FEATURED GUESTS & ETC…
(Please scroll down! And feel free to leave a comment…):
Long Lost Stories from long lost characters
in Kathryn’s long lost files
Interview: Poet-Artist Ruth Dombrow
SubtleTea Ezine’s Interview with Cantara Christopher
Interview: Publishing Editor of OCEAN Magazine:
–Diane Buccheri
GOT YOG?: Year of Gratitude
Interview: FOOTS & his Lost City of Atlantis
Author Interview: Susan Reinhardt

Rose & Thorn Literary Ezine Newsletter- see link to right…

Look for upcoming guests and interviews.
–(A listing of past guests is to your right).

BACK TO KATHRYN MAGENDIE HOME

Thank you for visiting, Kathyrn Magendie

Sometimes I’ll come across a story I felt compelled to write and then just let languish in my files. It’s not necessarily a “bad” story, but it’s not quite “good” enough or ready to send out for possible publication - sometimes I will take these stories and fix them to send out. Sometimes I don’t want to, for various reasons: maybe I just like it as it is, simple and true, maybe I’m busy working on other things and the years pass and the story stays lost in my files until once again I come across them, look at them, love the character, and after I read again, I think, “Poor little character, stuck here in my files, poor story.” Usually they are little short things, little shorty stories.

I decided I’d take my lost stories that languish in my files, those that I may never attempt to publish, and instead publish them on my site. Why not? If someone gets joy or loves the character with me, then that’s better than the story forever hidden. I’ll do this every so often, leave the story here for a while, then delete it. Then another day, I’ll return with another story, leave it a while, then delete it. All stories need an audience. All characters want is to be heard. They call out to me…I am their voice. Who are they? Real lost people? Ghosts who need a voice? I am visited. I relate. that is what I do.

For as long as he remembered he was never called anything but Pudgy or Buddy. Except for his mom. She called him by his given name, Bobby. But she was gone. Her ashes were sprinkled in a valley out past Highway 19, under a weeping willow tree. Sometimes he’d get his dad to take him out there, so he could sit under that tree and let the long branches hide him away. The leaves would brush his face and it reminded him of his mom’s touch. It made him really sad to do it, but he couldn’t help it, he loved sitting under the tree, in the quiet, in his secret world. His dad would sometimes sit with him, but most times he’d sit in his car, stare out at the mountains, and wait for Pudgy to return.

Pudgy had given his dad a fishing pole for his birthday, from money he saved making sourdough bread, all by himself he’d shaped the loaves, and then on his bicycle, he’d taken them to the coffee shop down the road and left them there to sell. They’d all sold by the next day, and he’d pocketed the cash just long enough to get his dad the gift. He bought himself a pole, too, and some extra line and sinkers, and a box of hooks. He knew a good spot to dig for worms, out behind the garage. He’d never been fishing, but he heard Jeremy and Paul talking about it at school a month ago. They went fishing with their dads every other Sunday.

Every Sunday, Pudgy leaned his own pole against the front door, as a hopeful hint that his dad would ask him to go fishing. But he hadn’t. Instead his dad had put Bobby’s cane pole in his closet with his own, and said, “Let’s get these out of the way for now, okay Buddy?” The poles stayed side-by-side, along with the khaki slacks and white shirts, and shiny shoes.

Pudgy was thinking about the pole, and his mom, while cooking his dad dinner. He was only eleven, but he had been cooking by himself for two years. He stirred the fontina and cheddar cheese mix into the macaroni noodles. He had to use noodles from a box, since he’d forgotten to ask his dad for real noodles. The dried pack of cheese from the box he sprinkled into his mouth as he worked, until the foil pack was empty. He’d only meant to taste a bit of it on his tongue. Once the cheeses were stirred in with butter and cream, he poured it into the white baking dish, sprinkled bread crumbs on top, and placed it in the oven to bake at three hundred and fifty degrees for forty minutes.

For a salad, he tore the lettuce into bite-sized pieces, and put them in the yellow salad bowl. It was his mom’s favorite bowl, that’s what she’d always said. He’d given it to her for Christmas, from money he made selling apple cakes. She’d helped him bake the cakes, but he went to all the neighbor’s houses until all ten of them were sold. The money felt heavy and bulgy in his pockets, and when he’d gone to J. C. Penney to buy presents, he’d kept his hand wrapped around the dollar bills, to make sure nothing would happen to them.

