# data[].attributes.body
Long long long ago

Gently down the stream

I am same as nature

Long long long ago

Gently down the stream

I am same as creature

Who kept you warm?

Who kept me warm?

Long long long ago

Gently down the stream

I am same as nature

Long long long ago

Gently down the stream

I am same as creature

Who is your family?

What believe you?

We don't know our future

We don’t know our present

We just know shining stars

We just know warmth of the sun

We just know coldness of the air

Long long long ago

Gently down the stream

I am same as nature

Long long long ago

Gently down the stream

I am same as creature

# data[].attributes.body
The Crossing

Across an abyss,

meagre yet striving,

fragile as promise,

cradles a ballast of souls. /

Whispered prayers weave

with sighs of the wind,

composing hope from fear. /

Atop the shore,

hardly sound footing,

enlightened values test

the means to drown. /

Lament frayed tapestries,

old tides again surge,

conjuring fear of hope lost. /

# data[].attributes.headline
Hyungwoon's artwork inspired by Lala's poem

# data[].attributes.subject
Hyungwoon's artwork inspired by Lala's poem

# data[].attributes.body
While I was reading the Lala's poem 'Strip', I could imagine a tree bark peeled along the grain - a natural process that occurs according to the seasons, with strips shedding in accordance with the order of nature.

# data[].attributes.body
In the folds of time, a story's spun,

From the 18th century, to when the midday sun

Kissed the 20th's sky, it did endure,

An artifact of our past, proud and pure.

Religious rites and traditions old,

Within its grasp, our culture bold.

A turning point, a Western gaze,

We met at crossroads, in myriad ways.

Exotic to both East and West,

A tale of meeting, of putting to test.

Like blood on white, it stains our land,

A monument stands, where ancestors stand.

Carved in stone, their faces told,

A tale of struggles, of stories untold.

In this ekphrastic art, we find our voice,

In the history's dance, where we rejoice.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
The object for this poem could be "a ceremonial mask from a Pacific Island culture."

# data[].attributes.headline
neel- hyungwoon choi's poem inspired art

# data[].attributes.subject
neel- hyungwoon choi's poem inspired art

# data[].attributes.body
An ancient stone tablet with intricate carvings, depicting scenes of cultural rituals and encounters between Eastern and Western civilizations, stands as the object for this poem.

# data[].attributes.body
In the depths of history's shadowed halls,
A rope, stained dark with blood, recalls
The cries of those who dared to rise,
Against oppression's ruthless guise.

Charcoal, born from fire's fierce embrace,
Symbolizes struggle, in its grace.
For like the souls who fought in vain,
It must be scorched to bear its stain.

From the ashes of the Second World War,
A tide of change, an abstract roar,
As artists questioned human form,
Amidst the chaos, a new norm.

The Industrial Revolution's churn,
Inspired minds to boldly learn,
What it meant to shape and mold,
A world where truth could not be sold.

For in the darkness, there is light,
In every struggle, there is might.
And with each stroke of charcoal's hand,
We'll paint a future, bold and grand.

# data[].attributes.headline
Sehar's response inspired by Neel’s poem

# data[].attributes.subject
Sehar's response inspired by Neel’s poem

# data[].attributes.body
The staircase symbolises movement towards a new future, leaving behind the blood stained rope, and loss and pain with it

# data[].attributes.body
Sehar's poem reminded me of a dream I had, and I tried my best to recreate it.

# data[].attributes.body
(1)

Between four walls,

Pride on display.

In clown school halls,

Joy leads their way.

Success beams bright,

As their hearts sway.

Surrounded by laughter,

In their tiny circus, they play.

Frozen in time,

A polka-dot dance.

Flickers of light,

In a whimsical trance.

Tiny clowns take flight,

Balloons twist and knot.

Enveloped in delight,

Silliness is sought.

Yellow diplomas pass around,

As the crowd erupts.

As certified clowns,

They now grow up.

What fate awaits these tiny clowns?

Will they use what they’ve learned?

Will they cherish laughter’s sounds,

As their paths discern?

