Shadow self portrait, 35mm film, at Big Bend National Park (photo by author)
I am the Queen of being wrong The Princess of loss An Expert at shelving my dreams I wrote a thesis on the disappointment that comes from the misplaced hope that people will change for the better I have conquered the fact that standing up for myself or others always gets me punched back down I’m an Absolute Pro at failure My confidence is excellent at being swiftly annihilated I am the Boss of no one, and nothing What I say goes except for in reality I win again and again at the being-humbled game Everyone listens to me when I am the only one in the room I could care less about people’s feelings and doing the right thing but then I wouldn’t be me
This poem is part of a set I wrote in 2020: 3 at 43. “Personal Geology” was the first, and this is #2. Wrestling with myself on a daily basis is just a part of my life. Who’s with me?
Cyanotypes on cotton fabric, made on the beach in June 2020
On the beach making prints out of the treasures washed ashore and the sun with the moon reflecting that light pulling the tides I think of the fabric how it once was balls of cotton planted by human hands grown from a seed in soil that might have once been an inland sea little plants blessed by the sun green leaves kissing the air of the field with oxygen maybe it was once covered by thick ice now melted the water re-entering the cycle returning to the clouds becoming slush that flowed into rivers the rivers reaching rushing always for the sea becoming steam rising falling again as rain returning to the sea the sea that nourished the clams the fish that fed the gulls and pelicans who dropped feathers onto the sand into the surf the sand that sheltered the crabs the sea whose salt waters washed the fabric held by my hands hung up to dry in the same sun that made the print that evaporates the water returning it to the sky and then to the earth to nourish the soil to grow the cotton all over again
World Cyanotype Day is the last Saturday of September, and the theme for it in 2020 was Interconnected. The cyanotypes you see at the top of the post were made with that theme in mind. WCD itself is very close to my heart; if you’re interested in learning more please visit the website (linked at the beginning of this italics text) and / or check it out on Instagram.
Color 35mm film photograph, made through the windshield, in Colorado | photo by author
Some are long and straight roads you can fly down wheels hovering on grains of dust runways crisscrossing the high desert kicking you west
some are barely roads at all gnarled and humped as rheumatic knuckles roads you have to traverse at a crawl dragging your belly over rocks through potholes lined with cacti
some roads are alive with sand dancing snaking patterns from the dunes whispering wishes carried back into the sea
in the mountains roads are rivers some raging wide and fast through canyons carving their way through cities that perch above the clouds tributaries meander through high passes laugh and weave with meltwater streams disappear into aspen forests run breathlessly into flower filled meadows make a slow descent winding into valleys until you are drunk with the journey all your old bolts shaken loose eyes open, windows down hair blowing wild heart stuffed full with the beauty of everything the roads can bring you
I really, really love road trips, and I am super fortunate that my other half loves them too, and loves to drive, so I can photograph out the window and daydream.Thank you for reading! This is yet another from my Medium archive. . . . .
Ondu pinhole self portrait made with Ilford FP4 film
Some days I am strong, firm a mountain rising from the rich strata of my years There is no past No abandoned bedrock No memory Only now
Other days the mighty hammer falls breaking off a cliff exposing evidence of suffering’s transgression sediments hidden beneath that would be ripe for erosion if I would let them surface
Concealed my mantle boils awaiting metamorphosis: time, press the layers together transform them bond them with the fingerprint of glory shining at my core
Colorado, made with Nikon F and Kodak Tri-x | photo by author
Stellar’s jay a western tanager red bellied hummingbird cruising by like a tiny bomber yesterday a hawk soaring through the binoculars
the herd of buffalo by the road regarding us without interest deer in the parking lot in Alamosa crossing the streets like they own the place (they do)
chipmunks will eat right out of your hands there’s a squirrel who goes off like a laser gun every morning shots fired at dawn
take care don’t leave out food to attract a bear
robin redbreast hops along even at twilight loathe to see the end of another wild day
Wildlife is one of the fun bonuses of camping (for us, anyway), and Colorado has treated us to plenty of it! Thank you for reading.
TODAY! I installed an interdisciplinary community poetry meets cyanotype bonanza project that I started last year at the Round Rock Public Library. If you’re local, I would love for you to check it out! What you see above in the cell phone photo is a preview of the first piece of it in progress – and yes I know there’s a mistake in it. This is art, y’all, not perfection!
Because I am aware of the fact that the final product isn’t the easiest thing to read, I’m sharing below a plain text version of the poem. Also below you can read about the project itself and (hopefully) give some love to the many people who participated in it.
POETRY IS. . . .
