Writing Off the Walls 2022

Creativity in the age of CoVID
Brought to you by Studio Theater in Exile & Hudson Valley MOCA
About Writing Off The Walls 2022

Writing the Walls started 16 years ago when Artistic Director Mara Mills, Studio Theater in Exile and Livia Straus, co-founder Hudson Valley MOCA collaborated to enhance the museum exhibitions by inviting poets and playwrights to contribute original works reflective of their interaction with the art.

Accepted literary works ​were usually hung next to the artwork that inspired the written word and visitors to the museum ha​d a chance to see the dialogue between art and word​. This was followed by ​a culminating performance​, “The Poets Walk​,” a day at HV MOCA where, moving from artwork to artwork, the poets read their works in front of their chosen work of art​.  The audience followed the poets, walk​​ing from piece to piece, gaining new insight, energizing the space.

In 2020-2021 the live performance could not happen. With the pandemic at its height, we took to virtual posting. The 2020-21 poetry and art went on-line with audio recordings of the poets reading their work​s. In 2021, the exhibition expanded with How We Live II with paintings added to the ​exhibition. And still we could not gather together!

Writing (Off) the Walls II, the Virtual Poets’ Walk​, proceeded with 2021-22 writers working from on-line images and bringing forth poems reflecting the exhibition and life as we are living it ​today.

Welcome to Writing (Off) the Walls II, an on-line Virtual Art and Word event inspired by the artwork in How We Live: Part II. The paintings and the poems are testaments that creativity is alive and flourishing.

Hernan Bas, 2008

White Birds - Jo-Ann Brody

Based on Hernan Bas' Painting, Night Flight or Midnight Migration, or My Merry Way, 2008

13 white birds,

Egrets, I think.

A young dancer

Choreographs to

Dad’s music

Creates the motion

“13 ways of looking at a

black bird.”

Birds flying,

Birds feeding,

Birds perching,

Posing, diving,


Egrets, intense

Calligraphic lines

White splotches

Bursts of non-color

The landscape sings

Fecund and fertile

Wet and lush

Lagoon with

a tropical sun?

Or is it the moon?

But …

Formally dressed


Out of place

Out of tune

Not flying

Not diving

Not whirling



Off center

Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recording/poem of White Birds. The recording/poem are based on Hernan Bas' painting, Night Flight or Midnight Migration, or My Merry Way, 2008.

Night Flight or Midnight Migration, or My Merry Way, 2008

Hernan Bas

American, born 1978

Night Flight or Midnight Migration, or My Merry Way, 2008

Mixed media on canvas, 60 x 72 inches

“I do like the idea that everything is contained—the entire narrative, within the frame of the canvas,” said Hernan Bas, “but paintings that I consider to be successful are always on the verge of falling apart. To me, that’s the fun of it—the eminent collapse, and also the challenge.”


His work revolves around the romantic and melancholic images of the classical world, with references to Oscar Wilde, Joris-Karl Huysmans and other writers of the Aesthetic and Decadent literary movements. Nature scenes with contemplative and solitary young males in a universe without women are a recurring motif in his painting. In the worlds imagined by Bas, good and evil are not simply counter points; they are identical. Solo shows include: Colby College Art Museum, Waterville, ME; Galerie Perrotin, Tokyo, Japan ; Mayfair, London, UK; Zurich, Switzerland; SCAD Museum of Art, Savannah, GA; Fredric Snitzer Gallery, Miami; Galerie Perrotin, Paris, France; Lehmann Maupin, Hong Kong, China; Kunstverein Hannover, Hannover, Germany among others. He participated in group exhibitions at Samsung Museum of Art, Seoul, South Korea, Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh, Penn., Turner Contemporary, Margate, UK , Triennale di Milano, Milan, Italy and Tomio Koyama Gallery, Tokyo, Japan. His work has been acquired by: Brooklyn Museum, New York; Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, DC; Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles; Museum of Contemporary Art, Miami; Museum of Modern Art, New York; Saatchi Collection, London, UK; Samuso: Space for Contemporary Art, Seoul, South Korea; and Whitney Museum of American Art, New York. http://www.peterkilchmann.com/artists/hernan-bas/overview/centre-de-arte-contemporaneo-2018

Zsolt Bodoni, 2016

The Halls Where It Happened - Robert Miss

Based on Zsolt Bodoni's Painting, Blue Uniform (Tito), 2016

Bum Bum-Bum Baaaaaaaaah

Bar the door.

Run off the floor.

The barriers are breached.

“We’re here on orders of the king.

Come down, Daniel, to the lions’ den.

Smell the blood running through the halls.

Try to save the portraits we’re ripping from the walls.

We will find you, we call you by name.

Saving our country is our claim.

Besides the desecrations,

we’re here for assassinations.”

While they hunt for our leaders…

Hid in the gallery is a cinnamon Mom,

Suckling dark babies at each breast,

Singing to them softly under her breath,

“ You are noir portant jolie, the hope for our liberty”

Coat Of Arms - Gene Tashoff

Read by Jim Dirlam
Based on Zsolt Bodoni's Painting, Blue Uniform (Tito), 2016

Do you admire this uniform of mine? Or does it push you away?

Well, it was designed to do both.

To suit the stature as well as the burden of my responsibility during World War II.

Which was, at first, to protect and keep a nation, then two, then three,

then an entire continent from being overrun by the most murderous invaders in history.

I took it upon myself to be both a will and a way to resist a hellishly evil enemy

out to rule the world by squashing those living in it.

I had to. Eventually, we all had to. There was no alternative.

Thus, I dressed to be formidable against

those out to squash and bury everyone in their way.

I needed to lead, to inspire, to build strength

and plan for fierce resistance before we,

all free nations, were overrun.

Thus, in every pocket of every fine jacket,

I carried a weapon,

be it a pistol, a grenade, garroting wire, or written

words of encouragement, imploring my

comrades to fight on for their country’s lives

in the case of my death.

I stood proud and strong, and, yes, defiant -

to encourage them to do the same.

Because they had to.

If you are willing to do the same for your nation in your times of threat, I salute you.

Yes, I am a Hidden Child - Aliza Erber

Based on Zsolt Bodoni's Painting, Blue Uniform (Tito), 2016


For I am here, I stand with you.


And not there


And not in the underground bunker.


As I stand with you.


