Game Consolidation
Duck, duck, goose, heads down
on desks, lights off. Games
need the dark, a blindfold,
fingers over closed eyelids.
Sit in blue plastic chairs,
hold your neighbors’ hands,
wait to feel if you get tapped
on the scalp or neck or arm.
The stray rubber ball that
slaps your calf signals you
are out, but do not leave.
From across the room,
a woman shouts, Never have
I ever left this country,
drink if you have, from
the dixie cup in the upper
righthand corner of your desk.
Keep asking questions of
your neighbors about who
you are, yes or no questions.
No, you are not a famous athlete.
No, you are not a politician.
Yes, you know your own name.
The room is not encased in
a giant beach ball, but the
ceiling is a parachute. Around
the periphery, hands clutching
the edge, tugging, One, two,
three, pull! You feel the room
sliding forward, but don’t let go.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
On Creativity (featuring Meghan Willis, TsuruBride)
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| States of Undress No. 3 |
Q: States of Undress plays with images of the female body, anatomy, and clothing (that is often being removed); what I like best about this series is that you explore these ideas with embroidery. What inspires you about the body (especially female), about stitching on clothing that is coming off? Where did this series begin, and how has it developed for you? How do your materials factor in?
A: I’ve always been more drawn to the female form than the male form, artistically-speaking. I went to school for fashion design, focusing primarily on women's wear, so drawing women is very natural to me. I love the curves: sensual and sinuous. The clothing also goes hand-in-hand with my background. Instead of just nudes, I like how they add a playfulness to the images, making a celebration of the women.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Traveling Light
Traveling Light
How little can I bring
with me, that is a game
I enjoy. Not nothing
but very few things
is the goal. Begin with
time and a bag. A week
or less, and it’ll be a tote,
just a carry-on and a purse.
I make a deal with myself
that I will wear what is
packed. Two pairs of shoes,
two dresses, two pairs
of pants, and shirts that
hold their stomachs in
when I flatten them.
I like to bring one thing
that I can throw away
before returning.
If I forget one item,
how might I adapt.
I want to surprise
myself. At home,
abundance, options,
twenty dresses, purple,
black, red, blue, neon
floral tights. But for
travel, scarcity. I am
leaving room. I am
willing away all that
I do not need.
How little can I bring
with me, that is a game
I enjoy. Not nothing
but very few things
is the goal. Begin with
time and a bag. A week
or less, and it’ll be a tote,
just a carry-on and a purse.
I make a deal with myself
that I will wear what is
packed. Two pairs of shoes,
two dresses, two pairs
of pants, and shirts that
hold their stomachs in
when I flatten them.
I like to bring one thing
that I can throw away
before returning.
If I forget one item,
how might I adapt.
I want to surprise
myself. At home,
abundance, options,
twenty dresses, purple,
black, red, blue, neon
floral tights. But for
travel, scarcity. I am
leaving room. I am
willing away all that
I do not need.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Division of Labor
Division of Labor
Think of the last time your brain
handed over the car keys to your body,
Here, you steer. Where did your
mind go, a city with an ocean where
the air should be, an empty bridge.
When your mind returned, where had
your body taken you. Don’t blame
your hands. They can’t think, even if
they can drive. What other logic
could you will away, then. Try this one:
while driving, imagine that you
don’t know where your car is. Where did
I park, ask yourself that, and see
if you don’t provoke a few anxiety-birds
to shoot into the air, screeching.
The next experiment: imagine you are
alongside those birds, looking
down from the tree branches at your car,
you can see the gray roof, and
the dusty windshield, and through that,
the driver of the car, sunglasses,
a face. Yours. Watch yourself for a bit,
observe from a distance. Keep
driving. Put the operation of the vehicle
in the “Body Functions and
Operations” task list. You have places to be.
Think of the last time your brain
handed over the car keys to your body,
Here, you steer. Where did your
mind go, a city with an ocean where
the air should be, an empty bridge.
When your mind returned, where had
your body taken you. Don’t blame
your hands. They can’t think, even if
they can drive. What other logic
could you will away, then. Try this one:
while driving, imagine that you
don’t know where your car is. Where did
I park, ask yourself that, and see
if you don’t provoke a few anxiety-birds
to shoot into the air, screeching.
