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Ars Poetica is in its ninth year here on the west side of Puget Sound. Poets living in Kitsap, Jefferson, and Mason (that's me) Counties submit up to three poems to a jury of local artists who choose one or more poems to interpret in their chosen medium. When complete, the art is displayed in participating galleries, and usually culminates in author-artist events at the galleries, where the poets read their poems standing alongside the artwork inspired by their poems, and the artist speaks about his or her creation, and how the poem inspired it. This year, of course, everything is different. The events never took place, and most of the exhibits were cancelled. Thankfully, a number of poems and the accompanying artwork are on display during the month of September at the Poulsbohemian Coffeehouse in Poulsbo, WA. In addition, local artist Bev Hanson has put together a virtual exhibit of the Poulsbohemian exhibit, features statements from both the artists and poets. I love the watercolor that accompanies one of my poems: Outside My Window Outside my window in early morning fog eagle finds a salmon bleached in decay washed ashore the day before lays claim with anchored talons rips flesh with razored beak until it sees me looking out from behind glass too close for its comfort flaps its mighty wings flies out of view holding fast to the fish I walk to the kitchen for breakfast one life feeds another  Why I chose this poem: Artist Andrea Tiffany.
Birds seem to provide my greatest source of inspiration to paint, followed closely by the local landscape of mountain- framed saltwater. Fish often come popping up to the surface of my artwork, as well. This poem contained all I needed, and though Eagles are not my favorite bird—a bit brutish, for my taste—they are spectacular creatures, and the partnership between Eagles and Salmon is a local classic. Media: Watercolor Price: $200 What inspired me to write this poem: Poet Cathy Warner Two-and-a-half years ago I moved to low bank fixer upper in Union on Anna’s Bay of the Hood Canal. There is always something to see out the window. At low tide, the bay is mud, oyster beds, and the Skokomish River. When the salmon run, occasionally a dead one washes ashore. This particular morning, I stumbled into the living room to find an eagle unusually close to the house feasting on a salmon. I think both of us were startled by our nearness to each other.” Enjoy a PDF of the entire virtual exhibit here.  Midnight May 31, 2020
If a poem could keep the world from exploding, other lives from imploding I’d never put down my pen. I’d ink blank pages until fingers cramped, blistered, and bled, until the marks of artistic suffering smeared the alphabet of good intentions. I’d write until compelled to stop and look upon the streaked mess I’d made of creation. Forced to cease my frenetic struggle for self-expression I’d rub a tired hand across my neck and just breathe in and out because I can live in the present moment. I’d see tears of privilege smear my careful pages forming corona bursts that spread like wildfire consuming poetic constructs. Ink seeping into blood bleeding into grief that overflows its banks surging with despair flooding foundations that were supposed to protect our fragility but crumble under the weight of oppression. Exposing the rotten materials upon which we’ve built systems that promise to uphold everyone but never could support the weight of equality and that fail all of us now as illusions of protection and safety collapse. The walls tumble down and we are broken, shattered scattered along the streets cowering in quarantined homes victims of an unseen virus, supremacy, and privilege. Barely masked vitriol is such flimsy covering against what we truly need to face. I should be standing alongside those destroyed by the shadow side we once tried to hide but are now parading and tweeting. Our naked underbelly celebrated our worst selves shined up our deepest fears inflicted upon others we dehumanize in order to keep our motives unexamined our wounds unhealed. My voice is so easily spoken my words so easily heard my views so easily accepted my pen so easily plied. But you who’ve been silenced you who’ve been ignored you who’ve been shunned-- protest. Riot if you must. Burn your truth into my skin and may your cries haunt me to the grave.  Tarah Trueblood, one of my dearest friends, has interpreted my poem "For Our Hunger" as a 36" x 48" oil painting for her fine arts studies at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. It's a privilege to have a talented artist and thoughtful human engage so deeply with my poetry. Reading about the creative process Tarah engaged in as she visually represented her meditation on the words and structure of the poem enriched my understanding of my own work. It's also nice to know that visual artists, like writers, compose in drafts, returning to the work and changing it.
Enjoy the poem as well as Tarah's painting "For Our Hunger" (above), and her artist statement below, which provides a fascinating a glimpse into the role of creativity in her life, as well as detailing the creative choices she made for this painting. For Our Hunger a chicken a guitar a vase me We each in turn will be taken by the neck and plucked strummed filled wrung And (sadly) in the end broken but not before we offer (I hope) our little morsel to this world a meal a melody a bouquet a poem –Cathy Warner Tarah Trueblood’s Artist’s Statement About three years into my decade of practicing law in Sacramento, California, I realized I had cut myself off from the act of creating—of giving birth. I needed a creative outlet. One autumn I signed up for training to become a docent of the Crocker Art Museum. Every Monday morning for an entire academic year I slipped out of the law office and into the magic of the Crocker. There I was immersed in color, texture, landscapes, portraits, sculptures, abstractions, history, culture, artists, and meaning-making. My favorite room became the modern art gallery where I would sit for long periods of time--entering a canvas, dialoguing with the artist, creating meaning and story. Then, my sister was diagnosed with a life-threatening blood disease that destroyed her liver. While she was on the liver transplant waiting list, I created my first watercolor painting—more like a meditation really. Today, that is one of my favorite paintings and I named it after the name of the blood disease, Polysythemia—meaning too many red blood cells. The painting is dominated by chaotic forms and bloody shades of red. Yet, in its chaos, there is a large form that strongly resembles a fetus. My sister is still living and so is her daughter who was born shortly after Polysythemia was painted. My sister’s illness inspired me to quit the practice of law in pursuit of something more meaningful. I chose to attend seminary in Berkeley to study theology, social justice, the arts, and meaning-making. That led to a career in higher education working with students to engage in the existential questions of life. Therefore, it is probably no surprise that for my painting class at Miami University, I chose to make a work that creates an experience of beyond, transcendence of the psychological consciousness of Same. The content is drawn from the poem “For Our Hunger.” My first draft attempted to preserve the short lines and stanzas of the poem which resulted in a rigid visual grid. I began to eliminate the stanzas and line breaks to shift the focus to the visual content. Ultimately, the goal was to communicate through content the poem’s meaning: life is full of hardship and yet we may discover ways to forge our suffering into beauty that nourishes our souls. Here are the choices I made to that end:
See more of Tarah's art at her Facebook page Trueblood Art Studio. |
I began blogging about "This or Something Better" in 2011 when my husband and I were discerning what came next in our lives, which turned out to be relocating to Puget Sound from our Native California. My older posts can be found here.
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