My mouth taped shut,


When I emerged above at the age of two.


But there,


But there,


Has loosened,


Not enough to make me whole.







Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recordings/poems of The Halls Where It Happened, Coat of Arms, and Yes, I am a Hidden Child. All of these recordings/poems are based on Zsolt Bodoni's painting, Blue Uniform (Tito), 2016.

Blue Uniform (Tito), 2010

Zsolt Bodoni

Hungarian, born 1975

Blue Uniform (Tito), 2010 Oil and acrylic on canvas

86.6 x 76.8 inches

In his first U.S. solo exhibition, titled “Yesterday’s Heroes, Tomorrow’s Fools,” Zsolt Bodoni, who is Romanian-born but Hungarian by descent, presented what initially seemed a modest exploration of painting’s formal issues. Soon, however, visual excavation of the images’ gray, washy layers revealed figures immersed in hazy, romantic narratives of post-Soviet-bloc Eastern Europe.
The past cannot be dismantled in a single stroke.

Zsolt Bodoni received his MFA from the Hungarian Academy of Fine Arts in Budapest, Hungary. Selected solo shows include: The Shining Path and King Give Us Soldiers, Green Art Gallery, Dubai, UAE; Remastered, Brand New Gallery, Milan, Italy Gods and Mortals, Mihai Nicodim Gallery, Los Angeles, Foundries of Ideologies, Ana Cristea Gallery, New York, USA and Monuments, FA Projects, London, UK; He has been shown in several important group shows including: THE NUDE in the XX & XXI CENTURY, S|2 Gallery, London, Turning Points, The Twentieth Century Through 1914, 1939, 1989, Hungarian National Gallery, Budapest, Hungary Defaced, Boulder Museum of Contemporary Art, Boulder, COOL Nightfall, Galerie Rudolfinum, Prague, Czech Republic; Leipzig Walkabout, Galerie Eigen + Art, Leipzig, Germany; Uncertain Terrain, Knoxville Museum of Art, Knoxville, TN; Show Me a Hero, Calvert 22, London, UK; 15 Hungarian and Romanian Painters, Plan B, Cluj, Romania. His work has been featured and reviewed in Art in America, Flash Art and The New York Times. In 2009 he was selected for the "Top 100 Emerging Artists" by Flash Art International.


Daniel Pitin, 2009

Want and Need - Susan Jennifer Polese

Based on Daniel Pitin's Painting, The Old Swimming Baths, 2009

I’m up for breath

But I want to stay down

No one is deciding, it’s up for grabs

Want and Need

Want and Need

Glittering surface, artificial and delicious

No need to lick my lips

No road to stick to, no instruction booklet

Want and Need

Want and Need

But over there, that’s me and I’m swimming!

Down in coolest, cool of the Ocean

Water parting, legs kicking

Oxygen filled lungs, not bursting

Silence, not deafening

I come up and breathe

But I want to stay down

The water top attracts me

Against my better judgement

Want and Need

Want and Need

Signs pass but they’re not meant for me

Spelling out the obvious

Twinkling above the turquois

Pulling me up, where I will not stay

Want and Need

Want and Need

But still, no matter what, I keep an eye on me!

Plunging way down, down

Among the florescent fish

Time is no longer

Eyelids translucent

Still, the sky entices me through the sea

Wanting and needing

Wanting and needing

Never Free

Artifacts - Catherine Ventura

Based on Daniel Pitin's Painting, The Old Swimming Baths, 2009

So many histories are montage: memory shards

And slivered snapshots, rained down, and reconfigured.

We re-set missing tiles and paint-daubed tesserae slowly

With what’s lingered and the schemas we’ve recovered,

Recreating what we can, and what’s bearable to reimagine.

Like that dawn in August when the green streets groaned and shook

As the tanks rolled into Prague while Spring’s still-dreamers slept,

The bullets stinging the Museum when the mercenaries mistook

Its sandstone domes for a Palace of Justice or Trade.

As beds and offices were overturned by unnerved women

Searching for what they’d need for safety or for flight.

As water swelled in the white-tiled summer pools

When the tanks thundered past, wave after wave,

Until what was falling had fallen and for a moment all was still.

The earth had rattled once before that same twentieth day,

As cindery ash plumed high to join fast rolling quakes.

Men ceased building bonfires for the Vulcanalia,

Stunned by the distant brittle cracks and thunder roar.

As women felt the earth roil, pilasters fall,

And, wincing from distant wolf cry and owl screech,

Rose from their baths - the waters rocking, sloshing now -

Bundled their jewels and amber amulets in brass-bound chests,

Bidding servants to ready them for the flight north.

As raining bombs of ember burned and pumice-hail

Shattered roofs and pierced walls,

Opening new voids for the poisonous wind sear,

Which shot in, wave after charring wave,

Until what was falling had fallen and for a millennium all was still.

Now, where centuries-silent cinder has been brushed aside

And half-felled homes and hollowed walls laid bare again

In Forum baths where magistrates and wealthy merchants met,

We honor that crucible and assemble its artifacts gladly,

Its scorched chairs of wood and ivory, blackened scrolls,

Faint frescoed faces and shattered acanthus leaves,

Defining their beauty by how we choose to re-assemble them.

The drear of our own catastrophes’ rubble draws us less,

Machine-tooled bath-house tiles stained with rust-trailed rivulets

Die a less-mourned death than the sea-monstered mosaics

That embellished the houses of ancient patricians who perished.

Our own sulfurous disasters are still fresh-lain, chaotic,  

Our eyes still struggling to distance, re-assemble, and redefine,

Until our footing’s sure enough to water what springs from quaked soil.

House Ghost - Mareen Kelly

Based on Daniel Pitin's Painting, The Old Swimming Baths, 2009

House Ghost

It’s the deep thirst that makes me consider

The backyard swimming pool.

Then again, a drink can finish your strength.

Better a journey be scorching and companionless,

That’s what I thought,

Because our bodies are pressed seemingly thin.

We can only hold a mirror and look at older versions—

The now escaped inside a nanosecond from my retina to that light.

I settle for watching the floating device.

I remember, I lived on the crowded side

Of the glass, then passed over it like the arch of a note.

After all, we are arm and arm with dream,

Wrapped around it, morning can no longer interfere.

Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recordings/poems of Want and Need, Artifacts, and House Ghost. All of these recordings/poems are based on Daniel Pitin's painting, The Old Swimming Baths, 2009.

The Old Swimming Baths, 2009

Daniel Pitin

Czech, born 1977

The Old Swimming Baths, 2009
Oil and acrylic on canvas

65 x 90.6 inches

Daniel Pitin is one of the generation of artists to have emerged since the fall of communism in Central and Eastern Europe. He received his education from the Academy of Fine Arts, Prague, Czech Republic and continues to live and work in Prague.

Pitin produces large, visually complex paintings, dense with imagery and subtle references to films and canonical works of art. Often embedded are bits of newspaper, lace, paper towels and collaged segments od blueprints of buildings designed by his grandfather in Prague and left rolled up in his family attic. His dark color palette, solitary, ethereal figures, and surreal structures, which seem to both reveal and hide their occupants, imbue his works with moodiness and mystery. He describes his paintings as fragments of stories or dreams, explaining that through them he explores the “personal and public memory of the place where I live.” He uses the family archive and as well as internet sources, historic film material (specifically with references to the work of Alfred Hitchcock), film noir and Czech new wave films from the 1960s. His interest shifts between humanity and its creation, between structures and their content, filling his oeuvre with moodiness and a breath of unsaid contents.

Daniel Pitin was artist-in-residence at Hudson Valley MOCA Fall 2010, producing a solo exhibition ‘Garrison Landing’ that gained wide press acclaim.

Recent exhibitions include A Race of Peeping Toms, Nicodim Gallery, Los Angeles (2020, solo); A Paper Tower, Galerie Rudolfinum, Prague (2019, solo); Broken Windows, House of Art, Česk  Budejovice (2018, solo); Grotto, Charim Gallery, Vienna (2018, solo); Crystal Gardens, GRIMM, Amsterdam (2017, solo). Pit n is in the collection of Los Angeles County Museum of Art and Knoxville Museum of Art. Solo institutional exhibitions include Cover Story, Boulder Museum of Contemporary Art (2012); Garrison Landing Hudson Valley MoCA (2010)`, Peekskill, NY and the Knoxville Museum of Art, Knoxville, TN (2011).


Serban Savu, 2009

Friends - Michael Sirken

Based on Serban Savu's Painting, Three Friends, 2009

On warm summer days wild birds were seen walking together across large back yards.

Nature in all its color and vibrancy sang its melody like a poem dropped from heaven.

What I remember most are the conversations and the games, of course.

Hydration was of upmost importance, and I won’t over-indulge;

Some brought water in plastic bottles, Poland Spring and the like.

The kind of bottles fit to be transformed into clothing.

Others brought iced water in thermoses or cold drinks with vitamins and electrolytes.

There were suits made for play, Nike and the like. And ordinary shorts and tees.

In late fall, layered clothing was the fashion with heavy sweats, even coats.

We exercised and ran enough to reach a fence or slice a ball that couldn’t be returned.

Levels varied; so, teams were made to keep competition balanced.

On court, we encouraged each other:” Good hit, nice whack, good run, attack!”

We always “left it all on the field”. Off court, we shared. We spoke.

Sometimes injury sidelined us, and we waited to return.

But now that covid-19 has separated us, when will we play again?

Or will it be a notice of a fallen friend via our handy cell phones?

Covid -19 or old age. Take your pick.

Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recording/poem of Friends. All of these recording/poem are based on Serban Savu's painting, Three Friends, 2009.

Three Friends, 2009

Serban Savu

Romanian, born 1978

Three Friends, 2009

Oil on Canvas

64.2 x 86.2 inches

Savu's figurative paintings capture the daily life of contemporary Romanians. He lives in Cluj, Romania and makes his paintings in a former paintbrush factory. His subjects are his surroundings, his people and places, sometimes painted directly or other times invented. This context — historical, intellectual, and environmental — is his home living in the aftermath of Communism, or in his words, “its results, the effects of a failed utopia.”

His palate that creates an atmospheric distancing, and his straightforward manner of depicting subjects from the vantage point of a surveillance presents a world both convincingly real and alienating. Events are non-events. People are specific, yet without names or faces. Everything is quiet, maybe at times silent. He manipulates reality in order to make it more relevant.

“I always associate painting with literature. In order to speak you need to learn the language from your parents. In order to write a novel it is not enough just to know how to speak. I think you need to read a lot from the beginning of literature until today in order to have an idea about how to write a novel. I did the same with painting and I have seen art museums around the world and bought a few art books with artists I love. But after living in Venice for two years I deeply fell in love with Venetian painting. Painters like Giorgione, Bellini, Titian, Veronese or Tintoretto, to name just a few, are the figures that I venerate.”


About Serban Savu

Șerban Savu attended the University of Art and Design in Cluj, Romania (2001); he was awarded a two-year postgraduate research grant to Venice. His work has been exhibited Centre Pompidou, Paris, France; Nicodim Gallery, Los Angeles, CA; Gallery of Fine Arts, Ostrava, Czech Republic, Ferenczy Museum Center, Szentendre, Hungary; Berlin, Germany and David Nolan Gallery, New York, NY (2009, solo).

Morris, 2020

I am the Son of an Immigrant - Tootsie Warhol

Based on Moris' Painting, El Dueno de Todo, 2020

My father fled religious persecution in Baghdad to come to this country at age ten in 1950. MORIS is an

artist born and working in Mexico, and his work, “El Due o de Todo” (2020) resonates so strongly with

me because it uses collage and mixed media to encompass the spirit of migration and diaspora.

Hudson Valley Moca is just over an hour’s drive north of the Statue of Liberty, one of the most lasting

symbols of America and of New York in particular. I am the son of an immigrant. The Statue of Liberty

and it’s renowned poem by Emma Lazarus which reads “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled

masses yearning to breathe free,” exudes hope to new arrivals from other countries who have endured

a long and hard and treacherous journey to come to a new but strange land that they will make their


Immigration is uniquely fundamental to the story of America. Combined with the important and lasting

heritage of our Native Americans, immigrants have woven their distinct cultures into the vibrant mosaic

that is America today, and MORIS’s work very much embodies this diverse and strong cultural mosaic.

I am the son of an immigrant.

