That seed of you planted in me directs me to turn from daily tasks to look for lost things. Then the dust of my past, brushed from some recess of memory, mixes with imagination to fabricate a scrap of art, a poem, a tale.
After I wrote this, I couldn’t decide who to use to illustrate it. Then I noticed the “art, poem and tale” and realized I’d had a mentor in each genre. My mother for poetry, my husband for art and my father as storyteller.
A quadrille is a poem with exactly 44 words. The dVerse poets prompt asks us to write a quadrille that contains the word seed. Hereis a link to the dVerse Poets page where you can read other responses to the prompt.
I do not want to write a thing. I don’t want to design. When it comes to creativity, I’m ready to resign. My efficacy’s at an end. I have no further drive. No further motivation to prove that I’m alive.
I’m going to eat chocolates in front of the TV. No schedules to live up to. Now all my time is free. I have no excuses. Your aid is not required. To end this conversation, I will just say I’m retired!
I’m not so good at carefree, don’t know how to be gay.
When others loll out on the grass, I’m always cutting hay.
While other people spend the day on some fun and dumb thing,
something whispers in my ear I should be doing something!
When the alarm bell signals, my day’s labors start:
feeding dogs, then writing, sorting, filing, making art.
Even when at leisure, my mind is always working.
If I’m not doing something, I feel that I am shirking.
It’s one thing when you’re with someone and sharing repartee,
or watching interactions you encounter day-by-day.
It’s another to rethink all that has been done or said––
to mix them with the other things you have in your head.
If I put them all together, they make a lovely story––
sometimes love and romance and sometimes sad and gory.
And that is what I think about even in my bed.
I guess my retirement will be when I am dead.
This is a piece I did a few years ago entitled “The Circus.” It deals with that part of us that wants to run away and join the circus. The porcelain doll has my mother’s face superimposed on it. Over my mother’s face, I put several layers of Frida Kahlo’s face, peeled off in varying degrees. Over Frida’s face is a miniature antique paste mask that can be pulled aside or allowed to fall into place. In her hands are a tiny pair of silver scissors and around her waist is a tiny bag woven of morning glory vines. She rises out of a toy chest decorated with Loteria cards. On the chair to her left is a small clown figure with wings. He is painting a portrait of Frida. Many discarded portraits of her lie crumpled and discarded on the floor. They are all the same. Below him are circus animals and a juggler who have spilled from the pages of a tiny journal that has a story written inside about creativity, sides of the brain, intuition vs. reason and imitation vs. unique inspiration. The overall piece is about the importance of coming from a unique place in ourselves rather than depending upon judgement and imitation. For me, the purpose of art is that experience of going into new realms of ourselves—to allow ourselves to do what most of us couldn’t do when we were young—to run away to join the circus!