Voice and Vision is celebrating nine years of creativity.
This annual event brings together artists and writers from Airdrie and surrounding communities. The Airdrie Public Library plays a big role in its success, providing a place for the writers’ group and a venue for the Voice and Vision gala.
This year, there are 14 writers and 14 artists that have been randomly paired up for the project. This article highlights four of these partnerships. Three partners have chosen the artist’s initial piece and the writer’s response to them. One partnership will show the writer’s initial piece of writing and the artist’s response to it.
Each pair of creative individuals try to honour the intent of the original, while being inspired to make their own expressive connections. The results are often surprising. All 28 artworks and compositions have been captured in a Voice and Vision publication, available for purchase at the gala on Sept. 21.
Come see the artwork and hear the writing at this year’s Voice and Vision gala at the Airdrie Public Library on Sept. 21 from 6 to 9 p.m. There will be entertainment and tasty bites in addition to the presentations and copies of the 2024 Voice and Vision publication will be available for purchase. Artwork and the accompanying writing will be kept on display in the library until the end of October.
1) Sheila Humphrey, writer and Afshan Khan, artist
Sheila Humphrey:
What do animals say to each other? What makes the world turn? There’s always something to wonder about each time I write. Inspiration comes from my children’s enthusiasms, an article in the paper, a chance encounter…
Bugsy and Zorro
“As I was sayin’, Professor Higgs should never have had his name on the boson particle.”
“Does it really matter?” asks Bugsy. “What difference does it make what it’s called? Just to know the God particle exists is enough to satisfy me!”
“They could just as well call it the dog particle then,” announces Zorro, the junior member of the pair. “It’s the other research scientists like Anderson, Brout and Hooft who were left out and should be pissed.” He excuses himself momentarily as they pass by a suitable tree.
“Forget the unfortunate human aspect of scientific discovery. Focus on the poetry of the boson particle,” urges Bugsy.
“Like, the boson as the force that holds all nuclei together?”
“Yes! And get this — Higgs saw the universe filled with an invisible field of energy,” adds Bugsy.
“And the boson is the bit that flakes off when things happen, right?” asks Zorro.
“Kind of…CERN discovered an actual boson in 2012.”
“Right away Higgs got the Nobel Prize, and was rich and famous,” insists Zorro.
“Listen Zed,” (Bugsy’s affectionate term for his friend), “Higgs didn’t seek fame or fortune, he even turned down a knighthood!”
“And free food!” exclaims Zorro. The thought of a royal banquet makes him drool.
“Speaking of—“ yelps Bugsy, catching the tossed treat on the fly.
“What a good boy!” exclaims his owner.
“And here’s my darling Zorro!” breathes his owner.
“See you tomorrow!” Bugsy says.
“Remember, it’s my chess move,” counters Zorro.
They trot off in opposite directions.
Afshan Khan’s Response:
I am a participating artist at voice and vision this year, love this project! I was paired up with an amazing writer, Sheila Humphrey. This art is a response piece for her poem called “Bugsy and Zorro!” I complimented this poem with my imagination and created this textured piece.
The Unknown, acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas (24 x 18 inches)
2) Lorraine Janzen, writer and Tami Hort, artist
Tami Hort’s artwork:
My painting of the boy running along the curb is of my grandson in early spring. I could feel the cold wet water soaking him as he laughed and splashed through the melting snow. The composition; long and narrow, shows the bright reflection of his red coat and boots.
Lorraine Janzen’s response:
A Playground of Seasons
Winter and spring dance on the air, tumbling, twisting, and swirling,
An interplay of soft, gentle whispers and harsh laments.
With every whisper, thin patches of snow give way to warmth, and water begins to trickle.
But the complaints, unyielding, resist surrender, encouraging snow piles to persist.
Nature is conflicted, creating a welcome design.
Spring sighs, delighted to come alive, murmurs through open windows,
Tickles the ears of a little one, curious, he ponders which boots to wear.
Winter and spring collide creating a musical of water traveling down drainpipes.
Snow mounds crunch under the weight of puddle boots, ready for rivulets of fun.
Water is flowing, tumbling, gurgling, beguiling little eyes, and ears.
The seasons vie for his attention, each one jealous of the others tenacity.
Spring brushes the innocent face with a breeze and warmth from the sun,
while winter wrestles with a resolution and sends a final refrain.
The child shivers, then, smiling, he runs through the current of water along the sidewalk.
With giggles of joy, he scurries; feet splashing, legs jumping, and arms swinging.
Back and forth he races between the seasons, each one enticing but winter gives way.
