Wednesday, October 31, 2012

three girls. three stories. one show

three girls. three stories. one show

 three girls. three stories. one show
they found themselves talking on tin can and string phones. back and forth. each bright eyed and wanting to hear each other's story.
they couldn't believe they lived in the same mid town. found in the middle of this big. ole'. world. three girls. three stories. one show.
each using the tools and treasures they come across in this life.

to color outside of the lines. to wear golden yellow tights. to paint their hair pink. red. yellow.

stories of life. love. faith.  
c'ville public library. kelly barton. nina cunningham. tracy smoll.

entire month of november.

kelly barton ---
she skipped into the world. her accessories - big eyes of blue - and blonde tendrils. her beloved jimmy penned her as irish. a rare descriptive carried by her sass. and the lands that walked before her.

her grandmothers guided her with kisses. warm eats. and a view of their strength as they walked through their own days. she rode banana seat bikes. nibbled long strips of taffy - poolside as her skin turned golden. she felt the love from him and her. some days choosing to ignore it.
slowly she began to find her voice. the one that had been missing. the one that spoke the loudest. and rested deep in a little pocket reserved for such goodness. a stick full of bristles and hairs dips into color. and opens up her life.

her odd composition calls to them them through the glass. it shouted to LOVE WIDE. a phrase unknown at the time but familiar. upon closer inspection. the waves of distain became calm.
she walks through this mid earth town. carrying a simple box of blooms filled with tools for the day. footprints fading pink behind her. some don't understand her but that doesn't seem to matter. she wears her wings. the souls of her shoes...

nina cunningham ---
and she was a shy. hazel eyed. brown - haired girl. she liked to cut her hair but one day there wasn't any more to cut. so she painted it red.
she was born in the rural of new york. she grew up surrounded by dairy cows. rolling hills. and rivers. when she moved to this little mid town. she discovered that the scenery had changed to fields of corn. often when she told people she was from new york. they talked of the big apple. that big city. she would say no and told them she had never seen the statue of liberty.
but then she always added.  "there's always next week."
she discovered early on that she wanted to BE an artist. and her grandpa saw it in her doodles. she was grateful.
she never liked to bake. but she always liked to paint. and her favorite color was the same as that mid earth kindred. pink. not because of pleasantry of color but because of a gift. a gift of grace. pink grace.
she liked to look for hearts on the sidewalk. and she picked up items from the ground. looked at them on the palm of her hand. the discarded trash became her tiny treasures. she would bring them home. paint them all one color. and then glue them inside boxes...
tracy smoll ---
she watched with wide eyes of green. as her grandma cleared the dining room table and carefully opened the tissue patterns of paper. the carbon paper. the pinning of the patterns. the shears cutting through layers of calico. were magical.

she watched again as her grandma crocheted a pineapple stitch - in soft colors while watching the evening news. with much excitement and anticipation she opened her gifts. easel. paints. sewing box. and a record player. and it was blissful. as if opening gifts of empathy. love. and vision.

she created. loom potholders. dresses made of curtains. particular t-shirts. and paint. by. number owls.and then. she chose to share her art with the small ones. they would smile. and paint. and snarl. and draw. she would smile. and gush.
for her own self. she could choose any medium she desired. and she chose it all. it was fiber. it was paint. it was pen. and it was clay. but now. she chooses the earth. to express self...

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