He next chopped the red onions, carrots, and tomato, careful not to cut himself. The one time he’d sliced into his index finger and the blood trickled onto the potatoes, his mom had shown him how to chop with his knuckles bent so the knife was guided away from his fingers. She’d been a chef at a restaurant in town, and when she came home, she always smelled like spice. She’d say, “Do it like this, Bobby. Watch.” And then she showed him how to chop, slice, bake, fry, sauté, julienne, and even how to make crème broulet. Whenever he cooked, it felt as if her hands guided him, showed him what to do. In the kitchen was where Pudgy’s mom always stayed. Pudgy thought maybe that’s why his dad sometimes became cross with him, because just like when she was alive, she was in the kitchen with him, more times than she was with his dad. Maybe his dad thought things like that would change once she became a ghost and thought things over. But it hadn’t.

While the casserole baked, Pudgy looked through recipe books. From the kitchen window, out over the valley and the distant mountains, he glanced up to see a group of boys running down to play in the creek. A moment of longing so deep he felt it all the way to his toes slammed against him that he lost his breath, his hand stilled over the page, where a recipe for beef bouganaise and fluffy creamed potatoes was. He imagined himself running out to them, waving and calling, “Hey! Wait for me!”

And they’d stop and wave back. “Hurry up, Bobby. We’re going to catch salamanders in the creek!”

He rose part ways from the counter stool, then sat back down and watched until the boys were out of sight, their shouts becoming faint and distant, too. The other boys were thin and wiry, running quick and easy through town, around the valley, on the playground at recess, and even up the paths and through the woods on the mountains. Pudgy used to be able to keep up, even though he was always bigger than they were. Sometimes the other kids, the ones who didn’t know him, would laugh at him, pointing their dirty fingers at the way he leaned over, huffing and puffing away.

His mom had told him, “Oh Bobby, don’t pay them any mind.” She pushed back the hair that had fallen across his forehead. “I tell you what, let’s both go on a diet. How’s about that?”

“A diet?” He’d turned his head to the side. “What do we have to do?”

“Well…” His mom put her finger to her lips and tapped. Her nails were always short and clean. “We could use low fat cream, for one thing. And maybe try some dishes with more fruit and vegetables.”

“And what about the cakes?” Pudgy’s favorite thing in the world was orange butter cake with lots of real whipped cream.

“We’ll still have it, just not as often.” She smiled down at him. “And we could ride our bikes more, how about that?”

They’d started doing those things, and Pudgy’s pants became looser. His mom cinched in her belt tighter, too, and her chef’s coat had to be altered. But after she died, Pudgy couldn’t stop eating. He ate even when he wasn’t hungry. His dad would get frustrated with him. He’d run his hands through his hair and say, “Buddy, if you don’t stop eating so much, you’ll never lose the weight again. Don’t you want to go play with your friends?”

And Pudgy would want to, he’d want to with a hunger that almost matched the hunger in his stomach, but then the next day he’d bake something delicious, or sauté something with onions and garlic, or pour crème sauce over his vegetables, and forget all about how much fun it would be to play with his friends.

Pudgy heard his dad’s key turn in the lock. He made Pudgy lock it behind him as soon as he got home from school, even though nothing bad ever happened in their little town.

He got up from the stool and hurried to the front door. “Hey, Dad, I’m glad you’re home.”

His dad ruffled his hair. “Me, too, Buddy.”

“I made dinner for us.”

“I smell it, son.” He loosened his tie, and stared down at Pudgy. “I saw some boys down at the creek. Why don’t you go play with them before dinner?”

Pudgy looked down at his Keds, and shrugged.

“Looked like they were having fun. Skipping stones, and raising up quite the racket.”

Pudgy faced his dad again. “Dad?”

He followed behind his dad as his dad began walking to his bedroom, the former guest bedroom which was now his new bedroom. Since Pudgy’s mom had gone, his dad didn’t want to sleep in the same room. Their room became the guest room, even though they hadn’t had any guests in two years, not since all the relatives came from all over to say goodbye to his mom.

Pudgy quickened his steps to keep up. “Dad?”

Without turning, his dad answered, “Yeah, Bud.”

“Can’t we go fishing this Sunday?”

His dad put away his tie, and began taking off his work clothes. Pudgy waited, looking through the open closet door at the poles leaning against the wall. The hooks, and lines, and sinkers were in Pudgy’s bedside table drawer, and the night crawlers were squirming under the dead leaves piled behind the garage, waiting for Pudgy and his dad to dig them up.

“I could make us something to eat so we could stay all day.” Pudgy didn’t move, he kept his body standing tall and straight, so his dad could see how serious he was about the whole thing.

“Fishing, huh?” His dad slipped on his shorts and t-shirt, and then his socks and tennis shoes.

Pudgy nodded, without saying anything. All his words were caught up in his stomach, and he didn’t want to let them out. Seemed like he had so many words in there, he shouldn’t be hungry, but instead, the words made him hungrier.

