Peyton Spence, Cliffside Return, Oil on Canvas, 2020 “I personally feel like a passing ship, moving within the seasons and enduring the challenges each one brings. It seems that no matter where I came from, it does not matter, but who I become…”
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Three Years
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
A moving Navy ship,
A change with every year
I am from nowhere.
PRICE $100.00
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 Sarah Heikkinen, Voyager, Ink On Paper, 2020 “It is my hope that this work will embody the consistent voyage that defined much of Langbein’s youth and those struggles faced of having home constantly being somewhere new and unknown.”
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Three Years
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
A moving Navy ship,
A change with every year
I am from nowhere.
SOLD $1,400
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Hannah Kogut, Broken Glass, Watercolor Monotype, 2020 “The poem interests me because how short it is. I enjoy the brevity, and think that there is something powerful in just what a few words can say.”
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Jabberwocky
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Breaking a glass — smash!
To drink what is within it
To scurry and hide.
SOLD $300
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Brian Stanley, Pulse, Digital Painting, 2020 “When reading the poem Douleur, the title, and the third line about stillness really spoke to me. I wanted to create something that I felt represented both the pain and stillness found within the lines…”
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Douleur
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Dry eyes – see the birds,
Chirping to break my heart.
She lays there. So Still.
PRICE $200.00
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Amber Wilkins, Plight Of Eris, Charcoal On Paper, 2020 I relate to this poem because it represents the inner battles people are dealing with. They can be going through hell and no one can see it on the outside. I can relate to the felling of being stuck in a place, so I wanted to represent that.”
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Torture At Its Finest
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Purgatory is for the still,
Those questioning and waiting in
their personal perdition.
Their inner sanction blinding thoughts to a close.
Personal hell is immobility.
Control refuted.
That burning sensation- scorching the lungs,
eyes, minds, tongues, and hearts.
Veins disintegrate and blood boils.
Yet they stay, giving no evidence
Of this punishment.
They deserve this?
But what did they do?
They never moved.
SOLD $200
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Kat Rendleman, An ideal Panic, Acrylic On Canvas, 2020 “This poem inspired me to think of the effects of mental health.”
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The Shadow
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Daily Prayer
May the Gods strip this from me.
May any God that will listen please tear me
of my consciousness and bare all
of what I should be.
Ravish me of this pit within
for I can only thrive without.
With any intention you wish to use
upon me I am yours, mighty fate.
Keep your secrets from me.
Keep every mask I own and do not let me
use them. When the time is right,
shove it down my throat so that I may
never be able to rid of it until you snatch
It back out from my depths.
Let every emotion the world lay unto me be cast
out from my soul. Take my world and all of me
with it. Possess me in your fury and your love,
but never let me feel it. For I may use your gifts
to remove each piece of sanity from my self-righteousness.
This glorious gift that I may never hurt others but I
may only destroy this vessel that could be yours.
I’m not worthy of this all.
Not worthy of this present of love, of words, of voice
and of song. You bestowed this upon me for what purpose?
That I may use them to play myself a fool?!
I say how foolish of YOU! You CHOSE to use this pawn in
such a ridiculous fashion. Lay your presents on my bed so
when I rest I will wake no more.
I command it now! You let this world be mine when it was
not I that asked for it. You refuse to possess me, but you refuse
to give me the tools to play your left hand. ANY God that will listen,
I will drop to my very knees and burn outthe flame of my pride…
SOLD $300.00
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Ellen Hicks, The Shadow, Oil On Canvas, 2020 “This poem reminds me of my complicated relationship with religion. I am inspired by Ashleigh’s vulnerability in expressing her thoughts.”
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Free Reading
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
They’re Only Instruments
I sit still- waiting with this dissonant rage.
Crescendo , vibrating, pounding, and resonating
smoke inside the hallow chamber of the self
I presume to be.
Oh, what a bitter orchestra.
Furious winds, abused strings, seething brass,
and fuming percussion.
Plucked and stroked,
they perpetuated disdain.
Soft air blown into the beast
who exhales a monstrous
bass of a noise.
All steaming inside a
nice, little frame.