Donald Trump launched his campaign in 2015 and uttered his most infamous attack on immigrants:

“They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists.” These words were hurtful to me personally

and entirely unamerican. When I met with Donald Trump in 2017 to discuss civil rights in my prior

career as an attorney, I was again confronted with the harsh reality of our country’s new supreme leader

in a very personal and direct way. This meeting inspired me to develop a practice of art and activism and

to use art to convey, among other messages, the importance of immigration and inclusiveness in our nation’s

history and future; and certainly MORIS’s “El Due o de Todo” (2020) embodies this urgent message

as well.

I am the son of an immigrant.

Layering Depths - Inez Andrucyk

Based on Moris' Painting, El Dueno de Todo, 2020

Layering depths

The complexity

Of human experience

De then Re composing

Insistently exposing

Beliefs, Concepts, illusions

found, repeated, transformed,






Scratching out pain, sorrow.


From the hubris

Pluck out hairs,

Flag gagged justice.

Take them all…………


Fingers, paper, enamel,

personal materials

Insistently reordering,

Undoing, redoing


explosive and comforting

wild then quiet.

The canvas heart beats.

Yelepa - Michael Seri

Based on Moris' Painting, El Dueno de Todo, 2020

They arrive refugees in back of a ponga.

Tiffany housewife, criminal ghostly sailor, voodoo priestess


Where the coconut and banana grow.

Where the swagger of green palm and yellow bamboo line the distant cove.

They step unto the playa, tortoises climbing from their shells.


Bronze themselves

Shed their skins.

Peel themselves, of themselves

                        Drown themselves.

Rid themselves, of themselves

                          Day after day

Watch their bodies float away on the back of the ebbing wave.

                           Feel the pulse

                           Share their secrets

                           Cleanse themselves, of themselves

                            In the suds of the delicate foam

                            Footprints disappear

                            Bury their lives in the sand

They come back, day after day

                            Sip on Margaritas

                            Hear the pie woman say “Tu quiere una pastel de banana.”

                            Sit on a spout of a humpback whale

                            Speak Spanish with the dolphin

                            Walk the pace of the mule

                             Paint the landscape with themselves

                             Climb the manure trails

                              Follow the sign “a la cascada.”

                              Purge themselves

                              Baptize themselves, of themselves

                              Make friends with the scorpions

                              Hitch a ride with a butterfly to a Mexican graveyard.

                              Ride the back of a crab

                              Discuss the political essays of Octavio Paz.

                              Attend the Quinceanera

                              Reggae down at the disco nights.

                              Set a bonfire in their hearts

                              Watch thoughts flow down the mouth of the lagoon

                               Lay naked under the dry palms of their palapa

                               Here the indigenous cries

                               of themselves

                               Awaken each morning to island dreams

                               Falling In love

                              With themselves

                              With each other



As Good As New - Lorraine Currelley

Based on Moris' Painting, El Dueno de Todo, 2020

We packed up everything we owned. Precious and sacred rags. Mama’s re-imagined flour sacks, became

precious silks and linens in our longing and hopeful eyes. Battled shoes stuffed with cardboard, missing

soles but never their souls. Patched pants, shirts, dresses, skirts and blouses, cast offs from all the Mr.

& Mrs. Whites our tortured lives knew. Cargo intended for trash cans. Cold harsh cruel voices, shouting

at overworked and underpaid employees. “Mabel , you want any of this stuff before it’s thrown in the

trash? You can fix it up as good as new.”

Away from the glares of Mr. & Mrs. Whites eyes and ears we cursed their ignorance in favor of hard

earned coins. Coins when added together would lead us out of Jim Crow and to freedom. No more

bodies swinging from the poplar trees, rapes hidden from our men folk, bombed churches, mis-education,

Wall Streets, Emmett Tills, and doctorate mops on office floors. Our history and herstory infused

with dreams, audacious hope and the elegant words of brilliant author Isabel Wilkerson’s The Warmth

of Other Suns. Understanding all too well the kindred strokes of comrade Morris bleeding passionately

onto canvass. Like Morris we bring pieces of our lives. Aged pictures passed down, a dress, pair of shoes,

grandfather’s sacred letter and 102 year old Aunt Hattie telling us to wash our panties before going to

bed at night, so that we would have fresh ones to wear the next day.

Everyone spoke about freedom and opportunity up north. Family members sent word

of apartments, jobs and education. When freedom day finally arrived there was great excitement. It

appeared as though the entire Black population just up and left. We did our best not to look over our

shoulders, knowing we would miss the land that struggled to produce food for us. The land we prayed

to and loved. The land where we rested our ancestors. The land we hoped oneday our children would

return to when the evils of the White death we suffered no longer existed. Stories followed us of all

the Mrs. Whites lamenting and wondering how they were going to find colored girls to do their work.

Couldn’t stop talking about how their entire lives were thrown into turmoil. Mama said, “You don’t miss

your water until the well runs dry.”

Seems like Black folks have always been looking for home. Escaping plantations looking for our people.

Children snatched from our wombs and sold. Juneteenth celebrated two and a half years after emancipation.

Greedy brutal enslavers angered by the news hoping to suck the last of our remaining breath

from our bodies. Their kin fight for voter suppression and keeping the truth of their brutality out of

schools. While our resilient descendants still fight for what remains “Freedom: A Failed Promise.”

Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recordings/poems of I am the Son of an Immigrant, Lyering Depth, Yelpa, and As Good as New. All of these recordings/poems are based Moris' painting, El dueno de todo, 2020.

El dueno de todo, 2020

MORIS (Israel Meza Moreno)

Mexican, born 1978

El dueno de todo, 2020
Collage and transfer and enamel on canvas, mixed media and found objects
78.75 x 78.75 inches

Moris’ work addresses representation, social and subjective agency, urban issues, and marginal cultures often taken for granted in mainstream society. Moris grew up and lives and works in a Cartel-run area outside Mexico City. The issues he researches are part of his daily life; the street and social space are his laboratory. Understanding the diverse social codes of the urban underclass and underworld, their strategies for survival, and informal use of aesthetics in order to make daily life more humane and dignified are the driving ethos for his work.

His recent work echos the phenomenology of the migrant, the survival tools in the countries, on the long journey to the USA. Always looking north, Latin Americans compose a great unstoppable caravan transforming each place on the way towards to the US.

Under the idealization that the north has more resources and better payments, migrants try to obtain the benefits that a government as the US may offer. There is an ongoing tension between the government and the caravan seeking opportunities and resources during their stay or possible permanent residence.