His dad walked into the closet, and looked up at a box on the top shelf. He rose up on his tiptoes and grabbed the box, lowering it down into his arms. Then, he came back into the room, where Pudgy still stood, looking serious, his stomach full of words. Without talking, his dad sat the box on the bed, opened it, and looked inside.

Pudgy couldn’t help himself, he stopped standing stiff, but still looking serious, he walked over, and looked inside the box, too. “What is it, Dad?”

“Some of your mother’s things.” His dad stuck his hand in the box, and pulled out a photo of he and Pudgy’s mom, standing shoulder to shoulder, smiling into the camera. “This is the day we found out she was pregnant with you.”

“She’s skinny there.” Pudgy touched his mom’s face.

“But not any prettier than she was before she left us, isn’t that right?”

“Sure is, Dad.” Pudgy felt the words loosening in his stomach. “Dad?”

“Yeah, Buddy.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know. Accidents happen all the time.”

Pudgy watched two wet spots appear on the photo, and then two more. They splattered, then dribbled down the image of his mom and dad, and onto the bedspread. His dad looked at Pudgy, right into his eyes, not down at the top of his head, or over his left shoulder, but green eyes to green eyes. Pudgy noticed just right then that he had the same eyes as his dad.

“It happened so fast.”

Pudgy took the photo and put it back in the box. He riffled around and found another one, this one of the three of them out by the creek, having a picnic. They’d set the timer and his dad had slipped on the grass twice trying to get back to them before the camera flashed. “Remember this, Dad?”

“Yes.” His dad sat on the bed, and patted the spot beside him.

Pudgy sat, and let the words in his stomach shift and erupt some more. “You tried real hard to save her.”

“But it was too late.”

“The ice was too slippery, wasn’t it, Dad?” Pudgy sat real still and waited to see what his dad would say next.

“It was. I tried to control the car, but it wouldn’t stop spinning. And then the next I remember, we were over the side, and against the walnut tree. And your mother…” Pudgy’s dad put his head in his hands, and through his fingers said, “And your mother, I tried to give her my breath. She could have all my breath so she’d live, and I’d go, but it was too late. Too late.”

That next Sunday, Pudgy let the rest of all the words that had been trapped in his stomach come out. He let them bubble right out of his stomach and out into the air. His dad showed him how to hook the worm, and then cast out his line. And with Pudgy’s stomach emptied of words, he didn’t feel so hungry anymore.

RUTH DOMBROW is a painter, potter, poet and clinical psychologist.

Born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, Ruth attended Brooklyn and City Colleges and earned a Ph.D. from New York University. She had a private practice in Manhattan for over 30 years and at the same time, was always involved with art.

A former owner of EARTHWORKS AND ARTISANS, a ceramic art school and gallery on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, Ruth’s work can be seen regularly at the FLATIRON GALLERY in Peekskill, NY. and the ART MART GALLERY IN Sedona, AZ.

Ruth studied painting with Lawrence Goldsmith on Monhegan Island in Maine and at the Art Students League in New York City. She has had solo show s at the FLATIRON GALLERY , THE FLYING PIG , NORTH SALEM FREE LIBRARY, the LI DANIELS GALLERY in Rosendale, NY, THE MEETINGHOUSE in Bedford, etc. She is a member of the Advisory Board of the KATONAH MUSEUM ARTISTS ASSOCIATION, and the MAMARONECK ARTISTS GUILD.

Her paintings have been exhibited in many of Westchester’s juried shows including the Hammond Museum, the Northern Westchester Center for the Arts, the Gallery at Westchester Community College and are in many private collections. She won a first prize at the Beaux Artes exhibit in Katonah and the Director’s award from the Putnam Arts Council.

Except for her Raku pieces, her ceramics are high-fired stoneware and porcelain. They were exhibited in the invitational show, CERAMIC VISIONS-2002.

Her poetry has been published in MOONSNAP, VOICES, THE FAIRFIELD REVIEW, PSYCHOPOETICA, LINGUA 2000 and ROSE AND THORN, and PERIGEE. Her book, “IN THE BELLY OF THE MOON” is a collection of her poetry and art work and is available at www.amazon.com.

Retired from her psychotherapy practice in New York City, Ruth spends most of her time at her studios in Goldens Bridge, N.Y. and Sedona Arizona.

Kathryn M: Tell us a bit about IN THE BELLY OF THE MOON. For example, what are you most proud of in regards to this book? Do you have a favorite poem(s) and artwork?

Ruth Dombrow: I’ve very proud of the way it looks as a whole and how the colors pop. I’m also interested in how the poetry turned into a kind of memoir.

KM: Yes, that is true—there is a memoir quality to it, and I like that as well. In your book of original artwork and poetry, you reveal situations, emotions, events from people who have affected you in your life, sometimes in a raging tone, sometimes reverential. Any backlash from that—either from your own perspective, or from someone who read your book and “figured out you meant them” ?