Imaginative leaps of profound wonder dreaming in the language of the heart. Word whispers, whispering from worlds unseen, revealed in a moment’s breath.
A gate opening to a sky starred with flowers and streets paved with moons, making fluid sinuous shapes of feelings with rectangular word blocks, written from the heart.
Poetry is mindfulness, words for all people, bringing the unseen or unknown to life, bringing what lies hidden in the heart into the light: the language of the heart, the melody of our lives, and all that breaks language back down to its first tremblings to speak as the soul.
A flicker of hope a divine intervention a soulful pursuit, painting with words beyond this lifetime, stirring of spirit and love.
Words rise to sense beauty in written form, sometimes real and raw, sometimes whimsical, but always magic: life’s rich tapestry tossed into the pond to make a million ripples, dreaming in imaginative leaps of profound wonder: poetry is the language of the heart.
APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!
These cyanotype prints and the poem they showcase are the result of a community project from 2021. I asked the wider world for a response to the prompt “Poetry is. . . ” in 10 words or less OR in haiku form, and once I had what seemed like “enough” replies I wove them together into a poem which I then turned into prints.
Here is a list of the contributors, along with links where you can see more of their work (please check them out!):
It’s a photographic printing process that uses natural salts and UV light to make an image that is naturally blue. That’s the nutshell version, but there’s so much more to know! My friends at Alternate Photography.com have some great info on it:
Poetry.org says: “Haiku is an ancient form of Japanese poetry often containing (in English) a total of 17 syllables shared between three lines that are arranged in a pattern of 5-7-5. The first line consists of 5 syllables, the second line 7, and the last line contains another 5 syllables.”
WHAT IS POETRY – to YOU?
Want to get involved? Let’s make a local version of this! Answer the prompt: “poetry is. . . . ” in 10 words or less OR in haiku form. Write it on a slip of paper and pop it in the box. Be sure to write down your first name so I can list the contributors, unless you’d prefer to remain anonymous which is ok too. When this exhibition ends at the end of April, I will turn it into a poem!
OH YEAH ONE MORE THING!
My friends at the Downtowner Gallery, right across the street from the library, have kindly let me put copies of both my cyanotype / poetry books (including the one I made with my daughter) on their local author for-sale shelf. Local friends, please stop by and take a look at all the great books on offer – not just the ones by yours truly!
Heat portals the bright flavor of the desert green horns that lengthened under the wide southwestern eye they sail the turquoise sea to land in this humble space
Lift the hatch: behold the fire within
Another poem from my Kitchen Collection! You can see more of them here on my photo website.Thank you for reading!
Galveston, TX | Holga camera and Kodak Tri-X | photo by author
The night the wind came to life there were headlights shining down the beach interrupting the darkness in our thin cocoon
The walls bowed swollen from the outside pushing against the edges of our dreams tossing the mattress like a boat on an angry sea tent ribs cracked and groaned ceiling rose and fell with deep ragged breaths energy swirled, let out of its box with a vengeance turning canvas flaps into wild fledgling wings while sand danced in every corner
The night the wind came to life it shifted the foundations right from under us left with our sleep
It came like a thief stuffing its pockets with angry thrusting fists pounded at the walls get out get out get out until we unzipped our fragile hold on the shore and fled into the maelstrom into the headlights that bore tunnels through the sand-filled air
We watched as the car drove by in slow motion
We washed in the dark boiling waves
We found shelter in the strong body of the truck rocked into the brief uneasy rest of surrender, refugees from the fury of the living wind
This poem was inspired by a true story, one eventful night on the beach. . . Thank you for reading!
Layered knots grains arranged and linked together bound by the hands that tied them, the heat that made them One, life and love graceful slices on a plate from rich, sustaining loaves
Back in the summer of 2020 I got all fired up over the idea of writing a bunch of poems about food – and I DID write a bunch of them! I called them the Kitchen Collection, made photographs to go along with them, published a few, and then (as usual) moved on to the next thing and never went back to finish the project. Here’s the first one I published. . . . another is on the way tomorrow! Thank you for reading!
Pinhole Polaroid photograph, South Padre Island National Seashore | photo by author
Washed up treasures coated in a briny rind even feathers bring it home salty seaside perfume lingers but mostly it’s the sand that sticks with you the constant scratch of the tide
Stand there all day feet sinking, casting your words toward the deep hands waving offerings to the gulls
The billowing roar swallows it all
It’s the rhythm that remains a drowning current in your heart long after you’ve returned to the land
Who else loves the beach? I bought one of those poetry prompt books that has themes and word associations. I’ve been having fun playing around with it, trying to use the words provided in a way they might not have intended. Do you write the poem, or does the poem write itself?
The Poetry Patio 