His work is part of many important public and private collections worldwide including the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), New York City, Museum of Contemporary Art (MoCA), Los Angeles, La Colección Jumex, Mexico City, and FEMSA Collection, Monterrey Mexico. Major exhibitions include “Mi casa es tu casa”, Los Angeles Nomadic Division (LAND), MOCA Geffen Contemporary, Los Angeles, CA.; “Un animal pierde la vida porque otro tiene hambre (An animal dies because another is hungry)”, Museo Experimental El Eco, Mexico City, Mexico and has been a representative at the 9th Havana Biennale, Havana, Cuba and the 30th São Paulo Biennial, São Paulo, Brazil in 2012.

Sven Kroner, 2006

Ode to Lost Night - Jonathan Shork

Based on Sven Kroner’s Painting, Light Pollution, 2006

In a world ere the dominion of tar and glass,

when the human animal humbly watched time pass

and the other kingdoms in benign concert reigned,

an hour and place for all things Gaia ordained.

But the ambitions of the wise ape overthrew

such accord as all other earthly creatures knew,

devising instead the tyranny of machines

that bent the world to suit the selfish philistines.

Now on this bewildered scape of nature spoiled

where from raging fire, wind, and flood we are recoil’d,

even the night wanes in the toxic mists of blight—

the waves and particles of ever-present light.

The temples of the sky star-hung do we betray

for the profane veneration of ruined day.

Spring Planting - Maryann McCarra-Fitzpatrick

Based on Sven Kroner’s Painting, Light Pollution, 2006

In the valley the fields

lie fallow under the first

snow, the grain safely

stowed away against marauders, no

chance of famine here, coils of baling

wire at the ready, tarp-covered silage too,

cattle secured in their pens, the

flitches of bacon drying on

the rack, the puddings boiled

in the basin and he

takes these long nights to

mend his harness and

plan for spring planting, the

furrows riven in the earth to

coax forth new life, the

ribbons of green marking

the borders of his land

beneath these sheltering mountains,

the peace of the night yet

undisturbed by word of random acts

of violence blot-splotched across newsprint

in newspeak

Prayer for Darkness - Maureen Dillon

Based on Sven Kroner’s Painting, Light Pollution, 2006

In the shadow of the mountains,

Near the farmhouses and fields,

The snow lights the cold night

With a reflective glow

From the distant cities

And the nearby lampposts.

So cloistered in light,

The heavens are lost.

I pray for darkness -

The velvety darkness of childhood

On a winter’s night

When I stepped into the January air

Absorbed by the inky blindness,

Until my eyes adjusted upward

To distant pinpoint stars.

Coaching myself to stay still,

Take time, ease into the nothing,

Feel the winds blow through

Until it came into focus

The Milky Way spiraling through cosmic clouds.

How small I needed to be

To see such grandeur.

Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recordings/poems of Ode to Lost Night, Spring Planting, and Prayer for Darkness. All of these recordings/poems are based on Sven Kroner’s painting, Light Pollution, 2006

Light Pollution, 2006

Sven Kroner

German, born 1973

Light Pollution, 2006
Acrylic on canvas

63 x 118 inches

At first, Kroner’s work seems to be one of the Arcadian landscapes from the long tradition of the landscape: vast European landscapes, with sunrays penetrating the foliage and creating a play of light and dappled shadow underneath the trees, sweeping views.

Kroner instead offers only the most minimal implication of human presence. He only leaves subtle hints as part of a large commentary on our ongoing connections with the natural world but also our mistreatment of it. Kroner adjusts the presence of humanity and, in doing so, alters the impact of his landscapes altogether.

Kroner is currently based in Düsseldorf and splits his time between teaching and painting.

Sven Kroner exhibits in Germany, The Netherlands, United States and elsewhere. His first exhibition was at Kunstverein Wilhelmshöhe Ettlingen E.V. in 1996. Important shows include Sven Kroner at Marc Straus in New York City, NY, at Ludwig Forum für Internationale Kunst in Aachen and Sies + Höke in Dusseldorf. Sven Kroner’s art is in 4 museum collections including Zabludowicz Collection, London and Gemeentemuseum Helmond - Boscotondohal in Helmond among others.

Jeffrey Gibson, 2013

Great White Hide - MP Nolan

Based on Jeffrey Gibson’s Painting, Someone Great is Gone, 2013

No machinery can or will rescue

any of us from the law of being.

For centuries we have pretended that

by echoing those grey wings on the wind

grinding the black earth into our palms, and

dipping blue confections to our pink tongues,

we are truly living.

But, by proclaiming that

there can only be one of anything,

we are gradually tearing at the

seams of a sheath, well worn.

It would do us well to remember that

while the fringes may be tattered and torn

the main core is always serviceable.

Because while all our ancestors loom large

in the shadows of grief

Brown, Yellow, Red…

We must remember that

someone great was and is ever-present—

In the untouched landscape

In the interior web of oneness

In the infinite expanse beyond that

disposable jacket—

that great white hide.

No Darkness-for John Lewis - Rachel Berghash

Based on Jeffrey Gibson’s Painting, Someone Great is Gone, 2013

Wearing a black coat, head bare,

his face set against armed strongmen,

he stands close to his brothers

and sisters, his gaze harbors a wilderness,

a deep resolve to share in the scattering

light of this dark dark world.


His skull, fractured.

Body, bloodied.

His life is light.

From a psalm dancing hills emerge

the sea splits, and in the path between

the walls of water freedom sings.

His soul grows “deep like the rivers.”

There is no darkness in it.

Mother Hubbard - Donna Barkman

Based on Jeffrey Gibson’s Painting, Someone Great is Gone, 2013

She wore aprons similar to this

     in colors and shape

they were called Mother Hubbard

did any of them last through the six

      children she didn’t truly want

before birth control or abortion

       except DIY

the coverings practical, related

        to her own but not

indigenous cultures

        while we stripped her to her hide

a great woman long gone

Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recordings/poems of Great White Hide, No Darkness - for John Lewis, and Mother Hubbard. All of these recordings/poems are based on Jeffrey Gibson’s painting, Someone Great is Gone, 2013.