RD: No, both my parents died before the book was published.

KM: How do your other family members feel about “…Belly of the Moon” ?

RD: My family is very proud of me; they often comment on my openness and in general I get lots of good feedback.

KM: With this collection published, do you feel validated as a poet and artist?

RD: I wouldn’t use that word; it’s nice to have published the book, but I continue to paint and write as before. I also do a lot of ceramics, which was one of my first loves.

KM: Once the book was completed, how did you go about finding a publisher? Any advice for other poets/writers, and artists?

RD: I found a publisher on the internet. I’m sure that if I were willing to put more effort into marketing it, I would sell more, but I can’t seem to get into that. I much prefer to play.

KM: I can relate to the art of play! *smile* Are there any artists and/or poets you once emulated before finding your own style?

RD: There have been many influences: Primarily, Billy Collins as a poet. I love the fact that he’s so entirely accessible as well as very funny. Motherwell, Frankenthaler, Kandinsky have influenced my artwork. They are so full of gesture, and movement and meaning.

KM: What does poetry do for you? What does it give to you that you crave? And is it the same feeling as with your art?

RD: Being creative lets me know who I am; what I’m thinking and feeling about. It’s like holding up a mirror to myself. The process is very intuitive and improvisational. Then I put the piece aside, look at it awhile later, go back and edit.

KM: Pertaining to the above, in a world that would force us to make difficult decisions, would you ever give up painting for poetry, or poetry for painting? Or are the two fused and cannot be separated?

RD: Actually pottery was my first love, and I still enjoy working on the wheel. It’s like a meditation: totally absorbing.

KM: What motivates you to sit quietly and create? Do you have a special place to work? And is it the same place for poetry and for art?

RD: I write on the computer, and paint in my studio. Sitting quietly and listening (to myself and others) has always been something I’ve been good at and enjoyed. I worked for many years as a psychotherapist, doing art on the side.

KM: What are you working on now?

RD: Lately I find myself writing a lot about ageing and loss. My husband had a stroke recently, and we’re both getting on in years.

KM: Where can readers buy your work?

RD: Readers can buy the book by contacting me at ruth@ruthdombrow.com, and visiting my website at www.ruthdombrow.com. The book is also available from Amazon.com and through bookstores. Many paintings are also for sale from my studio in Goldens Bridge, NY.

KM: Thank you, Ruth, for taking time from your busy schedule to do this interview with me.

Thank you, Kat.

My review of Ruth’s book can be found at ROSES & THORNS

RUTH DOMBROW
Artist Statement-Collage

The origin of my work is always improvisation.

I may start with a single large brush stroke, or a scrap of handmade paper. From here I let my imagination fly and the work takes on a spirit of its own. Often incorporating sheet music, remnants of early piano lessons, I let the notes dance on the canvas or paper, and melt into other forms. These may be Asian calligraphy, prints that I have created on the computer and cut up to use in a piece, or paint thrown at the canvas. Occasionally wool and thread will find their way into the picture as well, along with vintage wallpaper.

I work quickly and then take time to modify, before securing the final work in place. Creating collage in this way is a sheer joy.

BEATING HER TINY FISTS: The David Herrle SubtleTea Interview with Cantara Christopher

David: “Beating Our Tiny Fists on the Big Hairy Chest of the Corporate Literary World.” This is Cantarabooks’ kickass motto. You’re the wiz behind the literary small press, Cantarabooks, and the (PDF-exclusive) literary magazine, Cantaraville, so please introduce unfamiliar readers to your mission and work.

Cantara: Well, when there’s only time for the elevator pitch, I tell people that our company is a cross between Leonard and Virginia Woolf’s Hogarth Press and Roger Corman Productions. The Woolfs, you’ll recall, started their imprint in England over ninety years ago with a second-hand letterpress on their dining room table, as a way to make certain that they and their friends and protégées could always be published. The comparison to the efficient and prolific B-movie maker Roger Corman is partly whimsical. Like Corman, we make good-looking product on a slim budget, we’re always working to tighten our operations yet utilize all our resources to the maximum, and we’re always on the lookout for new talent and undervalued seasoned talent to give wide exposure to…

For the rest of this interview, go to links: SubtleTea Interview with Cantara Christopher

From OCEAN’s publishing editor: OCEAN is a celebration of our earth’s water - its beauty, resources, wildlife - where treasures of the sea exist bountifully but not infinitely.

KM: Diane, what motivated you to begin publishing OCEAN magazine?

DIANE BUCCHERI Love of the ocean, love of literature, love of all things beautiful and natural, and a desire to share this love, stimulate interest and passion and education.