Final snow mounds halt the flow of water, the child stops, and with feet together, he jumps!
Water and snow travel upwards, as high as the child is tall and cascade down along
sleeves and pants and then, settles back in the cheerful stream, as it waits for more play.
Spring and Winter together, nature’s beauty, a child’s playground.
This poem was inspired by the interplay of the two seasons, winter and spring. Winter is not ready to leave, and spring is eager to be present. Both seasons vie for the little boy’s attention, sharing their gifts and creating an afternoon of fun.
Puddles, oil on board (10 x 20 inches unframed; 13 x 23 inches framed)
3) Allissa Blondin, writer and Anita Schill, artist
Anita Schill’s artwork:
Vulnerable, watercolour on 80lb drawing paper, artist’s collage materials (8.5 x 11.5 inches unframed; 12.5 x 16 framed)
Allissa Blondin’s response:
Overture to an Ocean
A rare glimpse indeed it is to witness the restorative power of a single weary woodland water nymph’s teardrop. A mystical miracle of monumental import that completely reverses the chaotic effect of humankind’s careless self-concern.
The slinky, sultry seaweed, now dancing freely, was completely unaware that only moments ago she was grappling for her life after becoming deeply entangled with the remnants of a piece of elegantly designed green metallic wrapping paper bound with dingy discarded dental floss.
The frisky phytoplankton frolicked with bubbly effervescence after being released from the heavy burden of living under the sharp steel scissors that had settled stiffly upon them.
The helpless, hapless hermit crab emerged from his faded yellow home just in time to witness the large plastic plate, that had previously imprisoned him in his shell, invert upon itself and disappear into a puff of nothingness before his very eyes.
The coy but clever catfish popped its head out of its submerged spawning-season shelter and sang a scintillating song after a piece of coloured glass dislodged itself from the entrance to his nest and seemed to sizzle out of sight.
If only the weary woodland water nymph wasn’t the work of wishful whimsy. What a wonderous welcoming watery world we would witness.
Allissa and Anita’s thoughts on their partnership:
Immersed in the unfamiliar, yet peaceful lagoons of the Galápagos Islands, Anita was presented with a new realm of filtered light, waves dancing above and dark shadowy animals swirling around her. Allissa noticed designs that resembled decorative wrapping paper at the bottom of the scene, inspiring the flow of alliterative ideas.
4) Chad Stewart, writer and Megan Ellahi, artist
Megan Ellahi’s painting:
Creating this acrylic landscape painting involved channeling the serene power of the mountains, my happy place. The looming peaks symbolize permanence and solace, contrasting with the overgrown wheat field and abandoned barn. This juxtaposition reflects the tranquility found in nature, a refuge for solitude and contemplation amidst life’s impermanence.
Chad Stewart’s response:
Mountains
The mountains soar into the bright sky
The wind whips and batters the unyielding stone
Thousands of years have passed
Yet here they stand like majestic monuments testifying to many ages gone by
People come and people go
Fields are plowed
Seeds planted
Crops grow and are harvested
Buildings are erected, then time ushers them to the grave
This is the cycle that has been destined from the beginning
Birth …
Growth …
Decay …
But in the midst of all this the mountains soar
They reach to the sky and stand
Unmoved
Undaunted by the passage of time
Confident they will see the birth, growth, and decay of countless generations
They are overseers that stand no matter what
Look to the mountains, for they stand strong and sure
They instruct us
Though we are mortal and will decay and fade like this barn
We should be like the mountains
In times of joy and peace, or in times of trials and struggles we should stand like them
Stand with your back erect, shoulders out, chin up
Take the battering of the wind; the rain; the snow
But stand strong knowing who you are and where you’re going
Be like the mountains and soar
Be like the mountains, firmly rooted and grounded
Stand till the end
The end comes for us all, but how will you be when it comes?
Will you still be standing, ushered into eternity with your head held high?
Will you soar?
Will you be unmoved?
Will you stand?
Megan Ellahi’s beautiful painting of a rundown barn in the shadow of the mountains soaring behind it provided ample inspiration for me to work with. When creating, I always want to draw on the visual piece, but like to extrapolate on a larger more metaphoric or deep understanding we can draw from the scene. For example, my piece goes from extolling the unmoveable standing of the mountains over time, to encouraging the reader to be like the mountains and stand through the course of time.
Alone, acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas (16 x 20 inches)
5) Tandy Balson, writer and Melissa Bruglemans-Labelle, artist
Melissa Bruglemans-Labelle:
Part of a collection titled Caffeinated Critters. I was inspired by the critters that live within my urban setting. Although they are wild animals they too seemed have certain duties or responsibilities to their particular community. This Crow always seemed to have some urgent news that just needed to be shared at the crack of dawn, near my open bedroom window.
