Artists Among Us

Photos taken at Como Park:
Amy Nelson

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Bemidji’s Lance Benson and Mark Bauer playing a great opening set for the Danny Schmidt concert at the KAXE Amphitheater.

Photo by: Doug Macrostie

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Art work: Joe Furuseth

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Untitled

You and I are dying

But, please, don’t tell

As our souls look through brochures

Of Heaven and of Hell

And we begin to cry softly

As we glimpse our past

In our cold graves

We’ll find comfort at last

The awful memories and mistakes

They will take their toll

Just as the triumph of true love

Melts our heart and long lost soul

But we can say we lived life to the fullest

And that it finally led to the grave

And as we watched our ship go down

Our memories were all we could save

But that’s all over now

There’s nothing left to live on

But we’ll keep on going

Even after our bodies are gone

We now have all eternity to acquiesce with Shakespeare

As to how love led to death

And all eternity to dream with Poe

About our last painful, desperate breath

So here we sit – locked together

Forever – you and I

As the earth reclaims the space

Where our bodies lie

Another sun sets

On this bitter-sweet eternity

But we find solace

In the despair of life’s mystery

The years pass by

And the light grows dark

But we regret nothing

We know we left our mark

~Poem: Amber Hildebrandt~

Photos: Leora Jean

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Well you’ve been asking for our art.  Now I may not be a “traditional” artist.  But I am an artist.  I catch glimpses of sheer perfection.  My perfection you ask?   Is my son.  He is my production of what is beautiful, appealing and of more than ordinary significance.

“Perfection”
Elizabeth Jansen

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Photos:
Becky Parkin

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Felting/Knitting:
Anne Roberts
All yarn purchased from Bemidji Woolen Mills

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My brother painted this in 1971, or there abouts…  maybe late 1960′s.
My sister is in the picture

Submitted by:
Laura Peters Mumm

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I use to live in Bemidji like 9 months ago. I lived there my whole life.  I  really am in love with Bemidj, but sometimes you need a break from the town you grew up in, so I moved to Florida.  I believe Bemidji has many hidden places that are full of beauty!

Photo:
Julie Saari

Did you notice the cover of the Community Education Brochure?  The photo on the cover was taken by myself.  I am honored to have been chosen as the cover photographer.

Note: All photos and work on this website are under copywrite

Peter R.

pics by Julie Saari

I met Pete over coffee at Harmony Co-op.  He is studying for his Nursing degree. Myself, working on this project and needing a bit of caffeinated encouragement.  Dedicated to his studies, he is buried in his huge texts most mornings.  When the middle of July rolled around (and his courses were done for the summer) I was finally able to see the other side of Pete.  He is a true friend, knows how to let loose on the dance floor, and yet can hold a serious conversation and give meaningful advice.  He is a new breed of man. To me, Pete represents this town and it’s many facets.  What I didn’t know was Pete’s story, until it showed up unannounced in my inbox one day.

You need to read this:

She started another story in her cut changlish but at this point the writing was on the wall.  My mother never told me the stories my grandmother does but my grandmother is so lost in dementia I don’t know what is true.  It’s like going the dumpster behind goodwill and trying to put together a life story using torn up grocery bags half full of weather beaten, moth eaten, dank smelling clothes.

It didn’t matter though; the writing was on the wall, figuratively and literally.  On the wall in my grandmother’s double occupancy room on the fourth floor of a California Nursing Home, among scattered photos of grandkids starting in the late seventies to the late nineties were small glimpses of the past.  A wedding photo, where they met for the first time, a family shot from the early sixties when my youngest aunt was just a couple of inches taller than a pot of Black-eyed Susan’s and a couple of pictures, maybe the only pictures of everlasting youth.  But the story was clear: growing up Chinese sucked ass.  No bones about it.  From the red scare to the age-old tale of “Get the immigrants out (Yeah, we still do that),” being Chinese in America during the 1950’s sucked.

Eternally half way through “The Woman Warrior” (Required reading in my family) and continually introducing my mom’s side of the family as “Have you seen the Joy Luck Club?” is both a blessing a nuisance.  I always wanted to know what it was like for my grandmother and my mother but due to a language barrier with popo and a tragic yet selective memory from my mother I never did.  It was as though Amy Tan became our storyteller.  She captured generations of Chinese-Americans and laid it out on the table so we didn’t have to.  Sitting down watching the Joy Luck Club as a teenager broke through a barrier that was my mother’s memory.  Watching every Vietnam movie ever made, barring the ones about white dudes and their trouble with killing babies (ie. Platoon, Deerhunter) due to the fact that my mother never wanted to glorify war, gave me insight to the pain of her growing up Chinese.