KM: Have there been times you’ve wanted to throw up your hands and say, “This is it, the last OCEAN I’ll publish!”

DB: Never!

KM: What have you learned about our oceans since becoming publishing editor of OCEAN magazine?

DB: I have begun to learn just how intricately interconnected our lives, all lives and existence here on earth are by the ocean everywhere on earth. The ocean’s vastness and power reaches into every moment here on earth, into everything here on earth. The ocean is largely responsible for all our weather. It’s a force to be respected and revered, better understood and cooperated with.

KM: I agree! What have you learned about yourself?

DB: Just how little I can live with materially.

KM: What was it like to publish the first issue of OCEAN?

DB: It was a thrill! I knew I was embarking on a new adventure, one that I was determined to make a success and would learn a great deal from and one that I was proud of but would require marketing experience that I would gain along the way, and tremendous perseverance.

KM: What kinds of changes have you seen to our oceans that worry you? And, what kinds of progress do you see that encourages you?

DB: Most of all, we are changing the ocean with pollution. Out of sight is out of existence. But not so! All of our trash ends up in the ocean—directly dumped there or leached from the land. Every chemical that goes through our body or is put on our body ends up in the ocean. Every product we use ends up in the ocean. It is broken down, leached, etc. and much of it evaporates with the ocean’s surface water, drawn into the atmosphere by the sun’s heat, collects in clouds, and falls back down upon us.

Many of the ocean’s fish and plants and other creatures are suffocating, rotting alive, and living diseased because of our pollution. Populations are dwindling fast. Seventy-five percent of the world’s predator fish and ninety percent of our commercially valuable fish are exploited, over-exploited, or depleted. Seventy-five percent of the marine habitat has been destroyed by humans. And most of those swimming the ocean are smaller and less healthy than their ancestors.

It is our rising awareness of the damage we are causing and the pain and disease we are creating that is most encouraging. Awareness will lead to change in our practices.

KM: If you get no other message across to readers but one, what would that one message be?

DB: To protect the ocean through celebration of the ocean. Hence, OCEAN’s motto is “to celebrate and protect”. We need a healthy, thriving ocean for our health, for our actual survival.

KM: I can see from your passionate answers the answer to this question, but I will ask anyway: what does the ocean mean to you? And, what does OCEAN magazine mean to you?

DB: To me, the ocean means vitality. Freedom. Adventure. Repetition and security. Foreverness. Hope. Timelessness within the constant, always changing rhythm. Vastness. Beauty and innocence. Power and fragility. The wonder of life here on earth, of existence and growth and evolution.

For me, OCEAN Magazine is my way of sharing this with others. I have gotten to know so many people through OCEAN and have had so many very meaningful exchanges with people since the first issue of OCEAN that gratify me and bring richness to every day. I am thrilled with some of their writings and photographs.

KM: What kinds of submissions are you looking for that you do not get enough of? And what do you get that you would like to see less, or none, of?

DB: I would like more high quality, deeply felt and deeply thoughtful, knowledge based or uniquely creative non-fiction writing. (To find out how to submit, click HERE.)

KM: Your website reads, “And, the world’s ocean is presently a 20.9 trillion dollar economy.” In what way(s)? Do you mean this in a positive way, a negative way, or is it both?

DB: It is a fact, and one that I find interesting and stunning at once. I state this fact to bring a truth to our recognition. We forget that we rely upon the ocean and its resources so much, or we never realized our dependence and use of the ocean and its resources. Heck, so many of our foods have seaweed products in them for consistency. Chemicals from the ocean are medically valuable. Ocean fishing, recreation, transportation, mining, and research, just to name a few, are huge industries. I make the statement on OCEAN’s website to awaken readers to the fact that we get so much from the ocean. For its yield to be healthy, we need to respect it and treat it responsibly.

KM: Diane, how can we help our oceans?

DB: We can help our oceans by learning how to consume less, therefore create less waste, and by learning how to consume in a way that we nourish the earth and the ocean with our waste, as nature has always done. If we understand nature’s ways better and live within her system of growth, decay, and re-growth through regeneration, we can live healthier, more productive, fulfilling lives.

KM: And how do we harm our oceans?

DB: With our materialism and types of technology which lead to consumption which leads to waste, which leads to filth, which leads to illness and destruction. These are general terms. Specifically, for example, more bottles from bottled water end up in the ocean than are recycled or reused. Plastic only breaks down to a certain extent. There is so much plastic in the ocean that plastic particles are showing up in the genes of fish!

KM: This is scary. And I’ve been guilty of frequent water bottle use! Awareness is changing that for me. Diane, what are you most proud of in regards to OCEAN magazine?

