Sometimes I think poets go through all the circumstances themselves so they can write about things from a personal perspective.
Outside of prejudice, a place that’s learned
like old wives’ tales, absorbed at parent’s knee
to recognize the ones that should be spurned,
no why, just that’s the way that it should be.
Inside of prejudice, that face is turned,
for reasons I can’t fathom, away from me,
til whispers, giggles stop when I get near
and conversation turns to other things.
I know I am the joke I cannot hear
and my imagination then takes wings
and rises on the heat of latent fear,
the wind that is despair, and all it brings.
Outside of prejudice can see no wrong.
Inside of prejudice I don’t belong.
Before you get too excited about my achieving second place with my chalk painting last Saturday in Moreno Valley, it was a very small field of competitors. I also had a small booth at the art fair and my beloved was being the store keeper for me, while I wore off my fingerprints. I discovered fairly early on that our choice of space to set up (chosen because putting Doug under the tree in the shade would allow me to use the umbrella to keep the blacktop I was working on from melting my fingers), was in front of the band. The band (there were several during the course of the day) and the between-bands background music was LOUD. So, to relieve Doug and allow him to walk around and repair his eardrums and sanity, I hurried through my work.
The need for speed was exacerbated by wind which took the umbrella for a tumble and meant I had to chalk with one hand while quickly rubbing the chalk into the now-scorching blacktop with the other. I finished in 2 hours, and apparently was the only one who completely finished, though other chalkers, intending to take until 4pm created larger compositions.
I had a limited amount of blue, so did the surrounding ‘atmosphere’ in red, rather than follow the original, and created far less clouds than on the mixed media painting this was based on. For this it’s more about the message than the accuracy of the map.
“That the world is round reminds us that we are on the same side.”
Just warming up for the crowd. The Middleridge tasting room is in a beautiful building in downtown Idyllwild.
Yesterday I was scheduled to attend two gallery receptions (blissfully perfectly timed so that I could, despite the 90 minute drive between them) for galleries who have my work. The first is the group show ‘Art Uncorked‘ held at Middleridge Winery in Idyllwild. This is the first time I have shown there, and there were eighteen artists in the show, most of whom were in attendance and who I got to meet. Spoke to a lot of interesting people about both my work and theirs – and not just artists.
One thing that jumped out when talking to most people about my work – I have hidden the poem ‘Arrows‘ in the painting so well, that hardly anyone found it without being told to look for it.
The “Jeni Bate” wall. I have two other round pieces in the show which will be in the upstairs gallery.
I feel that I finally got it right. Questions on the back of a comment if you don’t get the symbolism in the first two verses and would like to know what it means…..
First the mirror,
The heart beats stronger
than the tree grows
on the land if there are few of you,
yet the skin is more tactile
than the cloth;
louder than the book, which is
more vocal than the anvil.
We run ourselves ragged
in the circles in which
we think we move,
tripping over ankle-height
intersecting and grinding,
snarling with different grooves
forcing us to question
until we are dizzy with
the mesmer of conficts.
We cry out
‘where is our tribe?’
But the tears on the mirror
obscure our true selves,
and everything behind it,
fizzling into a formless haze,
blinding us so we no longer see
we should be
we cannot continue unless
we become one.