Shapely small voices become silent
while the larger rest on the cold ground.
Their wide openings welcome you.
Blow inside me, strike me,
use your fingers to make me shriek.
You’re in for a surprise.
SOLD $500.00
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Ukwensi Chapelle, Poem, Media On Canvas, 2020 “My work is all about imagination which sometimes doesn’t make sense, but enhances the beauty of it.”
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Stop Making Sense!
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Feeling Glass
Before a stroll,
with an entrapment.
Caught in the street called home.
Then a gaggle of white faces,
a crashed table and a piercing in
my frame.
Finally, a bed taken by a lost soul,
eyes ripped out and the blackness bleeds.
I wake up. Now it hurts.
PRICE $800.00
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Donna Forehand, Poem, Copper foil Method Stained Glass With Iron Stand, 2020 “I can truly relate to this poem as a person who struggles to sleep with the weight of the world on my mind. I feel the battle of wanting to sleep in the light and the storm of thoughts preventing that peace.”
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Places
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Bedroom( 2AM)
What takes your mind away,
in that quiet moment in pure darkness.
in that quiet moment when no one is around.
What keeps it to itself?
What forces your thoughts somewhere,
in that silence the rest of the world drifts and dreams.
Breathing its steady beat, waxing and waning with life,
But you are here and lie awake.
What forces your eyes to the ceiling,
The ceiling supposed to protect you.
Protect your important “things” – your. “Stuff.”
But here, in this moment, it confines your world.
What forces your urges to cease,
your hunger is as unimportant as that buzzing fly in your room.
Your lips dry of moisture wanting that wet life bringer.
But right now, you don’t care. You don’t need to.
What forces your chest to feel lit aflame,
Nothing can keep you’re here from combustion,
Nothing can keep your insides from imploding within.
But you lay motionless, experiencing it all unscathed.
What forces droplets of water to run down your frail face,
But when daylight comes, they dry up.
This thing now makes you smile.
Until that quiet moment in your bedroom comes.
SOLD $500.00
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Brian Serway, Disinter, Watercolor On Board With 24-Ct Gold Leaf, 2020 “I wanted to pay tribute to the words but equally pay tribute to the emotive qualities and the way I felt while reading it; as if a portal had opened up in my brain and I recollected memories just under the surface. It’s been particularly fascinating to me how words can often resurface traces we once thought lost, only to come to the truth that those we hold dearest are never truly gone.”
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Random
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
A stinging revelation of all that’s good.
Shifting spaces, elongated distances
lengthening where a sought quest lies.
It isn’t a quest just yet.
Merely this thing beyond the horizon,
This creature just beyond your reach.
A creature of fortitude and unmanageable mass.
No one said this was a bad thing.
No one said it would be a burden.
No one said it would be unwanted.
Unwelcomed.
Unendurable…and it isn’t.
Then why is it so heavy?
This creature of goodness,
Of passion. Of love.
The creature calls for you, yearning,
blowing its gusts through your insides,
Continuously flowing within.
Its breath festers from your all,
Growing with such intensity.
Such oppression. Such weight.
Never again to experience that…
…unbearable lightness of being.
That whimsical feather of this world’s very presence.
And who you are in it.
To become firmly planted on this Earth,
But stretch above and beyond the Gods.
Somehow.
The creature’s murmurs, now music, are haunting,
Embodying the songs you have yet to sing.
Following with blind faith,
Orpheus’s persona becomes you,
And that…of his Eurydice
I will drop to my very knees and burn out the flame of my pride.
I will burn my very flesh for it to fall from me so that I may
cease control of what should have NEVER been mine.
You’re laughing, aren’t you?
Laughing at the LACK of strings you control over such a
creature. A simple human being cannot bear worldliness,
Atlas must shift! You smile ear to ear at this
marvelous game you’ve orchestrated I see.
What’s your next move?
What it always is isn’t it? Throwing the game to win another.
But what if I forfeit first?
Please…Any ONE that will listen.
Take this from me. Have it and never let me peer upon it,
For I may turn to stone in my terror and live forever.