DB: It has drawn together so many people of all ages from all around the United States and the world in the spirit of love and compassion, sharing creativity and knowledge.
It’s all about beauty and love—and that ripples out to its readers—just as a smile touches one person and happiness is passed from one person to the next, to the next, its simplicity touching the soul.

KM: I feel a part of that, and I thank you for it! So, how do readers subscribe to OCEAN?

DB: At www.OceanMag.org through its online store, or by calling me at 252-256-2296, or by mailing a check to OCEAN, P.O. Box 84, Rodanthe, NC 27968. In the U.S. it costs $19.50 plus $6.50 for mailing.

KM: Thank you, Diane, for taking time to interview with me, and for the work that you do.

DB: Thank you Kat for this opportunity, and for your terrific contributions to OCEAN Magazine. You are a fine, sensitive lover of nature as well as a fine, sensitive writer.

Everyone - Be sure to peruse OCEAN’s website, and better yet - purchase a subscription or a copy of an issue that particularly calls to you, or advertise in OCEAN.

Click to to purchase the Special Annivesary Issue

To Purchase OCEAN magazine

OCEAN Associates
OCEAN is a not-for-profit organization dedicated to celebrating and protecting the earth’s ocean and its creatures

A Year of Gratitude-Health, Wealth, and Happiness for Free

In 2008, Nannette Croce, Kat Magendie, and Barbara Quinn are blogging A Year of Gratitude. Each day we will write about things we are grateful for. This is our attempt at making the world a better place. Why not join us? We believe that being grateful for what we have is the path to finding peace and contentment. Remember, health, wealth, and happiness are all within reach; mental health, wealth of the soul and inner happiness. And they are free.

Visit, leave a comment, by clicking: HERE

A Conversation with Foots, and his Lost City of Atlantis

In two of Plato’s dialogues (Timaeus and Critias), he wrote about a highly advanced and beautiful city that was doomed to violently sink to the bottom of the sea and lost forever, done in by the hand of a vengeful god who became angry at the Atlantis people’s arrogance and corruption. Was Plato speaking in metaphors that were timely to his own existence? Was Atlantis based on a real city? Was Atlantis nothing more than fiction, the result of a writer’s active mind? Whatever the mysteries are surrounding Plato’s Atlantis, one man who prefers to be called Foots has dreamed of creating his own City of Atlantis since he was a child. Bit by bit, Foots is making his dream a reality—the largest underwater collection of sculptures, and the first underwater city ever created by an artist, as well as a unique artificial reef. One can dive through the Archway and into the Circle of Light, find their own stories to tell in the faces of the sculptures Foots has created and will be sinking down down into the sea.

Foots was born in Munich Germany, and has lived in “many states of America,” and in “many countries all over the world.” He holds citizenships to the United States, the Cayman Islands, and Great Brittan, and says, “I am very proud of all three of them. I am the most proud to be a Caymanian Artist, and prefer to be known as that, for this is where my heart is.” His biggest project so far is the designs he sculpted to three facades of the New Auburn University library, using more than one thousand terracotta pieces. Foots’s other projects include restoration of historic buildings and churches all over the world, such as in Germany, Austria, and Iran.

For the Atlantis project, the six foot eight Foots finds a “model” he likes, and after they accept, he makes a quick-setting plaster-sheet-rock paste mixed with sand. He places a breathing straw in the subject’s mouth, plugs cotton in their nose, and spreads the mixture on their face. It takes under ten minutes to dry, and he then removes the cast, which holds every character marking of the model’s face. Next comes a cast of their hands, unless the hands are to remain hidden. The body is then sculpted, incorporating the face and hands. Finally, Foots uses rusty salt water to stain the sculpture (Foots makes clear that all materials do not cause harm to the environment), and then it is ready for when he will sink the sculptures, which will be done in phases.

KM: Are you trying to tell the story of Atlantis through your work? And what is that story—or, perhaps I should ask, what does Atlantis look like inside your head?

Foots: There will be many phases. Yes, Atlantis is huge—they were peaceful people, who fished, farmed, and shared with one another. There will never be images or sculptures of weapons in my creation of Atlantis. Think about it: what does a sword-mace or spear represent to you, to me—violence! My world I am creating is a world of peace and harmony the way this world we live in today should be and can be, if we just love and care for one another. I stand by my thoughts! And my Ideals.

KM: How long have you dreamed of creating your Lost City of Atlantis?

Foots: Since I was nine. I started this project at the age of forty-nine. For forty years I held on to my dream! I am fifty-three now and will continue creating it as long as my health allows me to. God willing! And along with His blessings.

KM: Did you have problems convincing city officials to give the go-ahead for this project?

Foots: No. They could see and believe in my vision and thoughts.

