Bagism: Art & Poetry

Exhibit 10

As an artist of many talents, John Lennon has undoubtedly inspired countless numbers of people to explore their own artistic talents. Here then are some of the creations done by John's fans in his honor. If you'd like to contribute something you've created, please read the guidelines for submission.

The Beatles
by Ken Trainer

The Beatles I did these carvings twenty years ago. At that time I was also a Rock drummer until MS took that ability away. I continued to carve for 10 yrs.

John Lennon: Cookies and Cream
by Tim Swaddling

John Lennon:  Cookies and Cream I drew this in black pencil crayon from a picture taken for John's Power To The People single cover. I don't have the actual 45, so I toke the picture from the cover of a TERRIBLE book called "The Lives Of John Lennon" by Albert Goldman. The book is full of false information. Do not read that horrible dribble. Anyways, the drawing only took a day out at Colasantis (where I used to sell my art on Sunday afternoons.... Sunday painter!!!!). It didn't take long, since most of it was black. This is an old one, done back in December 1997. The name comes from the fact that every time I look at it it reminds me of Choclate Waffers. Yeah...

by Tim Swaddling

johnandyoko I love this picture, but unfortunatly, the scan didn't turn out that well. It looks grainy, but, you know, what can you do? This is done in pencil, way back in the summer of 1998, but I eventually handed it in as an art project. I received 90%. The picture, to me, symbolizes John and Yoko's relationship. John, deeply in love with Yoko, and Yoko, just happy, oblivious to the madness surrounding her; happy to be with John, but she has other things on her mind too. I choose the name johnandyoko because thats the term Lennon used to describe his relationship with Yoko. Little sidebar note: Give Yoko more credit. She practly invented the sound that Sonic Youth embrasses today (see Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band album) and she drove John to be the legend she is today. His brillant solo career was guided by his whole relationship with her; any discoveries he made with her, he quickly put down in song. The new Lennon Anthology is great, but not at all accurate. People have complained that they were pissed to find out that Yoko was on it (Luck Of The Irish, all the little home demos) when in reality, if you wanted to portray John in a realistic light, you would have put Yoko on there a whole lot more. Thats the way it was. You can't have John without Yoko. She was nice enough to even release these buried treasures. This drawing goes out to her. Hold on Yoko, Yoko hold on, its gonna be alright.

Lennon lets it be
by Tim Swaddling

Lennon lets it be This over used cover photo from the Let It Be album is still stricking, despite the fact that its on just about every Beatle web page. Here is John singing a Beatles song during the disintegration of the Beatles that was the aptly titled Let It Be sessions, while it appears in the picture that he is looking somewhere else; he's not quite into what he's doing. Broder horizons are near. The solo masterpieces are coming. The Beatles are done.Ź The drawing is in penicl, and it was another art project (88%).

Across The Universe With A Pencil
by Sir Kevin the Geek

Across The Universe With A Pencil This is a pencil drawing I've been working on during my spare time over the past two months (April-May 1999). It was inspired by the lyrics of Across The Universe, a Lennon masterpiece. I was surprised I could still draw like I used to.

John Lennon
by RenzoAntonio

John Lennon I finished this on May 21, 1999. My inspiration was listening to all the great songs by John Lennon. It is done completely in Photoshop 5.

John Lennon Sketch
by teflon_emu

John Lennon Sketch I was "inspired" to draw this after finding myself sitting around, being bored and listening to the oldies station towards the end of my freshman year in high school. The sketch was done on regular white paper and pencil because that's what I had lying around.

Atomic Hallucination, Z, Solitary Stone, Guru, and Self Symmetry by Nica

Atomic Hallucination Z Solitary Stone Guru Self Symmetry

Unsung Pain
by Gabriel M. Dial

i learned how to put words together
sending messages in rhymes
singing songs to my sisters and brothers
about my good and sad times

screaming loud at my father
of what i want to be tomorrow
and silently told my mother
all my pain and sorrow

Graham Crackers
by Lori Ann Treadway

A beginning
(much like an end)
is not a middle
or a stomach.

A middle
(not like a stomach)
is neither a beginning
nor a foot.

An end
(quite fit for an ending)
is not like a brain,
but more like a child
drinking his juice.

The child
(pondering all of this)
decides it is better
to drink his juice
while it is still good.

My First Love (Remembering Lennon)
by Anonymous

There must be significance in the idols we choose
The way our souls void of inspiration
reach out for engery to tune into, consume,to change our shape
fusing what little we grab into us
as we search for deep impressions or a mentor.