Someone Great is Gone, 2013
Someone Great is Gone, 2013

Jeffrey Gibson

American, born 1972

Someone Great is Gone, 2013
Elk hide, acrylic, paint, graphite, colored pencil

73 x 66 inches

Jeffrey Gibson’s multimedia practice synthesizes the cultural and artistic traditions of his Cherokee and Choctaw heritage with the visual languages of Modernism and themes from contemporary popular and queer culture. His work is a vibrant call for queer and Indigenous empowerment, envisioning a celebration of strength and joy within these communities.

Jeffrey Gibson grew up in major urban centers in the United States, Germany, Korea, and England. He received a Bachelor of Fine Arts in painting from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in 1995 and Master of Arts in painting at the Royal College of Art, London, in 1998. He is a citizen of the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians and is half Cherokee. He is currently an artist-in-residence at Bard College and lives and works near Hudson, New York.

Gibson’s artworks are in the permanent collections of many major art museums, including the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Smithsonian, the National Gallery of Canada, the Nasher, the Nerman, Crystal Bridges, and the Denver Art Museum. Recent exhibitions include SCAD Museum of Art (Savannah and Atlanta), National Academy Museum in New York, Institute of Contemporary Art Boston, Cornell Museum of Fine Art, Denver Art Museum and Ruth and Elmer Wellin Museum of Art.  He has participated in Greater New York, Prospect New Orleans, the Everson Biennale, and Site Santa Fe. Gibson is a member of the faculty at Bard College and a past TED Foundation Fellow and Joan Mitchell Grant recipient.  He was included in the 2019 Whitney Biennial. In 2019 he received a MacArthur Foundation genius award.

Norbert Schwontkowski, 2005

Universal Survival - Edward Currelley

Based on Norbert Schwontkowski, Ende der Welt, 2005

The universe gave birth to the stars and planets. Theoretically the origin began by a series of cataclysmic

eruptions in the great beyond. Something we refer to as space, infinity of existence unimaginable. My point

is Universe as mother or simply womb. Planets in infancy like glass marbles tossed across asphalt. Beautiful

embryos awaiting recipient and the miracle of life, where why how doesn’t matter. A concept in all its complexities

shapes and forms, with one very basic objective, survival, the most natural of all instincts. We’ve

found, or rather it’s been demonstrated in millions of instances how life bounces back. The tree or plant

thought dead, bearing fruit and leaves the next season like unyielding mother. An animal in the wild severely

wounded mending itself with only nature at its side. Millions of years, a nano second in time and space,

prehistoric life is birthed from the earth’s ocean womb. Grand children of universe, born to slither, crawl

and finally walk, be it four or two limbs. Traveling great distance to spawn and spread. Exquisite, inquisitive,

entities yearning to learn grow ultimately evolving into innovative self sufficient creatures. We’ve learned to

utilize raw materials for tools, weapons and instruments of wonder for growth. We’ve also become reliant

on one another as community and family. The rise from prehistoric culture to civilization and progress

has turned. Access, greed, power and supremacy have brought human beings to our present condition.

Apparently we’ve learned nothing of nature and a mother’s will to survive. We have under the auspices of

advancement, with blatant disregard for nature and its natural resources. Have and continue to methodically

drain them in abundance, for instruments of convenience and war.

Plant life, water, oil, all of nature’s life blood abused. Human beings like a virus attacking an immune system.

Wouldn’t the earth as a living organism fight to sustain itself, protect itself as any living creature from decease?

Perhaps the earth is trying to survive, to protect its other more appreciative life forms. This with no

other choice than by destroying what has become an infection that threatens her very existence. A mother

in nature will sacrifice one child to preserve the lives of all her children. Is that what the planet is doing?

Curing its self, self preservation,

Are human beings earth’s virus?

Go West, Young Woman by MaryAnn McCarra-FItzpatrick

Based on Norbert Schwontkowski, Ende der Welt, 2005

Go West, young woman, and see

the thick tributaries, once rivers,

now roads, thrumming highways, that truck goods to

your door, the ripened strawberries

for your breakfast, the shoes on your feet

Tough-whiskered Yanks, Irish too,

and Chinese laid the rails joining our

two coasts, metal ringing upon metal,

sparking fires of creation, of industry, of

building up to the sky, rather

than reducing to a blight of cinders.

Criss-crossing the patchwork quilt

of corn, soybeans, barley, wheat, oats, the barns

of lowing cattle, squealing swine, cackling hens, the

hum of honeybees hard at work, an orchestra of the

outpouring of America released by

human hands tilling the soil, these

notes sing still, through the days and nights,

a world never-ending

Your speech/ is yours/

And it/ is free/

This is/ the way/

It was/ meant to be/


Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recordings/poems of Universal Survival and Go West, Young Woman. The recording/poem are based on Norbert Schwontkowski's painting, Ende der Welt, 2005.

Based on Norbert Schwontkowski, Ende der Welt, 2005
Ende der Welt, 2005

Norbert Schwontkowski

German, born 1949, died 2013

Ende der Welt, 2005

Oil on Canvas

40.5 x 60 inches

Norbert Schwontkowski challenges artistic categorization; his work falls between abstraction, realistic representation, and cartoon. He created his paints from hand-ground pigments mixed with various materials to yield a multitude of textures. Schwontkowski also added metal oxides to the pigments, creating shimmering surfaces that continue to change over time. His palette of pale earth tones, blacks and grays creates a muted, subdued atmosphere, while his carefully worked surfaces and minimal gestures demonstrate his sophisticated paint handling. Schwontkowski’s work is often described as playful yet melancholy, and naive while still mature.


Schwontkowski does not presume to know the contours of our anxiety: he just shows us his, refusing to elevate it, and supposes that ours is equivalent. Nor, as a painter, is he a downer. His handling is wristy but muffled, flash also held back, and, on this evidence, he was continually inventive, refusing to duplicate motifs and even sometimes – in very late works like the neon-lashed street murkily atmospheric, mostly figurative scenarios, using painting to wrestle emphatically with existential disquiet and a neo-Romantic sense of the numinous.


