Tell Me A Story Artwork

Bob Delaney - The Moon, the Stars and the Bear Outside my Window

A large bear appears outside my window on a clear night. The bear’s black shape obscures much of the sky, though the moon and stars can be seen. A few houses can also be seen in the background, just above the windowsill. This bear is so close to my window that I can reach out and touch its fur. The bear’s face is partially obscured, so I can only make out one eye and the side of its face. I wonder what the bear is thinking as it walks past the window this night. Maybe the bear is thinking it can go as it pleases and not fear anyone or anything on this pleasant evening. This is the impression I get from viewing outside my window. This is not a very literal view; however, I can make out the general shape and feel of objects in view.

Eileen P. Duggan

School shutdown, pandemic worries, adult concerns conspire to inspire young Nora to abandon her dolls in favor of the more grown-up pursuit of gymnastics. Her rag doll has been cast aside on the hardwood floor, injured and ignored, while she moves to the more sophisticated carpeted surface to practice her footwork. Life moves forward.

Paula Klump

Teen Girl sitting on a chair in the foyer.
Pink, tank top, no shoes.
Handbag only, no suitcase.
Unfolded map in her lap, no cell phone.
Adventure awaits.

Donna Springer

Waiting Watching, the sculpture by Susan Bostwick, gave me the feeling of “emerge.”

The rabbit peering out of the tree-stump has one eye open, and viewing; one ear of the rabbit is raised upward, as if listening cautiously. The other ear and eye remain behind. The rabbit is peering out of a protected tree-like structure, looking and anticipating. The rounded origin of the rabbit’s lair suggested a womb; the rabbit is emerging, but cautiously, gathering information from sight and sound. Depictions of leaves add to the impression of growth. Tentative discovery, and step-by-step progression may ensue.

TM Pedroley - A Domesticated Cat


Although I am a mother of two, only one survived.
I was injured and pregnant when the sweet older couple took me in a year ago, unaware that my inner beast still hid within my soul for months after arriving at their 1940 Victorian home.
Until recently, I was still craving the bitter taste of flesh from a jackal or the sweet taste of blood from a zebra. The man and woman let me sleep on the tan carpet in the living room, nursing and cuddling with my young.

I’m grateful for my life with them, yet miss the familiarity of other lions and lionesses. I am better off here than in the den in the grasslands.
I’ve loved two males in my life, one being the father of my cubs. He has no idea where I am, no idea that I look outside the sliding glass windows of the living room and remember what it was like to lay near him at night.

I eat well and am treated like royalty by the couple whom I live with. They appreciate the maternal instincts displayed to my small one. I run the house, climbing staircases and sharpening my claws on wooden furniture in the basement.

On my way into the living room, I catch my reflection in framed mirror in the hallway
reminding myself I am not an animal of the wild, rather a domesticated cat.

Ruth E. Thaler-Carter - Distraction

Oh, great. As so often happens, my editorial eye interferes with focusing on what is going on around me. I’m here to watch the neighborhood kids play softball, and the guy sitting in front of us (exposed butt crack, beer in hand, and all) is a major annoyance and distraction because I can’t figure out what the apostrophe is supposed to mean in the “Love’s” lettering on this guy’s T-shirt. There are two hearts, so maybe he has two loves in his life (lucky him!), but that wouldn’t require an apostrophe. Maybe he loves them both (same quibble). Maybe one or two of the kids he’s watching play ball in the neighborhood park are his and he loves them (same problem again). Maybe it stands for “Love Is …” — but what is it?
And what the heck is he sitting on?
My writer’s eye wants to create a story while my editor’s eye is taken out of the scene by the inexplicable apostrophe.
I guess it’s time to move so he’s out of my sightline and I can focus on the reason I came here: to enjoy watching the kids enjoy playing their game.

Sarah Wilson - Bang

The truck backfires. “Bang” And she is there in the cat food aisle of Walmart. Ned is on the floor. Which makes no sense. He had just been bitching about how much Meow Mix cost then “Bang.” He is down.

She hears screaming, somewhere, and running, but she’s watching deep red spreading across the scuffed gray floor. What is that? Should she run? But away from Ned? Why is he on the floor?

The dark oozes around her shoes. Now she hates shoes. The first thing she does when she gets home is take them off; then she pulls on a pair of Ned’s socks. She’ll wash them someday when his smell no longer lingers, but, for now, they keep her warm.

A horn blares, and she is back in their yard. Blinking.

The can is now light in her hand. Empty. Turning off the hose, she heads inside for a fresh one. Not that she likes Pabst; she never has, but she can’t buy anything else. “Patsy,” Ned used to say, “In this house, we drink PBR." So she does, and always will.

