice for herself. That idea intrigued me, and it was from this idea that I came up with Lot's wife describing the last thing she saw that fateful moment when she turned back and looked upon God's Wrath. Perhaps to the others, the ones who obeyed the angel's instructions and did not look back; perhaps they imagined fire and brimstone, but for her, what if she looked back and actually saw the face of God and the only way in which she could describe it for herself was as "my million spectacular moments." Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Don Nguyen was born in Saigon, Vietnam, grew up in Nebraska, and now currently resides in New York City. As a playwright, Don has written several full-length plays including: SOUND, a sign language play which was a finalist for the O’Neill National Playwrights Conference and was previously developed at The Playwrights Realm. Don’s first full-length play RED FLAMBOYANT was developed at the Ojai Playwrights Conference and was both a finalist for the Bay Area Playwrights Festival as well as the O’Neill National Playwrights Conference. THE MAN FROM SAIGON has been developed at Naked Angels and was a NYSAF Founders Award recipient. THE COMMENCEMENT OF WILLIAM TAN was developed at New York Stage and Film and was a finalist for the Bay Area Playwrights Festival. Don was also recently one of 48 playwrights commissioned for The Flea Theater’s 5 1/2 hour epic production of The Mysteries, directed by Ed Iskander, which was a stage adaptation of the Bible. Don is a proud member of the Ma-Yi Writers Lab, a member of the inaugural Emerging Writers Group at the Public Theater in New York and served five years as artistic director for The Shelterbelt Theatre. Don is also a frequent volunteer for the 52nd Street Project. Website: thenuge.com Website Don Nguyen About the Artist Artist in Residence 2015: Don Nguyen Part 1 Artist in Residence 2015: Don Nguyen Part 2 Artist in Residence 2015: Don Nguyen Part 3 Artist in Residence 2015: Don Nguyen Don Nguyen Other Works By Poem: My Million Spectacular Moments YOU said don’t do it If you know what’s best for you. If you care about your life If you care about your soul YOU said don’t do it Because you could lose everything Everything you have And everything you’ve ever known And the more YOU said don’t do it The more I wanted to So badly I wanted To see To hear To feel But most of all I wanted… To want. So I guess it was my fault I guess I’ll take the blame Because YOU want me to. Because YOU warned me And I didn’t heed When everyone else did So I’ll take the blame For going against your wishes And I see that look on YOUR face On everyone’s faces Those looks of WHY Why give it all up? Why risk? Everything that I knew Everything that I am Why everything? For one glimpse Of a golden moment When there are so many more Ahead Yes you say all that with one look And with one look I say back to you That, which is behind me Is what used to be ahead of me. So why imprison myself to such ideas We move in the opposite direction of moments We go from past to present to future While moments Always move backwards From future to present to past So why can’t my gaze Follow those moments On its natural course Through time When my heart already does? And all of you go on Go on with your lives Keep moving While I stand here with my feet Planted into the burning ground Where all the salt of my tears Have covered me entirely From head to toe And you see that I Was in the middle of weeping When I turned back to look It was me and ONLY me That turned and looked back And YOU can judge me All of you can judge me And your judgemental eyes Make you see me as a woman Petrified in my foolishness. But bother to look closer And you will see One corner of my mouth Lifted slightly higher than the other And know that what I saw were A million spectacular moments That now and forever belong to me And only me. Bio: Charise Greene (voice) was recently seen playing Darleen in Nothin's Gonna Change My World at Dixon Place. In NYC, Charise has also played Sharon in the world premiere of Versailles at Theater for the New City, Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Ernest Hemingway at Access, Arkadina in the NYC premiere of Tennessee Williams' The Notebook of Trigorin at The Flea, Joanna in Inadmissible at Canal Park Playhouse, Jo in a staged reading of Canary at New York Theatre Workshop (directed by Rachael Chavkin), the title role in Psyche at Ensemble Studio Theater, and the title role in Darleen and Trent at the Living Theatre. She is currently dialect coaching the Showtime series The Affair, starring Dominic West and Ruth Wilson. She teaches undergraduate acting at Barnard and Columbia (Chekhov, Advanced Acting, and more) and is the resident voice and dialect coach for productions at NYU's Stella Adler Studio. Charise directs at Adler and coaches privately. She holds an MFA in Acting from the Brown/Trinity Rep Program (Stephen Sondheim Fellow), and bachelor degrees in Theater and Political Science from UC Berkeley. Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . Actor Mike Domeny brings to life the battle of Gideon and his army of 300 from Judges 7. Judges 7 UnderDog or UnderGod? By Mike Domeny Credits: Headshot by Michael Cinquino Curated by: Matthew Moore 2023 Scripture Performance Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link Facing an enemy army numbering 135,000, Gideon's modest 32,000-warrior army was already an underdog story in the making. However, God looked at Gideon's army and saw too much of a cushion. An underdog story, after all, praises the gritty, "we can do this!" attitude of the underdog, and God didn't want Israel to be able to take the credit for his victory. And although God stacks the odds so against Israel's favor that they can only be in His, we still see Gideon rally his troops with a declaration of God's power and his own leadership. It leaves us with a twinge of thinking, "Gideon, why are you adding your name to the victory?" It's a little uncomfortable, and it taints this otherwise empowering story. We want to think of Old Testament heroes as juggernauts of godliness (Gideon is, afterall, featured in Hebrews 11's "Hall of Faith"), but we have to wrestle with the reality that they, like us, are capable of great acts of faith, mixed with questionable choices that reveal their selfish, sin-bent humanity. This chapter of Gideon's story still ends in victory, but his downfall came soon after (see Judges 8). God doesn't want an underdog story. He wants an under-God story. Can you fulfill the mission God put on your life, while surrendering your desire to etch your name next to God's in the record books? Judges 7, New Living Translation 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 Luke 2: Unlikely Invitations Mike Domeny Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

joshua-cave_efforts.jpg Loading Video . . . Visual artist Joshua Cave has explores the theme of "Fools" from the perspective of Galatians 3:1-5. Galatians 3:1-5 Efforts By Joshua Cave Credits: Curated by: Spark+Echo Arts 2013 21 x 16 inches Latex, Stain and Graphite on Plywood Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link Sincerity seems a most elusive human quality, capable of inhabiting the words, acts and works of an individual, elevating them beyond their human origin. I pray I learn to sincerely apply the gifts I have been given. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Joshua Cave was raised with an overly encouraging mother who curated the refrigerator with enthusiasm. He responded to her faith in him: drawing himself through high school, into an art major, and -- to his own surprise -- finally into a full-time fine art pursuit. He now spends most of his time dancing the lines between painting, sculpture and installation, always in pursuit of a cohesive truth that defies distinct aesthetic or conceptual clarification. He lives and works in The Bronx, NY. Website Joshua Cave About the Artist Joshua Cave Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Untitled Grace Child Janna Aliese Loading Video . . . The work of visual artist Janna Aliese contemplates simultaneously being needy and fed in response to Acts 4:33a-34b: "And God's grace was so powerfully at work in them all 34 that there were no needy persons among them." Acts 4:33-34 Untitled (Grace) By Janna Aliese Credits: Curated by: Jonathon Roberts and Emily Clare Zempel 2012 16 x 20 inches, edition of 10 Digital C Print Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link What if a concept so potent and abstract as grace were so viscerally actualized that no person within a community were in need? In what type of unknown utopia would we live were there a Force so powerful that neither you nor I nor any of our friends felt any need whatsoever? This image seeks to consider two constructs: the act of community found in the sharing of wine at communion; and figure of a child, suspended in time and holding a bowl-like object, as if he were hovering along the fringe of time's seashore — at play yet in a posture of petition. The enigmatic quality of this figure proffers consideration of the grace available in another world. He is, nonetheless, caught between these two worlds: simultaneously fed and hungry — a creature of Metamodern considerations. