Jerry Stubblefield

Writer

Midnight Essays

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Art and Politics and Good People -- January 28, 2017

Art and Politics and Good People -- January 28, 2017

The "Art and Politics" salon took a slightly different format from previous events; it was more like a roundtable. Using Michael Hopping's incisive and provocative introductory comments* as a springboard, the discussion took off like a rocket and didn't stop soaring for two solid hours. What a privilege it was for me to be in the room with such keen, articulate people, all of them with fascinating, richly thought out ideas. With everyone's careful attention to each other, goo

The Rain Man

The Rain Man

Something told him he’d know more, later on, about ecstasy. He wondered about the man whose soul he'd inherited. Was it the rain man (an especially clear character among Leo's nocturnal receivings) who walked down the muddy, silty-puddled alleyway behind the backyard when the petrichor lingered in the air? Who walked out of town afterward, into the mesquites, where he threw off his clothes, vomited and emptied his bowels and vomited again until, trembling, he was nothing exce

free Phosphenes

free Phosphenes

Cait's face glows orange for a second as she sucks away the last millimeter of burning leaf. I hear her exhale the smoke slowly, subtly, purposefully. She's holding Tinker's hand. Both their heads are tilted back -- in euphoria, I guess -- and they're gazing into the stars, or probably beyond them. I settle back into the rickety bentwood chair I'm balancing on its back legs, and look out beyond the yard, across the meadow, into the glen where the hills begin to steepen. I've

Is Art Political? Jan. 28, 7:00 p.m.

Dawn Magic

Dawn Magic

I walk out the door early in the morning, the sun just up or not even quite, and that overnight air always smells as though night has some quality that doesn’t want to let go, and hangs on as long as it can, though that’s only for an hour or so before the daytime overwhelms it. There’s also often a nightish chill component. That night air lingering after sunrise needs a name, some word that probably exists in another language, maybe an aboriginal tongue much closer to the e

Dark Ecstasies (from The Paraclete)

Dark Ecstasies (from The Paraclete)

"Mixture of aromas, rust and dust and must on the window screen, honeysuckle from next door, wisteria thick and heavy on the vine in the backyard, the precipitate night air itself, together soothed him and assuaged the lonesome, incognizant yearning for father that lay at the base of his perversion. This is ecstasy, he thought, his cheek on the windowsill, his tender hairless nostrils rimmed with chill from the rush of inhaled air. Dark, safe in bed. Late summer no school. So

Communique #2

Communique #2

Although the salon events might look a bit like performances before an audience, they are really tools designed specifically by the artists to help themselves with some aspect of their work. There are times when an artist can benefit from a small gathering of individuals who are there to help -- whether the help consists of criticizing a specific work, or simply listening with honest ears, or being guinea pigs for something -- it's hard to imagine all the needs that might be

Free Preview of The Paraclete

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