Sunday, May 5, 2013

This month's edition of NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS tackles all things love and sex; given the theme of THE BIRDS AND THE BEES, each contributor - Eames Armstrong, Meredith Chamberlain, Marie Gauthiez, and Trae Lamond - came at this from a completely different angle, and I'm just so excited to share the wealth.
As always, you can navigate this pony by clicking through the links below each post, or you can view the newsletter in its entirety by clicking that Panda Header at top. Until June!

photo by Chris Peguese
writing by Meredith Chamberlain

Let's be nice to the legs, the backs and fronts of them, to all the different sides, the nice ones and the ones you never saw, to the hair, wherever it is and isn't and whether it's thin or isn't, for the rest of the day(s) let's do our best to look at women like we look at other things we love without quite knowing yet.

Meredith Chamberlain blogs at Heartbeat City.

photo by Chris Peguese
a haiku by Trae Lamond

A STIFF BREEZE BLOWS PAST.
MY UMBROS SHIFT GINGERLY.
AWKWARD ERECTION.

Trae Lamond writes haiku in Alexandria, VA.

photo by Chris Peguese
short fiction and artwork by Eames Armstrong

Not Yet, mixed media on paper, 2013
Mine, mixed media on paper, 2013.
In the bath I looked out over the foamy, crackling plane of bubbles, culminating under the faucet in a mountain of larger, dominant bubbles, bursting slowly. My body was completely hidden from me below thousands of luminous, disintegrating pearls. I lifted the tips of my fingers to the surface like several fish and let them poke through with surprising pinkness. I imagined the bathroom was filling with glittering popping foam, bursting, endlessly regenerating until the room, not wanting to burst, unlatched the doors and windows, ejecting lustrous froth through the house and into the world outside. I, swathed in a haze of effervescence, rode the glistening fall out through the window and onto the street, destined for the sea. Before long, I find myself outside of your house. Not knowing what it looks like, I imagine it is something like mine, but a little more angular with fewer details, the grass needs mowing. I peer through your window and see you with your guitar, searching up and down the fretted neck for the right combination of notes to best describe your love for me. I want to tell you - I know, I know, there's no song that can describe our love. One particularly large bubble pops near my left shoulder, and you jerk out of your thoughts and turn your attention to the sound outside your window. Your eyes are on me floating naked in a cloud of bubble bath. But you can't see me. All you can see is snow.

I'm suddenly aware that my real bath bubbles have begun to dissolve, revealing patches of my body beneath the warm water. I sit upraising my knees like two geological events that immediately shudder into goose bumps as my wet skin meets the unwarmed air.

Tomorrow is school. My homework has yet to leave my backpack which is still, I assume, to the right of the couch where I tossed it Friday afternoon.

Frost, mixed media on paper, 2013
That Is Enough, mixed media on paper, 2013
Sapling, mixed media on paper, 2013
Dusk 1, mixed media on paper, 2013
Dusk 2, mixed media on paper, 2013 
Eames Armstrong is an interdisciplinary artist and curator at the 52 O Street Artist Studios. She runs the DC Performance Art tumblr and contributes frequently to the Pink Line Project blog. She is the founder and director of the free-form project-based arts initiative Aether Art Projects which emphasizes experimentation and performance through exhibitions and programming. Currently, Eames is heading curating for a new performance art festival, Supernova, which will take place in Rosslyn, Virginia this June, and coordination the Exercises for Emerging Artists program at Transformer. Eames received her BFA from The School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, where she studied interdisciplinary studio art, with emphasis on painting, writing, and performance. She currently lives in DC and works out of the 52 O Street Artist Studios.

Eames is currently showing at Transformer in Expansions. Her work is available in Transformer's FlatFile online.

photo by Chris Peguese
short fiction by Morgan H. West 

I was walking past him, towards the bathroom, when he reached for my arm and pulled me in. "Your dress," he said, "It's like they used to wear in the 70s." He was slurring, but just a little. The men to whom he'd been speaking looked away as I shifted my drink between hands and adjusted my hold on my clutch. I was interested. I was listening. His hand, cold and a little wet from his own drink, hadn't left my arm. A nearly inaudible moan and a tiny amount of spittle escaped his lips as he tipped back his head and closed his eyes. "I loved the women then. Women, and cigars."

Morgan H. West writes Panda Head Blog. Her professional site can be viewed at MorganHungerfordWest.com.

photo by Chris Peguese
artwork by Marie Gauthiez
Leda and the Swan, ink, charcoal, acrylic, 2013
Leda, Attacked, charcoal, pastel, 2013.
Wary, charcoal, pastel, collage

Hurt, charcoal, ink, 2013
The Eggs, acrylic, charcoal, pastel, 2013
Marie Gauthiez is a French artist, living and working in Washington, DC. Her series based on the story of Leda and the Swan questions the typical depictions of the myth by male painters, portraying Leda as having an attitude of agreement.

More of Marie's work may be viewed here.

photo by Chris Peguese