Town Crier, Coffee, torn papers, handwritten notes, Swarovski Crystals, and other mixed media on watercolour papers.
Tandy Balson’s Response:
My inspiration for the response to this painting came when I listened to the incessant cawing of crows and got curious as to what they might actually be saying to each other.
Crow Speak
Mommy, look at that pretty bird in the tree over there.
That’s just a crow. They’re nothing but a nuisance. Let’s keep walking.
But he looked right at us. I think he’s talking to us. What do you think he said?
Caw, Caw
I don’t think that awful squawk is actually talking. Keep walking and maybe once we get past, he’ll be quiet.
Caw, Caw, Caw
If he’s not talking to us, maybe he’s talking to another crow – or some animals. Do you think the animals in this park can understand him?
Caaaw, Caw, Caaaw
I don’t know if crows speak the same language as other animals here. He probably just doesn’t like us coming close and is being loud so we’ll leave. Let’s keep walking instead of standing here looking at him.
Caw, Caw. The humans are headed in your direction. Make sure the babies are safely tucked away.
But, I like looking at him. See how shiny his feathers are. I bet he’s smart, too. I wish I knew what he was saying.
Caaaaw, Caw I’ve heard that humans aren’t very smart. This young one has potential, though. Too bad he’ll grow up to be like the big ones!
6) Margaret Hanna, writer and Penny Atkins, artist
Penny Atkins:
The piece was inspired by my daughter, who left home to live on Vancouver Island.
As an empty nest parent, the mixed feelings of hope and joy as she finds her way in the world are accompanied by sadness that she’s leaving the safety and love of her childhood home, as she paddles away.
Paddle Girl, acrylic on canvas (12 x 12 inches)
Margaret Hanna’s Response:
Penny’s portrait depicts something we have all experienced: an eager young person heading off into the world to find his/her future, and the longing, hopes and fears of the one(s) left behind.
Full Circle
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be back.”
I cling to those words like I cling to her. “Be careful,” I say.
“Oh, Mom! I’m going with friends. What can happen?”
Anything. Everything. I don’t say that, though.
I watch her paddle away downriver, her back slowly vanishing into the distance. Go with God, I whisper.
Good heavens, I think, I’m sounding just like my mother did when I left home all those years ago. I’d even said the same thing, “I’ll be back, Mom, don’t worry.” Was it as hard for her, watching me leave, as it is now for me, watching my daughter leave? Back then, I didn’t care. My future lay before me.
Like my daughter’s does now.
Time to let go. She’ll be back.
7) Veronica Funk, artist and Wanda Bennett, writer
Veronica Funk:
I briefly lived in an old farmhouse where I would watch swallows swoop and dive past lace curtains in the living room window. I was amazed at the grace and beauty of these tiny beings. In my painting: the swallow–symbolic of finding your true north; purple–creativity and spirituality; lace–delicate strength.
Barn Swallow
Wanda Bennett’s response:
Seeing Veronica Funk’s “Barn Swallow” brought back vivid memories of dreams I had as a young girl. I knew I wanted to write about the joy of free flight so with ideas and suggestions from the Airdrie Writer’s group to my first verses, the poem just flew to the page.
If Only I Could Fly
If only I could fly
Like a bird in the sky.
I would feel feather light,
As I lifted in flight.
I could soar with the breeze,
For as long as I please.
With wind ‘neath my wings
I’d see marvelous things!
I could spin loop-de-loop,
Or wing low in a swoop,
Chase the sun ‘bove the cloud,
My breast bursting and proud.
Sun’d spark beams off my head
In brilliant red,
While my wings, midnight blue,
Would reflect as I flew.
I could chirp from a tree,
Just as pleased as could be.
Such a glorious thing,
To be able to sing!
When tired I’d touch down,
Pluck my chest for its down,
To feather my nest,
Where I’d settle in rest.
Yet, I’ve planted my feet,
By a too busy street,
My heart searching the sky.
While I dream, I could fly…
8) Kyla Raiche-Steele, writer and Tanya Fix, artist
Kyla Raiche-Steele:
Mud Between our Toes
Pants rolled up to our knees.
Moistened soil slinks between my toes
and melts over my feet.
Just the three of us trying to make it to the end.
Racing back and forth, down the center of the pines.
Tripping, falling, giggling.
Darting our way through, being sure to
knock anyone down in our path.