For in this circus of life, you see,

We learn from clowns to simply be.

To stand tall in every twist and chance,

To laugh, play, and embrace life’s dance.

(2)

A moment in time

reflecting pride.

Success, fulfillment,

and laughter’s tide.

Captured and frozen

in a playful embrace.

Silliness is chosen

and skillfully chased.

Lights go on,

tiny clowns in tow.

Polka dots, balloon animals,

and an inner glow.

If they fall,

it’s part of the show.

They stand resilient and tall,

and they go with the flow.

In improv, they find their way,

and in positivity, they stay.

Up and down, they jump around,

in their little world, to their little sounds.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
'School Disco Graduation' (response to Zahar's Ekphrastic writing left). Oil pastel on grey paper.

# data[].attributes.body
Ekphrastic Writing (Chosen Artefact)

Bright lights, queues of people and traffic honking. The people turn up wearing their best faux fur coats and cocktail rings. They sit in darkness to feast their eyes under chandelier and watch pesky creatures gallivant. As soon as it starts the instruments will boom and vibrate their hearts. I am the supporting act for her. She was once beautiful you know; she still is… who is ‘she’? The ‘Cat’s Mother’? I have faux fur on me too like you, except I am close to the floor, and you are high above peering down, still – I can produce height accompanying a timid feline. Perhaps she will eventually take me to great heights. I don’t want to spoil it for you though. Let’s return to me… grey and fluffy with glamourous flair. Old and past it - I don’t think so! I’m about to show you one of the best performances to keep in your memory, yet your eyes won’t be on me, they’ll be on her. Just please don’t forget the main sole in the heart of it, I was beautiful then.

# data[].attributes.body
In the memory's reflection, once vibrant cells now gone,

Digital codes replace, intangible, but lingering on.

Like the scent of a posh hotel, still in the air,

Bringing back fleeting joy, though it's no longer there.

Amid religious scenes, a playful spirit takes hold,

Beauty and bravery blend, tales of old retold.

In a child's masked eyes, a spark of energy bright,

And in proud parents' smiles, love shines with pure delight.

''Anybody who really understands the sad sandy, warm, and imported story behind it will decide to run away from it. This frozen memory shows a full-time job, living as an individual in a certain area of this planet. It shows no matter how happy you are, the 2008 will come and get you. Same as 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022…''

Amongst antique treasures, once valued, now dismissed,

Whispers of stories, in each forgotten twist.

Understanding the tale's warmth, a reason to flee as a fleet,

In this snapshot of life, where time's march can't be beat.

# data[].attributes.body
SPAM

spam spam spam!

chopped pork and ham,

before I open you, you are in a can,

fry that meat up then I give a damn.

spam musabi, budae jigae, or even a simple sandwich,

An international Hormel food corporation, some may call it outlandish,

luncheon meat, in your humble form,

you take your place globally in different culinary norms.

Spam mail infiltrates my inbox as an unwelcome guest,

In my frying pan, your meat is incredibly processed,

So right now using my own autonomy,

I incorporate you into my very own gastronomy,

spam spam spam,

chopped pork and ham,

In WW2 you played your part,

feeding soldiers, and now helping me to create my art <3

# data[].attributes.body
A sea of colour and pattern

I squint my eyes

Get up real close

To see the detail

And what detail!

And what great stories can be told with such small strokes.

I see Akbar himself seated at the top

Looking down on his subjects

Bearing rare treasures looted from the enemy

Like many before

I see such scenes telling of great power and conquest

Great Akbar must have been a powerful man.

But where are we?

The ordinary subjects.

Where are our stories?

Do our stories not matter?

Why is Akbar immortalised over us?

Who will tell our stories?

Before they are forgotten for generations to come.