Norbert Schwontkowski was born in 1949 in Bremen, Germany. He attended Hochschule für Gestaltung in Bremen, and later became a professor of painting at the Hochschule für Bildende Künst, Hamburg. Schwontkowski has regularly exhibited in galleries and public institutions throughout Europe since the late 1970s. Most recently, his work has been exhibited at Williams College Museum of Art, Williamston, MA (2013); Contemporary Fine Arts, Berlin (2011); and Kerlin Gallery, Dublin (2010). His work was included in the 2005 Berlin Biennial. He is in the collections of Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York and Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

A.A. Bronson, 2015

Thinking. Wishful Thinking by Marcy B. Freedman

Based on A.A. Bronson, The White Flag #8, 2015

I am not a poet or a playwright.

But I do like to think about art,

And here’s what I think about

A.A. Bronson's White Flag #8:

I think that there is quite a lot

To contemplate in this mixture

Of skin glue, honey, and such.

For example, in my opinion, Bronson's White Flag #8 is not really a flag; rather, it is the representation of a flag. Of

course, you could argue otherwise, insisting that Bronson has, in fact, created a flag - using unusual materials. This

conundrum is not new. Back in 1954, Jasper Johns created Flag, using encaustic, oil paint and newspapers. When critics want to know if Johns was creating a painted flag or making a painting of a flag, he said he was doing both. Clever man - that Jasper Johns! Indeed, we need not solve this puzzle. Instead, let's think about the many, many things that Bronson's White Flag #8 can tell us about this country. On a positive note, the absence of red and blue in Bronson's artwork suggests a land without the turmoil of current red state/ blue state discord. I like that! On the other hand, Bronson's White Flag #8 brings to mind the persistence of white supremacy, year after year, decade after decade. I don't know about you, but I cringe to think about that. And so, I think I will buy some paint - in many different colors - and I will throw these beautiful colors at Bronson's White Flag #8. Then, I will re-name his work. It will be called Wishful Thinking.

Stigma by Loretta Oleck

Based on A.A. Bronson, The White Flag #8, 2015

The restaurant is out of the way, in a two hundred year old barn

with an American Flag waving over the door.

We share a pot of mussels and most of the shells are stuck shut—

the dangerous ones.

We know well enough to leave them be.

You are a philanthropist raising millions of dollars for Saint Jude,

Ronald McDonald House, Hole in the Wall, spending countless hours

and dollars helping children with cancer.

I’m impressed.

When I ask what was the driving factor, you share your family

has cancer markers and many have died.

Bad genes, you say, very bad genes.

Did you have cancer? I ask.

No. Did you?

I hesitate then spit out the truth. Yes. But I’m fine now.

Mussels with stuck-together shells pile on the plate.

I am no longer a date. Now, I am a patient in a hospital gown.

Weak constitution. Now you imagine me dead.

You frantically scan the restaurant for the waitress

and motion for the check.

Cancer has motives going far beyond one’s health,

trapping its victim inside the most dangerous of bi-valves—

the ones with the shells that never open,

the ones recognized as dangerous,

the ones carelessly and heartlessly discarded.

Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recordings/poems of Thinking. Wishful Thinking and Stigma. All of these recordings/poems are based on AA Bronson’s painting, White Flag #8, 2015.

White Flag #8, 2015

A.A. Bronson

Canadian, born 1946

White Flag #8, 2015

Rabbit skin glue, champagne chalk, raw honey on linen, cotton, cotton rope on linen 59.1 x 114.1 inches

AA Bronson, nee Michael Tims, Vancouver, Canada,1946, was a founding member of the artists' group General Idea, During their twenty five year association, General Idea produced work in every conceivable medium, pioneering video and performance work as well as producing artist’s books, photographs, sculptures, multiples, prints as well as installations, and public art projects. They sought to examine and subvert social structures, taking particular interest in the products of mass culture. They began publishing their ideas and work in File, a quarterly journal published in Toronto. In the late 1980s they focused their attention on the AIDS epidemic. General Idea ended when Bronson’s partners died of AIDS in 1994.

Since then AA has worked and exhibited as a solo artist, often collaborating with younger generations. Since 1999 he has worked as a healer, an identity that he has also incorporated into his artwork. From 2004 to 2010 he was the Director of Printed Matter, Inc. in New York City, founding the annual NY Art Book Fair in 2005. In 2009 he founded the Institute for Art, Religion, and Social Justice at Union Theological Seminary in New York City, which he now co-directs. In 2013 he was the founding Director of Printed Matter's LA Art Book Fair. He has taught at UCLA, the University of Toronto, and the Yale School of Art.

He has had solo exhibits in the UK, Berlin, Finland, Basel, Munich, Austria; 10th Gwangju Biennale, Gwangju, Toronto. Group exhibitions include The Jewish Museum, New York; Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago; The Balcony, Toronto National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa; LA, Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles.

John Wesley, 1989

Jars at McDaid’s by MaryAnn McCarra-FItzpatrick

Based on John Wesley, Guinness, 1989

her words repeat and repeat,

raven-haired girl, as he drains

the pint of plain,

eyes closed in silent pleasure

at the drenching draught of

the black stuff.

How many hours on the job

today, building upon what went

before—and more to do tomorrow,

primed for it, thick-necked and

ready to meet any obstacle.

Another day done, and yet,

so many more to do, the

sun cracks through the sky

yellow as the egg yolk scraped

from the breakfast plate to the bin, and, as

the gravedigger in Brooklyn said:

Don’t look back. If you look

back you’re finished. Forge on,


It’s time, gentlemen, time. You don’t

have to go home,

but you can’t stay here….

Sinne Fianna Fáil….

Again by Alice Feeley

Based on John Wesley, Guinness, 1989

Comfort in a glass.

Smug gentleman bathed in pastels

eyes closed, distant from photos repeating

what he won’t see or hear.

Identical women filmed with open eyes and mouths

are cornered in a frame nearby

holding their endless gaze, their voice.

Again and again he sips or gulps.

When will the glass be empty

the frame without further comment?

Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recordings/poems of Jars at McDaid's and Again. All of these recordings/poems are based on John Wesley's painting, Guinness, 1989.

Guinness, 1989

John Wesley

American, born 1928

Guinness, 1989

Acrylic on canvas

60 x 72 inches

John Wesley is an American artist whose paintings hover between pop art and erotic surrealism. Wesley has consistently worked with his distinctive palette: primarily, varying tones of ‘pastel’ blue and pink “It was just fun doing what I was doing.”