The freshness of the air, so invigorating.
Running as reckless as we can, keeping from getting caught.
From midafternoon, till the sun is down
It’s our time to run wild.
It’s our time to cry out.
It’s our time to be free!
Weaving in and out under the tunneled
canopy of prickled branches,
sinking into nature’s pudding on hands and knees.
Struggling to make it to the finish,
as my arms and legs are being heaved from beneath me.
Lunging to my feet, determined to win.
Sprinting as hurriedly as my legs will take me.
I can barely keep straight; I’m so filled with laughter.
Glancing back, they are right behind me.
Water doused dirt exploding everywhere!
One last squelch of my toes in the sludge.
A quick skitter across the jagged gravel,
over the chain link back fence.
I made it!
Bent over, breathing deep from my efforts.
We all rest, covered in dampened earth’s delight, full of grins.
We grip the hose and wash our adventure away.
Chilly and clean, we scurry inside.
Anticipating the next rainfall,
To feel the mud
Between our toes…
Tanya Fix’s Response:
“Mud Between Our Toes” returned me to summer days of youthful abandon and resultant hose-downs. I was inspired to use a tempera paint, matting, and layered canvases to heighten the moment. Ink, wool, and inclusions add spontaneous textures. Sculpting resin “mud” and layering resin pieces together were new, adventurous processes.
Splash, resin with fiber and assorted inclusions over flip cup pours on two canvases (14 x 30 inches)
9) Lynn Kirkpatrick, writer and Laurie Brigan, artist
Lynn Kirkpatrick:
“Seeing in Time” was written for my granddaughter. I have visions of her running across a field of daisies or playing tag with friends; their innocent voices echoing in the air with joyful song. These visions took me back to my childhood days. I am her fairy godmother, protecting her throughout time.
Seeing in Time
Julie, see what I see.
Little one on the run.
Across the fields you gallop,
reflecting the daylight sun.
Your innocent eyes so lively.
energy racing on.
Life is full of wonder,
and glorious, joyful song.
Julie, see what I see.
Curiosity leads your calls.
What makes it winter and then fall?
Which are the children ladybugs?
Do grown-ups really cry?
You want to know for sure,
so please tell me, don’t be shy.
A growing mural life becomes,
one colour and shape at a time.
Your little mind and eyes expanding,
as the clock’s hand tick on.
Your beauty shines in all you are,
and more as the years climb.
I am your Fairy Godmother,
protecting you in all I see in time.
Laurie Brigan’s Response:
Seeing In Time, acrylic on canvas (20 x 20 inches)
10) Kelly Lauzon, writer and Valerie Holmes, artist
Kelly Lauzon:
“A Thin Line” was inspired by an LRT ride twenty years ago. A man, who looked like my father, was slumped over across from me. His despair hit me hard. In another life he could be anyone of us struggling to face the day. The line between haves and have-nots is thin.
A Thin Line
May sunshine draws my face upward.
Up and away from that precarious mud
that threatens to trap my clean new shoes.
Swallowing up those bright glimpses of prosperity
into the tendrils of that schadenfreude muddy swamp.
My tread is careful to avoid being swallowed whole.
My new shoes, my movement forward
towards clean, comfort and security.
Allowing me to bury my head into clean sand.
I step onto the train, shoes unscathed.
Not everyone was so lucky.
The man across the aisle clearly lost his battle.
His eyes, like a dam on the verge of bursting,
yet dry, mouth like desecration cracks
in a drying riverbed, longing for rain.
Rebirth, revival of spirit, and greener pastures.
Just one day out of reach of clean,
one hour from the potential of nourishment,
one minute away from a caring smile.
But still mired in that sticky mud.
He sagged against the window of the train.
Head pressed deep into the cold glass.
Wilting, wishing away existence.
Scum clung to his skin like an extra set of clothes,
disguising, hiding, imprisoning his worth.
He blends into nothing and is treated the same.
A dirt patch on an otherwise clean train.
Awaiting the mop and sweeper to usher him out.
Pro Bono work, civic duty to squelch out the filth.
It’s for the greater good of keeping people’s heads buried,
and still smiling up at the sun.
Valerie Holmes’s Response:
This piece reflects the opposite connection to the material world as described in “Thin Lines”. Too often we miss the beauty below our feet. Taking for granted the gifts we are given from nature. This collaboration, inspired me to explore and create on a new level—creating a simple yet deep new symbolic process.
Don’t Tread On Me, mud, clematis flowers Carnation petals, daisy petals, acrylic paint on canvas.(17 x 10 inches)
