Anthropocentrick
Ners Neonlumberjack was born in a tiny town in central Indiana in 1986. Having lived throughout the Midwest, Southern, and Western United States, the variety of landscapes in which they have lived informs a wealth of variety and interest in plants and animals in imagery as well as material choice. After graduating Herron School of Art and Design with degrees in Painting, Sculpture, and Art History in 2009 the longing for a sense of place and being conscious of the fragile nature of mortality has been a current within the works. Currently based on public (stolen) lands, their works maintain an environmentally conscious and sustainable working practice. Drawing inspiration from the natural beauty across the continent, works straddle the line between painting and sculpture showcasing vibrant colors in geometric patterns on raw natural materials such as sticks, stones, bones, feathers, and logs. The ever-present theme of mortality is contrasted with lively colors, and abstracted imagery of flora and fauna abound as they correlate alongside three-dimensional works.
Early Lessons in Self-Defense
by Christine Harapiak
I smell the heavy-laden scent of lilac and I think of her, fiercest of women— Baba. Liable to throw a plate as place it squarely on the table feeding the children before the men and the women keeping them quiet, I see now but then I thought I was first among many. I knew. One day I lost myself in a story riding on the log-fence pony and looked down to see a snake an exotic turquoise snake my brother never believed was real and I screamed like this was the death of me— my first taste of fear. Lesser women asked questions and wondered where I was. Baba didn’t hesitate. Grabbed a pail and a rake and asked nothing, just rose up through her thin cotton house dress to defend me. First among many. One of her cubs. She was Boudica defending her daughters, Joan of Arc if she had lived and gathered grandchildren around her, running through the dry autumn grass like fire with my mother and aunties trailing tiny behind her at the edge of this frame in my memory. And I learned you could fashion your weapons out of dust if you had to, when the time came.
Author's Bio
Christine Harapiak is a poet living in the Canadian prairies. She began writing poetry in junior high and scribbled away for more than a dozen years until she started practicing law. Then, with one eye continually distracted by legal precedent, her poetic voice went completely silent. She wrote legal briefs instead and then legal judgments as judge sitting in criminal court. She has since hung up her judicial robes and picked up her pen and considers herself an unapologetic literary vampire, finding inspiration everywhere she goes. Speak quietly. She's probably listening.