The next experiment: imagine you are
alongside those birds, looking
down from the tree branches at your car,
you can see the gray roof, and
the dusty windshield, and through that,
the driver of the car, sunglasses,
a face. Yours. Watch yourself for a bit,
observe from a distance. Keep
driving. Put the operation of the vehicle
in the “Body Functions and
Operations” task list. You have places to be.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Two Shopping Carts
Two Shopping Carts
In the freezer aisle,
flanked by broccoli
and waffle fries, two
shopping carts. The one
near the vegetables
holds Roma tomatoes,
lemons, dark roast
ground coffee, brownie
mix, peanut butter,
wheat bread, paper towels.
The other has only
eggs, vanilla cupcakes
from the bakery, and
frozen peas. A purse
sits in the fuller cart,
near the handle, where
a baby could go. As we
approach the carts,
the bulbs in the cases
on either side of us
stir, cough up light
one case at a time,
like a sidewalk that
responds to feet by
glowing where we
step. In a big country,
dreams stay with you,
the song is “In a Big
Country” and the band
is called Big Country.
In the freezer aisle,
flanked by broccoli
and waffle fries, two
shopping carts. The one
near the vegetables
holds Roma tomatoes,
lemons, dark roast
ground coffee, brownie
mix, peanut butter,
wheat bread, paper towels.
The other has only
eggs, vanilla cupcakes
from the bakery, and
frozen peas. A purse
sits in the fuller cart,
near the handle, where
a baby could go. As we
approach the carts,
the bulbs in the cases
on either side of us
stir, cough up light
one case at a time,
like a sidewalk that
responds to feet by
glowing where we
step. In a big country,
dreams stay with you,
the song is “In a Big
Country” and the band
is called Big Country.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Everygreen
Everygreen
The stick and pink petals and
fallen needles that rain can’t reach
and owl that drops from a branch
and drifts, like a hang glider
within his own body. All of these
are the tree. Plus the hardwood
flooring in your old apartment
that you gouged with a nail
from the base of your old dresser.
And the evergreen seedling
you carried home from school
on Earth Day, damp paper towel
cupping its roots like a diaper.
You planted it near the other
evergreens, already full-grown,
taller than the houses on the block.
In your mind, each one is the baby
you held, is the sail of a pirate
ship, with a rotating sprinkler
tied on with rope for the wheel.
The tree is what grows beside
the house you lived in until you
were twelve. It has not known the
top of your head for decades.
The stick and pink petals and
fallen needles that rain can’t reach
and owl that drops from a branch
and drifts, like a hang glider
within his own body. All of these
are the tree. Plus the hardwood
flooring in your old apartment
that you gouged with a nail
from the base of your old dresser.
And the evergreen seedling
you carried home from school
on Earth Day, damp paper towel
cupping its roots like a diaper.
You planted it near the other
evergreens, already full-grown,
taller than the houses on the block.
In your mind, each one is the baby
you held, is the sail of a pirate
ship, with a rotating sprinkler
tied on with rope for the wheel.
The tree is what grows beside
the house you lived in until you
were twelve. It has not known the
top of your head for decades.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Caretaker
Caretaker
Light is shone through you,
and from the shadow and
light that leaks out, another
human is formed. Or you
spring from what they are
missing, your body and
talents are their shadow. This
is an efficient way to create
life, variation begetting
motion and an idea in you
that there is a thing out there
you have been made to
find. You might encounter
each other while you live.
What I am good at will fix
you, you will say, keep
saying, even when the grip
with which you fit together
causes fractures, bone spurs.
Light is shone through you,
and from the shadow and
light that leaks out, another
human is formed. Or you
spring from what they are
missing, your body and
talents are their shadow. This
is an efficient way to create
life, variation begetting
motion and an idea in you
that there is a thing out there
you have been made to
find. You might encounter
each other while you live.
What I am good at will fix
you, you will say, keep
saying, even when the grip
with which you fit together
causes fractures, bone spurs.
Friday, April 13, 2012
On Creativity (featuring YOU)
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| Art by the wonderful Macha Suzuki (via Sam Lee Gallery). For more of Macha's work: www.machasuzuki.com |
Pardon me; may I please borrow your brain?
I’m currently developing ideas for a series of creativity workshops. I’ve been thinking recently about the relationship between fear and creativity. To that end, I wanted to invite you to answer a couple of questions, in the comments below.
As an artist, writer, or creative thinker, what are your fears? Do your fears inhibit your work, or are they useful to you? What allows you to overcome nervousness, worry, embarrassment, or fear in order to create?
(My answers can be found here and here and here [this poem was initially inspired by the beautiful piece above]).