Darcy Durham - Observations

A question of Safety

I stand on the outside wanting in, to crawl inside the box and nestle in the plush softness of the interior, but it is well defended. Nail points radiate out in all directions threatening all who choose to attempt an entry. Don’t we all do this to some extent, fiercely guard the tender vulnerable parts of ourselves?

The box is open but needle like spikes protrude from the rim threatening to impale anyone should the lid fall closed. Yet it’s propped open, an invitation despite the obvious danger. Do we risk penetrating the fortress for the safety and comfort of the interior?
Once inside will we be truly safe or trapped?

Second Narrative

Darcy Durham - Self-Defended

Protected in the soft inner belly of the box
your defenses are carefully constructed, although
you do have an opening, it is riddled with spikes,
a clear warning to all who might want to enter if they get close enough
but you have made sure they won’t by the sharp splinters
of the box’s wooden exterior to the razor nail points that protrude
like swords, a small army gathered tightly together to defend
and protect the sanctity of what lies within

It is you, isn’t it?

Kristi Ponder - Perspective

“Look at what I have created!”, he exclaimed as he lifts his head and pushes his chest out as his eyes blacken. 
Some of humanity focus on the halo that encircles his statuesque facade.  
Other humans are fixated at the darkness that has escaped his heart and enveloped his eyes. 
Everything besides humanity is devastated by the destruction fueled by his ignorance and avoids confrontation in order to preserve their existence.

Liz Sommers

At first glance I am drawn to the sand. It comes through as a camouflage of browns leaving it room to flow as a dry draft of air may scatter its grains. Above, the bright, yellow, midday sun brags about its prominence in a blue and white swirled sky. It too flows like the sand, moving up and down the horizon each day. Their colors create the green of the saguaro cacti. It is the only part of the work that is not made of fabric. The solid color of its uniformed stitches and wrapping of yarn speaks to its stability. Finally, there are people. They are made from the fabric of many colors. Being out of focus I tended to skip over them only to look closer and realize they are the main subject of the piece. I first took them as vacationers. Then I saw there were backpacks but no cameras or jeans or t-shirts. Something was not what it seemed. One person looked to be ahead of one small group who was ahead of another group. Now I could see that they were not tourists at all, they were refugees\immigrants most likely from Central or South America. They maneuvered through the maze taking care not to be pricked by the thorns of the cacti. I think, this is probably the first hoop they will have to jump through in finding a place to live, stay, eat, work. My vacation to the desert's beauty showed me the reality of those who could not stay where they were. Could I ever be so bold? Would I ever find myself in a position where there was no other answer? I wish them well.

Brandon Wade

At first glance this piece transports me into a place of stillness. Alone in a dimly lit room, eyes gazing into depths far beyond the eyes can see. A dart caught in a bullseye personifies focus and intent. The eye of the beast, The Shark.

Tiffany Happel - Two Mes

There are two mes. One with a unique, history, story, and interests. The other as a mom. The unique me is behind. The mom me is present. Now, that’s all anyone sees of me. I am a source of nourishment. What is asked of me is more then I am naturally designed. Sacred or profane? (Or both?) Devine or primal? (Or both?) Beheading my thoughts, my personality and all aspects of me besides a body . He is not there. It’s all on me. Cold everywhere. I split me self in two or more.

XiaoPei Chen - The Brown Moment

When my tears get dried, stop calling me a soldier in life. With both my knees on the ground, I crawl into the deep tunnel with no light. Embraced in my procrastination, I got my comfort moment remaining inside. Got arrested by this feeling of pain, I didn't expect for a release form to be signed.

Let me enjoy getting lost on this site, when I see no light under the sun shine. Where nobody believes in the meaning of life, that was where I camped tonight. Pressing down the pause key, I went through the moment of blight. When this despair got my green light, what a touch-base process between me and life. Without it, we don't understand what is really inside life.

Janice Denham

The time moves ahead, I think gratefully, feeling the manly, manicured lawn unyielding at my ankles. It holds my feet upright another year, unlike my companions who steadily lost traction in this earthen clasp. I count the days. The welcome of the brightening glow will reflect minutes earlier. And earlier. Then, finally people will follow it. And discover me. They will want to be here again. Finally with me. They think I sleep now, but I wait. I wait for them to seek refuge under my lean but sturdy protection. I will wave and share my leafy refuge because of sun, because of storm, because my aloneness comforts them. My arms spread in welcome. They take my picture. My image with a lonely arm on my sparsely barked stem, chameleon-colored by the season, will make them want to return to the day when I gave them relief, a shadow, a destination. My alone time transfers into a presence in their future. And my renewal reflection is complete.