Monthly Archives: July 2015

Creating Creative Space

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Sometimes, inspiration comes in the shape of serendipity…

The inspiration
I was recently contacted by a cutting-edge company called WeWork asking if I’d like to share a post on my ideal studio space. This company encompasses a fresh approach to ingenuity and I was glad to learn such cool places exist. They offer creative co-working space in a collaborative working environment. You get the benefit of both internal and external energy as their studio spaces are located in several major cities.

The serendipity

My mother-in-law just sold her home in New Mexico and will be moving into my home, specifically, my studio space and adjoining music room the end of this September. My art belongings and I will move down into our finished basement. If all goes as planned, we will build a new studio at some point off the house somewhere…

Studio sentimentality
Since finding out my mother-in-law’s news, I’ve been contemplating what my studio has meant to me while also envisioning a new space. My blog’s header image is my current studio. I chose that image because it’s the heart of where I work. Each time I step into my studio and close the door behind me, all my life hats come off, except one. It is behind this studio door, in this most intimate space, where I do my best thinking, painting, drawing and writing…

studio red wallThe 30-second tour
In my studio there is a place for everything and the places are many-
cubbiessupply binswheel drawershelvesThe open areas keep the covered walls of inspiration from closing in-
studio angle table,easel,deskThe most important thing about a studio and I know not one creative mind would disagree with me here is lighting–there must be abundant natural light or the kind that lets you believe you do. In the evening, if I turn on all the lights in my studio I have faux daylight-
tableMy studio is my second home. Once inside, I’m transported to a place that allows me to think and work regardless of what’s happening on the other side of the door or in the world-
desk, laptopThese notes are the greatest source of inspiration for me-
max notecar noteFuture space dream…
I’ve loved this studio space. It has been very kind to me and I shall miss it. But I look forward to gaining a new space. When I researched the WeWork website, I found their interior studio designs very inspiring. I may try for a more clutter-free arrangement next time around. Right now, sky is the limit–that is–once I escape from the basement. 😉

Thank you,
annmarie:)

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no mint breeze in the rain

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many have written about rain
how the rain makes you lonely
endless drops echoing in an empty chest
the cold of them creeping up your shirt
shudders into the back bulge
the obvious dullness of the sky
over-burdened clouds unable to ease the mind
wind maybe, no breeze
delicate mint leaves collapse
they don’t know the end of it
never do
endless repetitive pings on pavement
no playing on the drooping lawn
  sucking mulch beds
engorged suburban septic sours
the smell can be bad
so the rain
it is wet
it is sad
it is dark
for a big-eyed kid waiting for the storm to pass
boy with green glowing eyeswhy this face? I’ve no idea…more crayon playing and yes, it was raining.
For Fawn – may rain come your CA way
(there is happy rain, I was in a melodrama moment-perhaps I shouldn’t write while drinking red wine 😉 )

On My Way to Shangri-La

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I’m on my way to Shangri-La
  utopian state
carved deep within a mountain valley
and steeped in lush promise

if I enter this harmonious climax
I’m not sure I’d be willing to share
my lips might seal like Tut’s tomb
toward those who covet rejuvenation

or perhaps I’ll surprise myself
enlightening others of a place where
words find themselves and settle into their meanings
wine, nectar and willow wind for all

maybe I’m not good that way
tempted by a steaming paradise born of sublime art
to wet my back and feast my eyes only
might be asking too much of me

what good all this knowledge
if only to give it out and end up with precious little
“to the victor go the spoils”
fantasies are kindled by motive

an exotic kingdom of one
defining a life’s work like treasure in a gilded casket
while existence survives in willingness
but fortune bears better threading

I pray on my quest to Utopia
I remember the warmth of flesh on mine
as all tombs are eventually unearthed
and all fabrics eventually disintegrate
gyptian
Gold Egyptian in marker a few weeks ago.

Homage to Doctor Moreau

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“The crying sounded even louder…. It was as if all the pain in the world had found a voice.”

“For everyone the want is bad. Some want to go tearing with teeth and hands into the roots of things, snuffing into the earth.”

“An animal may be ferocious and cunning enough, but it takes a real man to tell a lie.”
insane lioness singerQuotes from the transformative pen of H.G. Wells, The Island of Doctor Moreau

my creature gal created about 3 weeks ago with no hard-core animalistic intent

I. Doe and Deer II.The Littlest Dear

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I. Doe and Deer
deer familytoward the back end where the trees grew thick
and adjoining woods within range
she moseyed about the lawn
a pair of leggy fawns nearby
one did not roam far
the other
well, the other
scampered, hopped, sprinted, leaped
jumped over a hedgerow and disappeared
my mind yelled, get back over here!
I held my breath

moments ticked by
measured by my desk timer shaped like an egg
there to ensure I vacate my studio every so often
over those bushes with a freewheeling bound
she pranced back into view
so confident
her sister remained clinging to mama
with just blades of grass between
all the while
the doe continued steadily munching
taking no notice of the staying
or the leaping
she was a constant
and they were not
at least
not for a long time, yet…