KM: When did you begin working on your sculptures, and who was your first model? And, who else do you use as models?

Foots: Four years ago, my first model was Lawson Wood, author of Shipwrecks of the Cayman Islands—A diving guide to historic & modern shipwrecks (AquaPress). A talented underwater photographer, he is the first Elder of Atlantis. There have been and will be many more to come as this project continues: Elders, Sentinels, Maidens, Prophets, and the list goes on

KM: What materials do you use? And, is what you do environmentally safe?

Foots: I use crushed bluff rock from Cayman Brac, along with coral sand—both are limestone, which came from the sea—mixed with cement, which is also limestone. In 2005 at the Dema show in Las Vegas, Nevada, Cayman Brac Lost City of Atlantis was given an award by Scuba Diving Magazine, Editors Choice for best new artificial reef, for its unique concept, and use of environmentally friendly materials. A GREAT HONOR FOR ME.

KM: Tell us about the “Underwater Warriors” program.

Foots: Underwater Warriors (http://www.underwaterwarriors.org/) is a charitable and educational non-profit organization to provide scuba diving as therapeutic recreation for injured servicemen and women. Armed with adaptive skills, injured soldiers are now defying gravity, liberating bodies confined to wheelchairs, and finding freedom once again in a world. Our Underwater Warriors bought together by their sacrifice and services, have embarked on a new and exciting mission, and their families are joining them.

The first eleven of these soldiers who dive or snorkel Atlantis will become the Elite Royal Guard to the Queen and King and their Palace of Atlantis in the waters of Cayman Brac.

KM: Is there a favorite(s) sculpture—or one you are most proud of?

Foots: I am very proud of all of them, but one in particular, one of the Medicine men—Dr. David Hanatry from England. He took care of me when I was bitten by a Black Widow Spider and it did hurt beyond belief. I created the mustache and beard that he always wanted to have, as you can see in the photo. He is too cool and will always be my favorite sculpture for its personal touch and thoughts that went into its creation.

KM: Do/did you have any critics? And, if so, what do you want to say to them right now?

Foots: Yes, there was one in particular who criticized me rather harshly, my opinion, but this person has their rights to their opinions, just as I do and every one else in this world.

KM: This must be incredibly time consuming, as well as incredibly expensive. Do you mind telling us a bit about how you have financed, and will finance, this venture—and how long you will continue?

Foots: Yes. With money, lots of money. To date, I have put thousands of hours into this creation, and will continue spending thousands of dollars and time in its creation. To create such a project here on Cayman Brac, a very small Island with very crude and limited means, is no easy job nor is it inexpensive. It will be MY GREATEST ENDEAVOR IN MY LIFE AND MY PASSION FOR MY ART. It will be a never-ending story, and this project will come to an end when I reach my end…(Foots smiles here).

KM: And last question, Foots, what has no one asked you that you wish they would, and answer yourself, of course.

Foots: Are you crazy? And the answer is: Yes, I am crazy about what I am doing, creating this project. Yes, I am crazy about the feelings that people who have become part of this project share. Crazy to see the joy, happiness that I see in their eyes and words and emotions. Crazy to be able to create something that will be here under the sea for eternity to promote new life, new growth of sea life. It’s my gift to this world and its people for many generations to come see and enjoy. My life will have had meaning. Yes, I like being crazy, think about it.

KM: Well, I like your self-called craziness, Foots. Thank you, dear man, for taking time with me—I blow you a kiss all the way to Cayman Islands.

Readers, if you want to know more, and to see images of Foot’s work, visit:
atlantiscaymanbrac.com

(interview first printed in Indie)

Interview conducted by: Kathryn Magendie

I wish I could write how Susan Reinhardt and I sat across from each other with steaming mugs of Deep Creek Blend coffee, daintily eating a danish (thinking, if I were home, I’d cram it in my mouth and then lick the sugar off the plate) while discussing our writing lives. Instead, because of our schedules, we conducted our interview by e-mail. Too bad—writing is a lonely business, so opportunities to sit and chat while aromatic steam rises from our cups don’t come often. I met Susan less than three years ago, but feel as if I’ve known her forever—that’s the kind of person she is: accessible, intelligent, kind, outrageous, funny; and folks, don’t let her self-deprecating humor about her looks fool you, Susan is a knockout.