I look through words and I change what they are for
nothing is clear in this haze. You all give me fuel…
Please…strip it from me…
SOLD $750.00
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Richard Graces, Now Music, Mixed media With Watercolor On paper, 2020 “A term I learned form Ashleigh was ‘Transgessive’ meaning stories and art that touched on the most uncomfortable aspects of life. We had talked about that idea several times, that beuaty can be most appreciated in the context of the darkest places…there seems to be a call and responsibility to not look at the beuaty independently from the ugliness of the world, and without acknowledging both, you can’t truely appreciate the splendor of fleetingness of life”
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Random
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
A stinging revelation of all that’s good.
Shifting spaces, elongated distances
lengthening where a sought quest lies.
It isn’t a quest just yet.
Merely this thing beyond the horizon,
This creature just beyond your reach.
A creature of fortitude and unmanageable mass.
No one said this was a bad thing.
No one said it would be a burden.
No one said it would be unwanted.
Unwelcomed.
Unendurable…and it isn’t.
Then why is it so heavy?
This creature of goodness,
Of passion. Of love.
The creature calls for you, yearning,
blowing its gusts through your insides,
Continuously flowing within.
Its breath festers from your all,
Growing with such intensity.
Such oppression. Such weight.
Never again to experience that…
…unbearable lightness of being.
That whimsical feather of this world’s very presence.
And who you are in it.
To become firmly planted on this Earth,
But stretch above and beyond the Gods.
Somehow.
The creature’s murmurs, now music, are haunting,
Embodying the songs you have yet to sing.
Following with blind faith,
Orpheus’s persona becomes you,
And that…of his Eurydice
I will drop to my very knees and burn out the flame of my pride.
I will burn my very flesh for it to fall from me so that I may
cease control of what should have NEVER been mine.
You’re laughing, aren’t you?
Laughing at the LACK of strings you control over such a
creature. A simple human being cannot bear worldliness,
Atlas must shift! You smile ear to ear at this
marvelous game you’ve orchestrated I see.
What’s your next move?
What it always is isn’t it? Throwing the game to win another.
But what if I forfeit first?
Please…Any ONE that will listen.
Take this from me. Have it and never let me peer upon it,
For I may turn to stone in my terror and live forever.
I look through words and I change what they are for
nothing is clear in this haze. You all give me fuel…
Please…strip it from me…
PRICE $450.00
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Hannah Muller, Antagonist, Acrylic On Canvas, 2020 “I relate to this poem on a personal level because I have thought very similar things for myself. There comes a time in everyone’s life where they become tired of people telling them what to do and telling them what is right…..Let us learn for ourselves; create our own destinies….I chose to incorporate effects that would suppress your true self and how it could effect your mental health…If we fall along the way, well them at least we are able to say that we tried.”
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Witnessing
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Scapegoat
Let me be naïve.
Let me make my choice.
To not raise hands in reprieve,
Or protest with my voice.
Let me demonstrate my hate,
and strain my inner pride.
Let me decay at my own rate,
and send myself to die.
Let me find what I’ll live without,
and to pursue the life I chose.
Let me decide what I’m all about,
I’m far to free to lose.
Let me love who I decide to love,
but never let you too.
Let me believe that something’s up above,
and let condemnation stew.
Let me vote on who to rule me,
and complain all just the same.
Let me refuse to ever stop and see,
who the real one is to blame.
PRICE $300.00
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Marina Rodriguez, Freedom Of Exploration, Mixed Media With Pressed Flowers On Canvas, 2020 “I was drawn to these two poems because of the desire for freedom as well as the need for understanding expressed in both. to me, this poem is about the need to understand our place i nthe universe through the understanding of self…”
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Erotic
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Nirvana
Cradled between your thighs,
I pull you closer towards me,
already hard before the flick of my tongue,
Your warmth greets me before my fingertips.
Sweet, sweet essence cascading in and around
Every corner of my mouth.
I won’t be cautious this time.
I wish to consume you in all that you are,
Taste the sensations from deep within,
spilling out in a wild twitch to my ever wandering
Hands and taste buds.
My jaw protests and I grow unrelenting,
Putting your body before my very own.