“The complex world of John Wesley is, paradoxically reached via a short journey, and the ease with which he is able to conjure up special effects in the viewer’s minds places his work in the great tradition of the blind visionary. Under the surface of his absurd utterances, however, a scathing commentary on society, superficiality, power or abuse can be found, if one only wants to look for it.” --Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev, “John Wesley: A Retrospective,” PS1/MoMA

John Wesley has been exhibited and collected by museums worldwide since the 1960s. Surveys of his work have been held at the Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam, curated by Rudi Fuchs and Kasper Koenig (travelled to Portikus); Museum Ludwigsburg, curated by Udo Kittleman (travelled to DAAD, Berlin); PS1 MoMA, Long Island City, curated by Alana Heiss; Harvard University Art Museums, Cambridge, MA, curated by Linda Norden; Museum Haus Lange, Krefeld, Germany, curated by Martin Henschel; Chinati Foundation, Marfa, TX, curated by Marianne Stockebrand; and Fondazione Prada at the Venice Biennale curated by Germano Celant. Since 2004, the Chinati Foundation, Marfa, TX. has maintained a permanent gallery housing its collection of Wesley’s paintings, as was intended by Judd since the foundation’s inception. In 2014, Wesley was commissioned to create a public art project for the High Line.

Josef Bolf, 2009

The New Normal by Meghan P. Nolan

Based on Josef Bolf, The Classroom, 2009

“What’s it going to be then, eh?”

The words reverberate through the call

like a wayward ball

bouncing through a hollowed hallway.

Others may defend this as the “new normal,”

but what came before

was far from acceptable.

Those desks may have housed people


but the faces staring back at

me were as empty

as those perpetual black screens—

little black boxes

void of data— a vacant reality.

If only there was someone here to hear me.

If only there was someone here.

If only there was.

The Classroom by Maureen Dillon

Based on Josef Bolf, The Classroom, 2009

Before bed, they whisper ancestral tales

Of wolves waiting in woodland forests,

Mouths dripping with saliva and blood:

Stories reaching crescendos of fear,

Until the hunters arrive and behead the beasts.

They leave us alone in the dark, hearing

The dripping of tick, tock, drip, drop.

By midnight, we wake with a start,

To windows breaking, fires burning

And sirens wailing in the distance.

In the classroom, we wait for the teacher

Who never comes.

Each week, another desk goes empty:

Their red chairs, turned upside down,

Another chalk mark in our minds tallies those we’ve lost.

Now just the five of us,

Staring at the blank board, separated and afraid to talk.

Outside the grey smoke-clouds move off from the fires

There is a severed wolf head on my desk

Seeping blood under my chair.

I show the frightened boys,

But the others refuse to see.

Now I feel the sickness, leaking into the classroom.

They wait patiently for the teacher to return,

But now, I see how the story really ends.

Feel free to navigate through the tabs to hear the recordings/poems of The New Normal and The Classroom. All of these recordings/poems are based on Josef Bolf’s painting, Classroom, 2009.

Bolf, Classroom, 2009
Classroom, 2009

Josef Bolf

Czech, born 1971

Classroom, 2009
Oil paint, wax and ink on canvas

68.9 x 102.4 inches

Josef Bolf (born October 7, 1971 in Prague) is a painter living in the Check Republic. He studied at the Academy in Prague from1990–1998. In 1995 he studied at Kongsthögskolan (Stockholm) and in 1996 at the Akademie der Bildenden
Künste in Stuttgart. From 1996 to 2002 he was a member of the art group Bezhlavý jezdec.

Bolf's creations capture strange characters, often suffering, sometimes half-animal. His paintings are often considered depressed, gloomy, sad, melancholy. His ideas often stem from his childhood spent in the southern city of Prague. His figurative paintings exist against the background of a more or less realistic landscape that emphasizes the narrative.

He is part of the first generation not under the control of Communist censorship and able to have connections with foreign and western artistic scenes. Josef Bolf works in collaboration with artists Šerých, Ján Manuška and Tomáš Vanek with whom he created the artist group BJ (Bezhlavý jezdec/The Headless Knight).

His work revolves around childhood, his memories and the surrounding gloom which took over between 1968 with the Prague Spring and the Velvet Revolution in 1989, a period known as the Normalization period, characterized by the restoration of "Communist norms".

His work is in the following collections: 8smička, Humpolec, Czech Republic; AMC Collezione Coppola, Vicenza, Italy; Collett Prague/Munich, Czech Republic/Germany; Eileen S. Kaminsky Family Foundation, Jersey City, New Jersey; Fait Gallery, Brno, Czech Republic; Galerie Klatovy/Klenová, Czech Republic; GAVU, Cheb, Czech Republic; GHMP, Praha, Czech Republic; Hudson Valley MOCA, Peekskill, New York; Marek Collection, Brno, Czech Republic; Moravian Gallery, Brno, Czech Republic; National Gallery, Praha, Czech Republic; Olomouc Museum of Art, Czech Republic; Pudil Family Foundation, Praha, Czech Republic; and Robert Runták Collection, Olomouc, Czech Republic.

Projects Supported by:

The Alliance of Resident Theatres/New York

Writing the Walls started 16 years ago when Artistic Director Mara Mills, Studio Theater in Exile and Livia Straus, co-founder Hudson Valley MOCA collaborated to enhance the museum exhibitions by inviting poets and playwrights to contribute original works reflective of their interaction with the art.

Accepted literary works ​were usually hung next to the artwork that inspired the written word and visitors to the museum ha​d a chance to see the dialogue between art and word​. This was followed by ​a culminating performance​, “The Poets Walk​,” a day at HV MOCA where, moving from artwork to artwork, the poets read their works in front of their chosen work of art​.  The audience followed the poets, walk​​ing from piece to piece, gaining new insight, energizing the space.

In 2020-2021 the live performance could not happen. With the pandemic at its height, we took to virtual posting. The 2020-21 poetry and art went on-line with audio recordings of the poets reading their work​s. In 2021, the exhibition expanded with How We Live II with paintings added to the ​exhibition. And still we could not gather together!

Writing (Off) the Walls II, the Virtual Poets’ Walk​, proceeded with 2021-22 writers working from on-line images and br​inging forth poems reflecting the exhibition and life as we are living it ​today.

Welcome to Writing (Off) the Walls II, an on-line Virtual Art and Word event inspired by the artwork in How We Live: Part II. The paintings and the poems are testaments that creativity is alive and flourishing.