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Born in Los Angeles and raised in the Pacific Northwest, Janna Aliese ‘s present base in New York has proved fruitful to her work in interdisciplinary collaboration, photography, sound, installation, writing, and drawing. Currently pursuing a Master in Fine Arts at Hunter College, she is a graduate of Asbury University, has studied at the School of Visual Arts in New York City, and completed an artist residency in Beijing, China, with Art International Residency Projects. She is the former Center Coordinator at the New York Center for Art & Media Studies (NYCAMS), and was the Collaborative Visual Arts Curator for the 2012 Chelsea Music Festival, which included, among other shows, curating OPEN CAGE: NEW YORK, a 75-person performance at Eyebeam Center for Art + Technology, [ON SILENCE], a group exhibition at NYCAMS, and Silence, an interdisciplinary collaborative performance at the Rubin Museum of Art. She has exhibited her work internationally. Website Janna Aliese About the Artist Janna Aliese Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

! Loading Video . . . Lighting and set designer Dante Olivia Smith manipulates light with water and salt in response to the theme of "healing" and 2 Kings 2:21. 2 Kings 2:21 Untitled (Olivia Smith) By Dante Olivia Smith Credits: Artist Location: Seattle, Washington Curated by: Michael Markham 2014 Salts, Rice Paper, Light Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link Light is transformative, the presence or absence of light can completely change what we see and how we see it, literally and psychologically. Our relationship to light is primal, light and heat have been historically in-separable until only recent technological advances. We require light as fuel for the food we grow. Light is a need for human life akin to breathing and yet we almost never think about it unless it is absent. Light as a medium presents a bit of a conundrum. On one hand everything you see is light. Everything. When light shines on a object- say a red shirt, and the shirt absorbs all portions of the visible spectrum except red, which the shirt reflects back to your eye- condensed, you don't see the red shirt you see light. On the other hand, with out an object to reflect it, light is worthless to a viewer. In theatre, outside of perhaps a laser light show, there is little point to lighting an empty room, an audience is there to see actors. As a lighting designer, my job is to structure how and what the audience sees. This section of text speaks to me much in the same way that light does. The transformation of the earth from barren to fertile, A return of life and the discovery of it anew. Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Dante Olivia Smith is a lighting and set designer based in New York. She was drawn to theatre and lighting at an early age when awestruck by a shadow puppetry performance. This moment cemented her trust in the power of storytelling to inspire imagination and encourage change. Recent work- New York: Sarah Flood in Salem Mass (The Flea) Carcass (HERE Arts) Waiting for Waiting for Godot (The Collective) Tender Napalm, Love in Transit (The Shop) Suicide?! Romeo & Juliet (Empirical Rogue, Resident Designer) Stabat Mater Fabulosa (Morningside Opera), In the Company of Jane Doe, Modern Dance for Beginners (Cake Productions). United States: Warren (or) Those People (Boise Contemporary Theater) Monopoly, How Theatre Failed America (Mike Daisey) Final Broadcast (Umo Ensemble). She also had the pleasure of designing the first production of Tony Kushner’s The Henry Box Brown Play . In addition to her own work Dante has been fortunate to travel around the country and world as a lighting assistant and supervisor. MFA, NYU/Tisch Department of Design for Stage and Film; BFA, Cornish College of the Arts in Seattle, WA. Website Dante Olivia Smith About the Artist Dante Olivia Smith Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art View Full Written Work Close Loading Video . . . Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . Writer Lancelot Schaubert explores the meaning of words and translations in this poem responding to Luke 8:19-21. Luke 8:19-21 Philadelphia By Lancelot Schaubert Credits: Photo Credit by Dan Mall on Unsplash Curated by: Rebecca Testrake 2023 Poetry Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link These three pieces work in tandem. They're meant as a running commentary on (1) the sorts of people who are close to us who reject the work of the miraculous in our lives and through our lives, (2) the kinds of silly exegetical traditions that exist as little more than a prop for church splits, (3) the metaphysical absurdity of the miraculous as the miraculous, when it happens, (4) a call to see James as a miracle worker in his own right, a cousin, and someone who would have been as baffled as anyone else — though joyful — in the presence of the miraculous. Sometimes the "sons of Thunder" stuff becomes such a focus, I wanted to focus on something else for St. James. To see the other pieces from Lancelot, click the links below: Bloodlines Metaphysical Insurance Claim 0075A: The Delphic Oracle Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection Lancelot has sold work to The New Haven Review (The Institute Library), The Anglican Theological Review, TOR (MacMillan), McSweeney's, The Poet's Market, Writer's Digest, and many, many similar markets. (His favorite, a rather risqué piece, illuminated bankroll management by prison inmates in the World Series Edition of Poker Pro). Publisher's Weekly called his debut novel BELL HAMMERS "a hoot." He has lectured on these at academic conferences, graduate classes, and nerd conventions in Nashville, Portland, Baltimore, Tarrytown, NYC, Joplin, and elsewhere. The Missouri Tourism Bureau, WRKR, Flying Treasure, 9art, The Brooklyn Film Festival, NYC Indie Film Fest, Spiva Center for the Arts, The Institute of the North in Alaska, and the Chicago Museum of Photography have all worked with him as a film producer and director in various capacities. Website Lancelot Schaubert About the Artist Artist in Residence 2019: Lancelot Schaubert - Part 3 Artist in Residence 2019: Lancelot Schaubert - Part 2 Artist in Residence 2019: Lancelot Schaubert - Part 1 Posh Girls As Waters Cover Artist in Residence 2019: Lancelot Schaubert Dragonsmaw Daily | 1 Dragonsmaw Daily | 2 Dragonsmaw Daily | 3 Watchtower Stripped to the Bonemeal Metaphysical Insurance Claim 0075A: The Delphic Oracle Bloodlines Lancelot Schaubert Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art It would be terribly inconvenient If ἀδελφός meant fellow countrymen Or fellow man or business fellowship View Full Written Work FOR LOVE OF COMMON WOMBS UP THE BLOODLINE. By Lancelot Schaubert It would be terribly inconvenient If ἀδελφός meant fellow countrymen Or fellow man or business fellowship Or brethren in faith, step-brothers, or meant Cousins. “Cousins” throws a wrench in the wren, Metal to make wings spiral on downward: Fallen angels or men melting wax strips? Two yokels talk at the scene of The Fall: “Thought those were his brothers?” “Nope, just cousins.” It takes one trip to Philadelphia To realize “same womb” can mean mom, mother, Or sometimes an earlier womb bygone. For they treat each other less with fiat, More like Middle Eastern cousins with bombs: “Me against my brother; me and brother Against cousin; me and my cousin, you.” First same womb, same dad; same womb, diff dad; Then same womb of my dad’s dad’s dad’s dad’s— Father Abraham had many sons, sons Father Abraham. I am one of them And so are you, so let’s just praise The Lord. From stones, he said he could raise up cousins, But somehow cannot do so from cousins? “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and ἀδελφός of James, Joses And Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor, except in his own country, and among his own cousins and in his own house.” Do we seek context? Do we even try to understand it, To see what’s right before our eyes? Mirrored? I could stack citations up, up skyward; Speak up of all the times translation slips Two yokels stare, hear the scene of Our Fall: “Nope, just brothers.” “Thought those were his cousins?” It takes one trip to Philadelphia To realize sometimes there’s a crack in bells Allegedly first sounded for freedom. Is our faith so fragile? We