I asked for and got: criticism. I didn't mean to really ask, I just had to fill in the subject line on a Craigslist posting. But someone in Cleveland took me up on my request.

She was honest and direct, some I agreed with, some I found amusing as it was opposite some other criticism I had received. I am too cliched, or is it not enough? I need universal themes, but I always thought good writing brought new worlds to light.

And the writer guessed we're both lost; she's correct, that's what this blog is about. Defining ourselves outside of others conventions and/or expectations. Women, even today, have more roles but not fewer responsibilities: we are to be everything to everyone all at once, save ourselves. Nothing new there, that's life.

Consulting the rules of composition before taking a photograph, is like
consulting the laws of gravity before going for a walk.” Edward Weston

The writer also said: " I think a true, successful artist is not a tortured soul, but a rounded individual with lots to draw inspiration from. Your works says something is missing. Oh, I hope you find it, there is talent in both the words and the images, but it does need something. When they use the word "composition", it is meant as a way to pull all of the separate parts of a story or artwork together into a common whole. Life is like that too, separate parts, and if something is out of place or missing, there is no composition. "

I do not believe insanity is a perquisite for art-making, but it obviously does not hurt in many cases, and usually does not hinder. The art produced is different, but not inferior. Brute artist's(art of the institutionalized insane) is a good example of art being produced despite ones limitations. A scattered life is a quilt:scrapes put together to keep one warm, whole and full.

PS:

Husband and I are starting to make homemade ties. I plan on putting my poetry somewhere on them. Here's where I am getting my tie pattern.

Labels: art, critic, criticism, critics, critique, poetry, prose

Labels: ginsberg, poem, poems, poet, poetry, prose

Love is when the desire to be desired takes you so badly that you feel you could die of it.::: Henri Toulouse Lautrec :::


I was looking for a quote on showing ones art, on galleries, on openings, on readings- but I found this quote and it really summarizes how I feel today about my art. My poetry is what I speak through now. I cannot talk anymore, there is no one appropriate to listen. Though I realize now it was folly to ever think I was heard at all.

I think all artists are waiting to be noticed. Are we artists without an audience?I suppose, we are. But I know I dangle until I hear that unsolicited word of praise. And the words just wash over me, it's better than an orgasm. And existence without such love, praise and/or acknowledgement empty.

I write more now. Embarrassingly I realize the one I wrote for, never read me. And the one I have always been with, who endures all of me every day, endures my writing too. He doesn't get it. He asks about it, like one follows a recipe. And I appreciate and love him for it, but it's like your mother telling you, you are beautiful. Well, my mother never said that to me, but I imagine it's that way.

Labels: art, galleries, openings, poetry, poets, prose

Poets (and others), The Bathroompoetry Project is looking for some sites. We have a willing participant who is looking for a few colleagues to help get the project up and running. Please take a look at the website and contact me if you're interested. http://bathroompoet.net/



I love this idea, probably because I love Jenny Holzer's work.





Recent poem:


what change from a dollar can get you
amusement and novelty
everything is available from a vending machine
anonymous boxes
slots for the obscene
plastic wrap for penises
and faux cotton
dummies
phalluses
to absorb
what the polyurethane screen deducted
proving life
doesn't come in a box
only the dead

Labels: holzer, poem, poems, poetry, poets, projects

psychophagic:soul eater





I believe in Good and Evil. Psychophagic means soul eating, I learned that term when I was reading about narcissism. If you are spiritual, acknowledge a soul, you know what I mean if it has happened to you. I have been insulted before, hurt like everyone, heartbroken and scared. Those experiences were all different, than this. It's as if I am a pawn in a game, involuntarily I am someones amusement. They don't bore of me when I ignore them, they up the stakes. They want a response, a reaction.That's all I am to them, a reaction. Good or bad, and they want their fix like any drug fiend.This is what it feels like to objectified and mutilated. But I keep dodging their pins, I refuse to be their specimen. No fucking way.

courting a tsunami
there's a space between my brows
where the wrinkles started
and my eyes meet
when i formulate a thought
and get into poeticspace/ speak
I furrow like farmers till
and I remember my only impressive ability is (skill?)
skipping stones until I see I've made ripples too
and courted a tsunami
been stoning myself
and the salty/guilty spray
is man-made

Labels: art, evil, good, luba, narcissism, narcissistic, poem, poetry, prose, psychophagic, self-potrait