Through movies and books she communicated.  At one time this annoyed me, created this imaginary wall, or not wall, more like a foggy cloud between us.  I knew where she stared and I know where she landed but in between was “?”.  I wanted more.  I wanted to be the one with painful a painful history, the glory stories.  My first English professor said it best when he said growing up in a family with an alcoholic father made him a great writer.  Damn I wanted to have his tragically beautiful memory that captured the sympathies of readers, oh, and the hearts of young attractive ladies.  I wanted the attention of my friends by telling horror stories of my mom’s youth, but there were none.  When others told stories about how their long past ancestors made the trip by boat with only 3 dollars in hand and worked their way up the ladder at the escalator factory so their kids could go to medical school and discover the cure to tooth decay, I had “Did you ever see…?”

But damn it, she was right.  You know how it goes, “If it doesn’t kill you… and “I’m a better person for it…” Well maybe not this time.  This wasn’t something she did for me. She wasn’t keeping stories from me to teach me a lesson, she couldn’t tell them because it hurt too much.  The small glimpses I can piece together sucked, but that was no matter.  In the end, they were her stories, not mine.  They made her.  Just like my grandmother’s story was hers, not mine.  They made her.

I’m here in Bemidji because I need to make my own stories, not for my kids, not for my mother, for me.  So I can grow up “Half-Chinese-American” or “Half northern Michigan” (A story of another day) or “One hundred fucking percent Peter Reynolds.” I don’t know what pulled me here and I don’t know if I will be pulled away.  I do know that everyday (well almost everyday) I make myself better and I make Bemidji better.  Yeah, I said it. I’m okay being an arrogant bastard sometimes.

To view a slideshow of Pete’s photo shoot click HERE

From you

From Kathryn Lavelle:

This poem is for my Dad…who suffered a massive stroke on Sunday at Havenwood Nursing Home. He was left in his bed for almost 5 hours with no medical care of any kind before they sent him to the ER…and that happened only after I saw what condition he was in and demanded they get him to the hospital. He is a man who deserves far more dignity than any nursing home could ever provide for him…especially that one!

The Watcher…

He watches
He waits with no real big surprise
And sighs as he sees Death with his ancient eyes
The pretty Grim reaper with her Dixie cups

“Take your pills boys…now bottoms up!”
The bed…the call light…the TV screen
have made his life into one long dream
Not awake
Nor sleeping lay
He never realized he’d be forced to pay
With his dignity
With his memories
With his freedom
With his independence
With his reality
So much life lived
So many things accomplished
So many selfless acts
So much love
And loss
And laughter
And heartbreak
And yet
The end is nowhere near as sweet
And is rather quite
anticlimactic
Can I go home now?
Please?

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pic by Abbie Buscher

I said the donkey- Deborah Davis

He loves me- Deborah Davis

www.greenjanie.com
Jane Hastig

I am a fairly new artist. I make things mainly out of broken tempered safety glass from the glass shop I own with my husband and our business partner. (we can’t recycle the stuff and glass never breaks down in the landfill)  I paint it , some I leave plain. I  do a lot of glass-on-glass mosaics.  I also use discarded frames and other “junk” as much as possible. My work can currently be seen for the month of August at the Cabin Coffee House and Café and I usually have something at Bad Cat Creations Gallery and Gifts.
I sent a few pictures from the Cabin display.

Jane Hastig

Glass Doctor Bemidji

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Nikki Powers

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http://www.alicesanimals.com/

My business name is Alice’s Animals and I’ve been sewing these little rascals for like 30 years out here in the sticks near Debs. Here is one of my all time favorites. The bunny stands about 3 1/2 inches high.

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“Gentle Touch”
Kathy Gustafson
kathygustafson.wordpress.com

I painted them this summer based on  pictures I took out on Roosevelt Road a couple years ago. It is currently on display at Dunn Brothers (for the month of August). I enjoy all the animals in the Bemidji area, both domestic and wild!

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Melissa Burness
http://melbecreations.blogspot.com/
Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/pages/MELBE-CREATIONS/104224729613312?ref=ts

Pictures are Bemidji’s beauty.
My favorite spot is on Stump Lake taking a trip up the Mississippi.

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www.BadCatCreations.com
Christina Thorne

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From the Facebook page:

Favorite spots-

Mark Compton Lake Benjamin

Becky Brouse This a new side of Bemidji! no pun intended! I cannot wait to visit in September! Thanks for all the great Bemidji glances that feed me until I can come back!

The Beltrami County Fair- A Picture Post

The fair is something to everyone.  What is the fair to you?  Is it the smells, the food on a stick and sweet gooey apples?  Or possibly the fair is the rides to you.  Enough to make your head spin and sometimes your stomach (as I witnessed a girl in purple lose her cookies after riding the first ride you will see in the ‘Midway’ pictures).  The barns with their many animals and the exhibit buildings with their wares on display are what makes the fair for others.  Maybe your family participates together in 4 H,  rodeo, demo derby, or music stage.  What makes a fair – ‘the fair’ is  different to everyone….

Tell me in the comment box – what does the fair mean to you?

Triple B Rodeo

Midway

Exhibits and Entertainment

Animals