Putting a hand against my head,
shameless in using me for fulfillment and intensity,
just the way I need it.
You tense and grow still in sound,
You’re moans cease and the clenching ensues.
Close to pure ecstasy,
I stop.
Heightening the experience ever more.
Until he reaches paradise.
I will drop to my very knees and burn out the flame of my pride.
I will burn my very flesh for it to fall from me so that I may
cease control of what should have NEVER been mine.
You’re laughing, aren’t you?
Laughing at the LACK of strings you control over such a
creature. A simple human being cannot bear worldliness,
Atlas must shift! You smile ear to ear at this
marvelous game you’ve orchestrated I see. What’s your next move?
What it always is isn’t it? Throwing the game to win another.
But what if I forfeit first?
Please…Any ONE that will listen.
Take this from me. Have it and never let me peer upon it,
For I may turn to stone in my terror and live forever.
I look through words and I change what they are for
nothing is clear in this haze. You all give me fuel…
Please…strip it from me…
PRICE $300.00
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Rochele Tasca, Zwischen Den Butterblumenfeilen, Graphite On Paper, 2020 “The passing of my father was one of the most monumental experiences that shaped me into the artist I am today. Watching his cancer strop me of strength, awareness, and mobility has nee instrumental in my understandin of what death and grief entail. The sense of anguish related so vividly in the poem of Ashleigh’s is what prompted me to create this piece to touch on the complexities of loss and sorrow”
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Death And Grief
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Danse Macabre
Round-a-bout of skeletal fractions,
Bones picked for sport.
A festival of frantic actions,
of the ephemeral type of sort.
A shot taken- gone through the ribs,
Albeit alcohol or a bullet, who knows?
A feeble old man comes, and they call dibs,
There massive numbers only grow.
A prayer is made where one of them rests,
The 1st prayer to him ever spoken.
A mist appeared inside his chest,
so he vanished now, unbroken.
For years now, unbroken.
For years now they’ve all been waiting,
as the people they love grow older.
They keep each other company-craving.
For a name whispered on a sepulcher.
PRICE $500.00
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Eric Drummond Smith, Danse Macabre, Ink On Paper, 2020 “It spoke to me_The universalism. The sense that it could be ancient Greek of Edwardian or written any moment between or after or before. The feeling it gives me is reminiscent of Mexican art, -calaveras and such.”
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Death And Grief
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Danse Macabre
Round-a-bout of skeletal fractions,
Bones picked for sport.
A festival of frantic actions,
of the ephemeral type of sort.
A shot taken- gone through the ribs,
Albeit alcohol or a bullet, who knows?
A feeble old man comes, and they call dibs,
There massive numbers only grow.
A prayer is made where one of them rests,
The 1st prayer to him ever spoken.
A mist appeared inside his chest,
so he vanished now, unbroken.
For years now, unbroken.
For years now they’ve all been waiting,
as the people they love grow older.
They keep each other company-craving.
For a name whispered on a sepulcher.
PRICE $300.00
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Rayn Singree, Company-Craving, Ink On Mylar, 2020 “Grief is a grasping feeling. It pulls, and has a gravity of its own, drawing us into its depths. this feeling is all encompassing, and if unchecked and unaswered, can frow and pull you under. It wasits for the most in opportune moment, just as Ashleigh said – when we are weak, of forget. Like arms, it can be comforting or strangling- and it is always waiting for company.”
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Death And Grief
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Danse Macabre
Round-a-bout of skeletal fractions,
Bones picked for sport.
A festival of frantic actions,
of the ephemeral type of sort.
A shot taken- gone through the ribs,
Albeit alcohol or a bullet, who knows?
A feeble old man comes, and they call dibs,
There massive numbers only grow.
A prayer is made where one of them rests,
The 1st prayer to him ever spoken.
A mist appeared inside his chest,
so he vanished now, unbroken.
For years now, unbroken.
For years now they’ve all been waiting,
as the people they love grow older.
They keep each other company-craving.
For a name whispered on a sepulcher.