Reinhardt is a full-time columnist for the Asheville Citizen Times. Her column is available to one-hundred Gannett papers as well as other papers that subscribe to the Gannett News Wire. Reinhardt’s short stories have been awarded prizes by Story Magazine, Mademoiselle, and Writer’s Digest. She has won numerous awards for her columns and fiction, such as three “Best of Gannett” awards and Gannett’s Outstanding Writer of the Year in 1998. Reinhardt is the author of “Not Tonight, Honey…Wait ‘til I’m a size 6…” (2005, Kensington Publishing) now in its fifth printing; and her recent collection, “Don’t Sleep With A Bubba: Unless Your Eggs Are In Wheelchairs” is now available in bookstores. For more, visit her website at: www.susanreinhardt.com

KATHRYN: You must read lots of happy fan mail; but tell us, did you really receive a death threat for changing your hairstyle?

SUSAN REINHARDT: Oh, yes. Some quack wrote a long letter, something like three pages, going into great detail about how I should be shot behind a barn for going to a bad hairdresser. He suggested the stylist also get plugged, too. Weird. He later said he was joking, but I’m thinking he’s in prison somewhere by now.

KM: How about telling us voyeuristic readers a good secret? Something no one else knows about you, your writing life, your work, or your book(s).

SR: There are so many of those in the three revealing chapters of the book [“Don’t Sleep With A Bubba…”]. But, let’s see…I have a disorder of checking my Amazon rating way too frequently. It interferes with life and joy. I am also STUCK and have writer’s block severely on this third book that was due THREE months ago. Sometimes when I go to write, I Google stuff instead. I do that a lot actually.

KM: What is the focus of your third book?

SR: It’s tentatively called, “Dishing with the kitchen Virgin,” and it’s a humorous Anti-cook book. How to eat free; how to get out of doing holiday meals and remain seated at the “children’s table;” a chapter on the stress and anxiety attacks in a cafeteria line; a chapter on Dude Food, including the gross things guys will eat. And food and cooking disasters throughout, as well as recipes—some yucky and some delicious! Crazy stories on the range—but this range is a stove top!

KM: How do you combat your “writer’s block?”

SR: I can eat lots of buffets and blow up a few pounds. I could start smoking. I could borrow an IV bag and enjoy a Dr. Pepper intravenous drip. Or I could do what real writers do and stop surfing the Web and just make myself do it. Just like cleaning out a closet. It’s often an OK experience that will unblock—once you toss those first few pairs of chewed-up shoes in the garbage can. Anne Lamont calls them “shitty first drafts.”

KM: Your first collection (“Not Tonight Honey…”) was irreverently funny and witty. Were you worried how your second collection (“Don’t Sleep With A Bubba…”) would be received, since along with your trademark humor you reveal blood-raw issues, such as suicide, alcoholism, and depression?

SR: At first, and this is odd, I wasn’t worried. I felt “led” that this was the right thing to do—to expose these issues that affect so many. I thought, and still do, how it will benefit a good many people. But a few months later, a few weeks before the book hit the shelves, I had major doubts and panic attacks over whether or not I’d said and revealed too much. This went on for a while and I finally accepted it by thinking if the messages in these brutally honest stories reach just one person who was on the verge of suicide, alcoholism, depression, or becoming a target for date rape, then that’s good enough for me.

KM: In those essays you seem to be saying, “Well, Sugahs, this is also who I am…can y’all handle it?” Did you have to prepare yourself in a different way to write these touching, but intensely personal and darkly emotional, essays?

SR: It was preparation very similar to giving blood at the Red Cross. Lie on a table, hold out your biggest vein and bleed. This is what I did on my computer. I cried at times writing them.

KM: When your readers close the cover of “Bubba…,” what do you want to imagine they are feeling; what do you want them to take away from the experience?

SR: I want them to know serious illnesses and situations affect everyone and are not insurmountable without help. One has to admit she/he needs the help. I also want them to feel uplifted and revived, since even the darker stories have endings wrapped in hope.

KM: What are you most proud of in regards to your writing life? And your personal life?

SR: In my writing life, I’m proud I got an agent. That was the hardest thing I ever did professionally and also the best. Once a writer gets a good agent, his or her career can really bloom. It’s just so awfully hard to get one—but not impossible. As for my personal life, this is a no-brainer—my kids, Lindsey, 9, and Niles, 14.

KM: Thank you, Susan, for taking time from your busy schedule; we’ll have that cup of coffee real soon.

Portions of this interview first published in The Guide

FOR ROSE AND THORN INTERVIEW FOR REINHARDT’S
“NOT TONIGHT, WAIT UNTIL I’M A SIZE 6,” CLICK HERE:
SUSAN REINHART INTERVIEW 1

Welcome to Kat’s blog. This is her crazy webmaster friend. I am jealous of Kat because she lives in the beautiful mountains of North Carolina and I live in a two-horse town in South Georgia where the heat, humidity, bugs, and gossip will eventually take away your will to be a part of humanity.

At any rate, I hope you’ll hang around a while. Pull up a comfy chair, pour a nice glass of Merlot, and get to know my wonderful friend Kat!