Me, at nine, supplanted on Long Island
in the young winter of 1980.
That was a whole new country for a mid-western girl,
the coneys, the koshers, the fish smells
and the dark heads of hair on all the kids
in my fourth grade class.
Me a blonde, a terrible misfit
without designer jeans.

And then I made friends with Ruth
who took me home after school
and showed me her closet of Gloria Vanderbilts
and Calvin Kleins
that her mother had stolen from the department store
she worked in.
I shocked, but secretly thrilled that this sub-culture
actually existed in America.
I adapted, it was a matter of survival
while my sister Dawn, in the seventh grade
collected death threats in her locker
and ran home everyday in tears.

Among all this chaos and change
(we were like immigrants deposited at the shore)
I noticed something else stirring in the New York air
and worn on the faces of all the strange citizens there.
Not those neo-thugs in the fourth grade
but the teachers in hall who grasped the newspapers in their hands
the lunchlady who wore a button that said "IMAGINE"
and the bus driver who wore the funny looking granny glasses
that I'd seen so many other people wear
and the long haired guy at the five and dime
that played the same music over and over again
And then I put it all together,
John Lennon had been shot.

Soon after, this guy John Hinckley jr tried to shoot the president.
I watched it on TV in my parents bedroom
and when I asked my mother why
she said that sometimes these things happen
when people go crazy.
But because he lived and Lennon died
I dropped the subject of the Regan altogether
and instead poured myself into
this thing of real death
and the soul sickness I felt
for this rock star from Liverpool.

That year I became a collector.
There was memorbillia everywhere
even enough for a nine year old misplaced New Yorker
to get her hands on.
There were bootlegs and magazines
and posters and T-shirts
and I spent hours in my little attic bedroom
with the Miss Piggy comforter and matching curtains
listening to Double Fantasy and Rubber Soul
on my Barbie record player
and crying, crying
huge tears for a dead Beatle
down small cheeks.

Later back in Michigan, 1985,
Fourteen now with jelly shoes
and stand-in boyfrriends,
I was a certifiable Lennon Fan.
Now absolute in my knowledge of his body of work,
Back in my element and popular with the WASPY kids
I enlisted them into my fan club
and a whole new generation of Beatlmania was born
twenty years later at Maltby Middle School.

True to history, there were two camps
and we were divided.
Casey was President of the Pauls
and I naturally, was leader of the others.
There were a few rebels who took to favoring Ringo or George
but that was okay because we weren't commies
we were groupies - yeah, yeah, yeah.

I had an 8x10 glossy photograph of John framed by bed
and my walls covered with pictures of the Beatles.
I wrote sympathetic letters to Yoko Ono
and bad angry poetry to M.D.C., now still at Attica
doing his time for the crime that made all this teenage angst possible.

But this kind of love, misplaced and obsessive as it was,
was still love.
In those isolated years of identification
I clung to an elusive idol worship
for someone so out of my place and time
and I grew up with the sound of music
that made my heart sing, fly and cry.

So that was my first love
not Christopher or Ronnie
not Brad.
But John Lennon, a dead king of pop culture
an icon for peace, a working class hero.
I put my young heart on the alter
of rock and roll history
and kissed the dying flame.

I have fond memories of our years together, me and John
and later I would say in his own write -
"Whatever gets you through the night,
'Salright, 'Salright ..."

Magic Monkey (chained to the music box)
by Gary Geick

Magic monkey in a chair;
two fingers raised up in the air
for peace.

Militant and unaware;
they pull their monkey by the hair;
zookeeper left in there air.

Nobody told you there'd be days like these.
Five chunks of metal brought you to your knees.
They stared and stared and stared and stared,
but nobody was really sure...

You say your bigger than jesus but I don't care,
if you marry a jap or you cut your hair;
so sing me a song about love and war;
a working class hero and I want more.

Little monkey sleeping in his bed one day;
bagin, bagout-I'm afraid I found out!

Magic Monkey in a chair;
two fingers raised up in the air...

Nobody told you there'd be days like these.
Five chunks of metal brought you to your knees.
They stared and stared and stared and stared,
but nobody was really sure...

But nobody was really sure...

If he was from the house of John.