Protestants? Need we preserve our Quincentenary Bitterness with flimsiest evidence? Do we even know about the third one? The third Mary? “Standing by the cross of Jesus were his Mother (Mary), his mother’s ἀδελφη, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.” Poor James. To be denied sainthood simply To sully the virgin status of Aunt Mary. Philadelphia’s stones still crack. Cracked. Stoned. The oracle at Delphi was Virgin. And the dolphins get to take shape Of virgin wombs, so does Numbers 30 (The perpetual virginity verse For married women who have had their kids). But not she who bore the body of God. It’s not good enough for her. Ignore texts: Let her also bear a Bro — Jimmy’s body Close Loading Video . . . It would be terribly inconvenient If ἀδελφός meant fellow countrymen Or fellow man or business fellowship Download Full Written Work

Loading Video . . . Poet CM Davidson struggles with the theme of "poverty" and Isaiah 58:6-11 in his work for Spark+Echo, Yoked. Isaiah 58:6-11 Yoked By CM Davidson Credits: Artist Location: Southern California Curated by: Chris Davidson 2013 Poetry Primary Scripture Loading primary passage... Loading Passage Reference... Share This Art: Facebook X (Twitter) WhatsApp LinkedIn Pinterest Copy Link The passage from what's called "Third Isaiah" suggested a process as natural as photosynthesis: Fast by action, in this case, free the oppressed and give what you (as a people) have to those among you who need it. The result will be God's favor, restoration, and greater abundance than you already enjoy. Walter Brueggemann provide conceptual grist for the poem. He writes, of this passage, It turned out that the "facts on the ground" in restored Jerusalem were modest and shabby when contrasted with the lyrical anticipations of Second Isaiah.1 This helped me think of the narrator as someone who, in the midst of his comfort and security, feels ill at ease, dislocated. This is a common theme for literature of the last couple hundred years, but it was new to me to think that the source of that dislocation is that the privileged are the invisible ones, not the poor (verse 7). The existence of poverty and injustice doesn't divide us from "the other" but from our brothers and sisters, from‚ it seems banal to write it so directly‚ ourselves. It should be said that what attracted me to these verses is not equivalent to what the poem expresses. As all poems do, this one found its own path. 1 Walter Brueggemann, An Introduction to the Old Testament: The Canon and Christian Imagination Spark Notes The Artist's Reflection CM Davidson’s work has appeared in Zyzzyva, Green Mountains Review, Zocalo Public Square, The Rumpus, and elsewhere. He lives in Southern California with his wife and sons. He sporadically keeps up a blog, 52songs.blogspot.com . Website CM Davidson About the Artist CM Davidson Other Works By Related Information View More Art Make More Art Woke this morning two snoozes past the alarm 's first call. Showered. Dressed. Breakfasted on a bowl of puffed rice and milk and three cups of coffee. View Full Written Work Yoked by CM Davidson Isaiah 58:6-11 Woke this morning two snoozes past the alarm’s first call. Showered. Dressed. Breakfasted on a bowl of puffed rice and milk and three cups of coffee. Asked my wife for Kaiser’s number, since my shoulder aches. Gathered things in my bag and drove in my car my son to school, myself to work, where I wasted time online, talked on the phone with a colleague, entered a budget by deadline. From those who live under the overpass I pass daily, I’m told I’m concealed, and from the imprisoned and hungry with nothing to wear I’d wear myself, I’m concealed. My body I’m told is distorted by nourishment, my shirt, shoes and pants hide me from my kin. I’m told the sadness I feel everyday will be a light by which to see, if I act, that our sadness, people, I’m convinced it’s more than just me, is a latent garden, a spring of water, a continual, renewing spring of water, light and water bringing, through action in leaves described and unlearned, food for the table. This is the promise, dejection the goad. Our parents in exile sang to each other songs of a land like this— their hope was in it, and we have it. Close Loading Video . . . Woke this morning two snoozes past the alarm 's first call. Showered. Dressed. Breakfasted on a bowl of puffed rice and milk and three cups of coffee. Download Full Written Work