# data[].attributes.body
Lydia Painter - Inspired by Ana's poem

# data[].attributes.body
Lydia Painter - Inspired by Ana's poem

# data[].attributes.body
Lydia Painter - Inspired by Ana's poem

# data[].attributes.body
All from a dance, from a dance

Our eyes first met in early autumn

My cheeks flushed with nervousness

Your gaze steady with reserved confidence

All from a dance, from a dance

We parted ways for half a year

Yet your face held a place in my thoughts

I prayed we weren’t passing ships

All from a dance, from a dance

With late spring came renewed joy

An exchange of kind smiles but forgotten names

Relief, a glimmer of second chances

All from a dance, from a dance

“We dance well together”

But summer’s flirtatious progress leads my mind elsewhere

Visions of your figure stay

All from a dance, from a dance

Each weekend I learn to fly

Strong arms surround me with even greater trust

Brief resistance easily overcome

All from a dance, from a dance

Close kisses stolen in cold rain

Warm bodies become more interlocked

As Lomond Waltz fades inside

All from a dance, from a dance

In dreams we spin across new dance floors

Selfishness breeds future dread

Count each borrowed weekend we live ahead

When you find your purpose in new lands

And grow new love with faithful hands

Distanced hearts and memories will realise

A most marvellous time in my life

All began from a dance, from a dance

# data[].attributes.headline
Dani Lee - Inspired by Lydia's poem "Dancehall"

# data[].attributes.subject
Dani Lee - Inspired by Lydia's poem "Dancehall"

# data[].attributes.body
An etching

Something more than a sketching

To preserve the line

Should be something we should keep in mind

Paper is simple

But not always nimble

To create a new mark

Should not feel so stark

# data[].attributes.body
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1UrSAF15XNIHiv4OUvs3pIStck0lYJXHq/view?usp=sharing

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Get access to files anywhere through secure cloud storage and file backup for your photos, videos, files and more with Google Drive.

# data[].attributes.attachment_caption
In response to Steffi's poem. 'Theif' oil on board 50 x 35cms Sarah Lloyd 2024

# data[].attributes.body
How did you fall so far from atop

And down all together to the deep beyond

The Caribbean Sea and rested there

Upon the yellow sand that fills you up and spills along the bottom of the ocean floor.

Made of bones, yet fine and delicate your blue flowers have an eery glow

Within the waters depths.

No mouth shall touch your rim,

Your flouncy skimming, rimming brim

Of teas not drunk nor never shall

Or maybe yes. You have been found your fragile, delicacy of time capsule lent upon the clock of many moons ago.

# data[].attributes.body
Its plastic fantastic

Medical chemical

A sheet of foil

My body recoils

I choose to lose

My fears but also

my moods, my sense

I cannot reject it

My brain is affected

One pill  - won’t kill

But years – chromones in arrears

Mother, mother

you said I will be liberated

But instead I got medicated

I don’t want this freedom

But then I do

So I take the pill

again and again

Its a loop

I suffer

I cry

I have sex

And then I die.

Mother, mother

you said I will be liberated

But instead I got medicated.

# data[].attributes.body
AI generated image

In response to Laura Hanning

# data[].attributes.headline
Vaishnavi's imagination of Sarah's Poem...

# data[].attributes.subject
Vaishnavi's imagination of Sarah's Poem...

# data[].attributes.body
A fractured hourglass that pours yellow sand,

Into the Caribbean sea.

With blue flowers tucked in deep,

A silent mystery balances the scene.

# data[].attributes.body
AI generated image

# data[].attributes.body
A sense of familiarity

A sense of joy

A sense of openness

Through a sense of flaw

A sense of nostalgia

A sense of love

A sense of happiness

That is lost along

A sense of movement

A sense of grace

A sense of power

Through a sense of form

A sense of focus

A sense of confusion

A sense of beauty

That is hidden along

# data[].attributes.body
An invite to a fleeting celebration,

for a lunch on the table of lifelong possibilities,

to linger in the future

of blushed anticipation,

The breeze of companionship

that brought familiar strangers together

to rinse by the bank of a lazy river,

A key for a home sewn together

with a thread of red

# data[].attributes.body
So shiny and soft, you still keep the smell of your proprietor

I want to touch you endlessly

I want to smell you endlessly

I want to dive deep into you and dissolve

I want to be part of you, I want you to be part of me

You keep the whole history: memories, associations, connections

You are the beginning and the end at the same time

Look closer, I see my reflection in your shine under the sun

We’ve spent so many secret evenings together

You have always been my stress relief, my island of calm

But wait, there is no love and no sense in you anymore as well

Once you become a separate thing you’ve lost all significance

You still can be used as a material, as a source

But there is no soul and no feeling in you anymore

Seems like I don’t need you anymore

# data[].attributes.body
Artefact EW:

It's hard to experience the true colours amidst the glorified beauty.