We Hear You John
by Stephanie Woods (Rainfire)

You look down at the world below
Remembering that day covered in snow
That took away your wonderful life
That made you leave 2 kids and a wife
You shake your head as your eyes fill with tears
What has happened to our world these past years?
More and more hate controls our lives
Piercing our hearts like razor sharp knives
What happened to hope? What happened to love?
I hear you cry from your place above
Has hate consumed all of us?
Leaving our dreams to crumble to dust?
Peace on earth, good will to menā
I thought this dream was alive again!
You kneel as you break down and cry
Watching the wicked be saved and the innocent die
But then you notice a group from your place above
A group not consumed by hate, only by love
Working and striving to make peace alive
And you wonder how we can all thrive
In this world thatās growing more with hate
And then you realize itās not to late
For this world to finally be saved
From these decisions that we have made
The group grows larger day by day
We know if we try that we can make peace stay
We hear you, John, from some place in the sky
And we all try to make your dream stay alive
Even when hate is ridden we'll never be done
But remember John your dream hasn't died, it has only just begun.

by Ringa Sunn

A lack of glory fills the sky,
He will not make it through tonight,
A bullet flies into his chest,
All of his past is layed to rest.
A fallen one gives up his fight,
Now in darkness, he sees the light,
His freedom he no longer yearns,
While in the fields the bodies burn.
The keeper of this frozen hour,
Watched their fearlessness turn sour,
He calls out with no reply,
Silently he watched them die.
One person on the battlefield,
Is worth ten more that have been killed,
The smell of death is all around,
The last one falls and hits the ground.
The sky illuminates with red
While bombs still burst above their heads,
For all who heed the battle call,
Must die for no reason at all.

Dear John
by Ringa Sunn

I talk to you all of the time and I know you hear me,
And though I don't know where you are, I know that you're near me.
I wish that I could bring you back and have you by my side,
Was it my fault that you got shot? Was it my fault you died?
Will I be with you one sweet day when I am finally dead?
Will I be the same as you and get shot in the head?
Though some still say, "You're dead, that's it." I want you to know for sure,
I saw you on the news today, you'll live forever more.

Perfect Blue
by Jennifer Dunford

perfect blue.
piece of white
the sky

blood red.
at a pointless act

rain falling. blue.
tears falling

snow. white.
a long cold winter

love. red.
most the world
united by a moment

sky blue
white clouds
your song is playing

dove. white.

"Imagine all the people,
living life in peace..."

- Love you John.

Question To My Only Star
by Phil Jones

I wonder where you are,
You were my only star,
I wonder where you went to,
But you've gone.

So many things you'll miss,
Chance of eternal bliss,
There were so many ways,
For you to shine.

Give me a reason,
Please tell me why,
My only star,
Now in the sky?

Weaver of wisdom,
A song of love,
Working class heroes,
Are they above?

-This poem is dedicated to people and things that went before.

by Christine Paldino

In my Life...

I stand on the platform,
Waiting. Another morning...another day.
Sameness surrounds me. Familiar. The crowds. The faces: familiar.

Still we do not speak. Strangers all. Collective separation.
Our paths cross...every day. Our lives cross. Yet we stay - far away.

The chaos engulfs me...running. I'm late! No time to be polite.
I want to retreat. The sounds..of this chaos..scream in my ears.
Claustrophobic. Missed that one! Damn. Too quick..the doors, like
Here...another! No. Missed that one. Again!
I will surely be late. No matter.

Hugging my bag. Clinging. To something. What though? My oneness?
My self? I am so small here. Part of the rat race that is life.
So many separate rat races. Each one different but the same.
Where am I?

I feel a tap. Left, right. I look. Ah...there! "Hello!"
I rub my eyes; blink. "How?" "Don't question." We stand side by side.
Fingertips...fingers...entwining. Finding mine. ""
"Don't question." A squeeze. "To make you feel less small - in this vast
Still, he is beautiful. "How?" Again.
"Don't question." In front of me now. His face meets mine.

My heart beats loudly. "Them?" "No. Only you see this." "Why?"
"Don't question." My other hand now. Entwining. Exchanging smiles.
"They can't see?" "No."
This is for me. Where is that damn train? Push the thought away.

His lips brush mine. I smile. Fleeting. Like a breeze.
In my ear. "For you. For believing." That sound. I warm from within.
"You never forgot." He is gone. The train arrives.

Life goes on. I feel less small. Another day.

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Disclaimer: All the items presented in this exhibit (drawings, paintings, poems, etc.) are used with permission. The contributor of each item has claimed that he/she is the legal owner of the item and therefore has the legal right to permit its use. Sam Choukri will not be held liable in the event that the contributor of an item is found not to have the legal right to permit the use of such item. If there is any dispute concerning the ownership of any item, it will be removed until the dispute is resolved.


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Last updated on Aug 3, 2002