SOLD $500.00
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Charles Vess, Stardust, Print, Hand Numbered 13/300, Signed By Charles Vess And Neil Gaiman, 2020 “A philosopher once asked, ‘Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?’ Pointless, really…’Do the stars gaze back?’ Now that’s a question. – Neil Gaiman, Stardust”
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Stardust
About Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Ashleigh was a voracious reader, and Neil Gaiman’s stories of updated fairytales and urban fantasy were imagery of a star come to physical life, captured the wonder of th skies above, and brought them to the everyday world below.
Charles Vess’s work on the illustrated version of Caiman’s tale is as ethereal as the words on the page, conjuring the figures of the tale in a way that makes them both wholly real and yet a ephemeral as the stars themselves.
Ashleigh understood that the stars above were alive and part of all of us. Therough scientufic understanding combined with a deep connection to the world around us, she knew that we all were stardust, literally and firuratively- and that we could shine out of our darkmess as bright as any star in the sky could hope to.
RESERVE AUCTION
Call To Bid
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Nicole Bear, Starting Again, Acrylic On Paper, 2020 “I was inspired deeply because I have the same walk in life. Uprooting place to plce with my own family. Loved the buzzing fly in the room. The sounds, feelings and texture in that ste of being.”
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Places
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Bedroom( 2AM)
What takes your mind away,
in that quiet moment in pure darkness.
in that quiet moment when no one is around.
What keeps it to itself?
What forces your thoughts somewhere,
in that silence the rest of the world drifts and dreams.
Breathing its steady beat, waxing and waning with life,
But you are here and lie awake.
What forces your eyes to the ceiling,
The ceiling supposed to protect you.
Protect your important “things” – your. “Stuff.”
But here, in this moment, it confines your world.
What forces your urges to cease,
your hunger is as unimportant as that buzzing fly in your room.
Your lips dry of moisture wanting that wet life bringer.
But right now, you don’t care. You don’t need to.
What forces your chest to feel lit aflame,
Nothing can keep you’re here from combustion,
Nothing can keep your insides from imploding within.
But you lay motionless, experiencing it all unscathed.
What forces droplets of water to run down your frail face,
But when daylight comes, they dry up.
This thing now makes you smile.
Until that quiet moment in your bedroom comes.
PRICE $300.00
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Brian Derheimer, Humming-Bass, Digital Print On Canvas, 2020 “The poem ‘Random’ includes so much imagery of music – which vibrates and makes it feel alive, like the beating wings of a humming bird.”
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Places
By Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Bedroom( 2AM)
What takes your mind away,
in that quiet moment in pure darkness.
in that quiet moment when no one is around.
What keeps it to itself?
What forces your thoughts somewhere,
in that silence the rest of the world drifts and dreams.
Breathing its steady beat, waxing and waning with life,
But you are here and lie awake.
What forces your eyes to the ceiling,
The ceiling supposed to protect you.
Protect your important “things” – your. “Stuff.”
But here, in this moment, it confines your world.
What forces your urges to cease,
your hunger is as unimportant as that buzzing fly in your room.
Your lips dry of moisture wanting that wet life bringer.
But right now, you don’t care. You don’t need to.
What forces your chest to feel lit aflame,
Nothing can keep you’re here from combustion,
Nothing can keep your insides from imploding within.
But you lay motionless, experiencing it all unscathed.
What forces droplets of water to run down your frail face,
But when daylight comes, they dry up.
This thing now makes you smile.
Until that quiet moment in your bedroom comes.
PRICE $300.00
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Jew-Lee Lann-Briere, Enchanted Snake, Graphite On Paper, 2020 “I chose to challenge myself to bring this poem to light. Ashleigh always challenged people not to let the dark and fear hold you back.”
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Enchanted Snake
by Ashleigh Nichole Langbein
Submerged in this darkness,
I knew my days were done.
But. As I exhaled my last breathe,
A snake in the grass did come.
Beaten and battered,
I inhaled my 1st new breathe.
I stood up. Weak in the knees,
Heart pounding in my chest.
Now setting out on this voyage,
A strange quest – how could this be?
I must discover what this slithering snake
has just done to me.
$200
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