I forgot how tiring it is to figure out its length in layers.

Is it hot today or is it just how I feel in this?

# data[].attributes.body
Flowers are dancing on the fingertips

happiness is the drippage on the hearts

Patterns are their weapons against disaster

I come from nature

and

return to it with feelings

I will turn the earth into a beautiful stage

after spinning freely

go with the wind

# data[].attributes.body
To envision, in tolerance and no hyper separation space

Walk out from the structure, no restriction on gender and identity, we are ourselves in this space, we have liberation

Let red and gold bloom in the space, the flowers shows our grateful to pioneers, and motivation to freedom, our soul.

# data[].attributes.body
Zeinab

I am walking in the dark, to

Finding light, a sunny day, the smell of spring.

Spring cannot be postponed—

We will be together ,once again.

Dancing will be free, loving will be free,

And life will bloom anew.

We will lift the bans on all that breathes life,

For the sun will rise again.

# data[].attributes.headline
Lala Drona's oil painting for Xin Yue's poem

# data[].attributes.subject
Lala Drona's oil painting for Xin Yue's poem

# data[].attributes.body
I took words that stuck out to me from Xin Yue's poem:

-Out of structure

-No restriction to gender & identity

-"Let red & gold bloom in the space"

# data[].attributes.body
Zeinab

# data[].attributes.body
Joy filtering through

this vast

corridor of sadness

angel-bird,

curly-flecked

playmate of delight

come to me,

O Gabriel!

Come, o come!

# data[].attributes.body
Maria

I think whatever i shall meet in my life, will keep me behind

I saw people on the street

I shout it is impossible to get rid of them

I swear it is impossible

They pass, i also pass, anything passes

but we are still here shouting for the possible

# data[].attributes.body
Piercing skin over and over

I make my mark

A stamp for prisoners and gangs

Now lines to embellish the flesh

Spreading ink in your skin

A mark that will stay forever

To tell a story that fades

As time pass by

# data[].attributes.body
Remain

The data of the previous version of me

And the traces

Of encounters with the world

To the interpretation

The brand new you

# data[].attributes.body
Saree continued: this representation of a female figure echoes the feelings of the poet by wearing a Saree (here made from a chain of paperclips of various colours) with its indeterminate length as it is draped round the figure.

# data[].attributes.body
The minds eye checks the time. (Response to Masih)

# data[].attributes.body
pirelli rims with the spinners

watch as i do magic with this paint brush

pomade for the retrograde;

organic with the same touch

hereditary : passed down by the forefathers

uncle before father

missed out on four fathers

head and shoulders above problems

drip different now – in time, an ancient memory

beaten by parents for a D-grade in telepathy

you came in a starter pack

a base for the weaponry

fifth grade is where i set the scene

a summers day

i made the block a beach front

and drowned you in a tidal wave

how he so cool – when he pull up he invite the shade?

Made many a black boy brazen

The star of the show and they said I was a raisin.

# data[].attributes.body
October this year

feels just a little colder,

and though the sea will turn

to mulberry fields,

yesterday keeps me warm

for now.

# data[].attributes.body
The body

Keeps running

Pulling and rowing

Toiling and toil

Till hypoxia

Realising

The burden

Was heavy

Trap and drag the body

Slow down

Sit down

Compress down

Until hope

Fades away

# data[].attributes.headline
Ramone Kadeem Anderson-Stewart (re: Marcus Alcock)

# data[].attributes.subject
Ramone Kadeem Anderson-Stewart (re: Marcus Alcock)

# data[].attributes.body
Involuntary or voluntary

Either way I'll have my way

Those of mine work when it's light

At night do you come out to play?