II. The Littlest Dear

there was a young deer
though there were many others
none were like this one
her back was not quite right
things that were supposed to be inside
were outside
she was dying
life was pooling quickly in those somber, black eyes
her last place of rest was against the cold cement wall
of my home’s foundation
I sat ministering her
misting her cracked muzzle
hoping to keep ignorant flies at bay
I rubbed the velvet between her ears, still so very soft
I sang songs, my words were choked garble
I wondered if she’d had a good life
I whispered goodbye
and asked anyone listening
to please take care
of this little dear

Deer Friends

art I. while in my studio thinking about an idea, I had the good fortune of a doe and her 2 young ones crossing my backyard, so very enchanting (as long as the vegetable garden gate is closed) – I went a little sappy and put a little smile on the frolicking fawn 🙂

art II. previously published during Xmas

both stories here are true…I think about that littlest ”dear’ more often than I probably should

the pirate’s code

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do you believe in the pirate’s mask
X marks the spot
gold beyond the dreams of your dreams
so I’m told

X

the pirate can lead you there with his gruffled face
that snarled nose jammed between eyes of imperfect steel
the right, concealed behind a veil of black
like the dark ship he sails at midnight

X

will you bury your treasure for future seekers
whose dreams follow a map
or will you drink it away, swilling dirty rum
and dare the living to find it

X

will you hoard for fear of emptiness
laying curse to lock and lid
abiding by the code–
seekers walk the plank beneath the jolly roger
while you adore your black ship,
the wild sea and a dreamer’s treasure
you know
will never be found…

X

animated refuse

animated refuse

first boyfriend revised

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first boyfriend revised

not the boy, the writing
the boy is now a man
and a husband and a father
we dated long ago
years after Watergate
he was more adult
than I ever was
some teens manage stockpiling adolescent crap
better than others
he was dragged through a few payloads
before growing tired of the shenanigans

my ‘defense’

fresh from a neutered classroom
where boys breathed on the school’s opposing side
ever-constant mantras drilled
proper uniforms, do not sin, always repent
because you will sin
I remember the sheer terror of that first day
putting on street clothes
no more hiding behind vinyl white bibles and plastic Rosary beads
I was no longer a student of Catholic school

grow the freak up

I recall the first traumatizing moment
while trying to open my utterly confusing, Cavo-red locker
and thinking about not sinning
as a few expletives were beginning to slip
there they were
two bodies pressed against each other
a boy and girl whose lips were locked more tightly
than the gargantuan textbooks crammed into my thin, obstinate locker
the mental shock was immediate
beside wondering how they were not succumbing
to death by instant disease
I screamed inside the dim recesses of my over-sheltered brain
“hey, kissing like that only happens in movies!”

hobbling there

I had much to learn
and would
and did
but not without
being really annoying
and somewhat ridiculous
for a very long time
ah, the idealized profaneness of youth

the overdue apology
(now she wears her grownupness so tightly, it causes wrinkling)

to my first boyfriend
go my humble apologies
and this time
I really mean it!

sketch below (ref-senior yearbook photo) done a few days ago
the only young buck I ever let get away with calling me “Annie”
Joe and I remain friends to this day
joe

paper planes

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a love letter
can’t say something
about a thought
or a wish
or a dream
then feign ineptness
on possible interpretations
a love letter
unlike the page from a romance novel
ripped out
is the plotted climax
disconnected only by flesh
so if I was to write
I wish…
I dream…
I think…
I wouldn’t put it in a love letter
because unlike romance novels
fueled with overburdened intent
love letters can soar like paper planes
transporting subtext
along forlorn currents
attempting to reach destinations
romance novels can only write about

Lion Dreams

Lion Dreams

created in 2014 with Prisma pencil, previously published

Ice Mountains

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I sometimes, well who am I kidding, I often reread my words thinking exactly that
what am I thinking
what am I trying to get at
sometimes
I don’t appreciate the kind decades
generous, in fact
as I’ve had them
to write angst when I’m happy
create euphoria when I’m blue
mold dream sequences I dare not live
in both words and colored shapes
often content in my ability
to be discontent
moody
spoiled
the excuse
the “creative” mind or spirit
instead, the reality
human with the privilege of life
I write this with the clarity of a gorgeous sunup
and a cool affirming breeze wrapping my fingers
now set upon my pricey laptop

the local paper this morning
a continuation of an accident report
three died in a nearby town
driver’s ed car and a tractor
an intersection
teenagers
two at the scene
one this morning

beyond grief
is loss
young loss
beyond that

turn the page
ice mountains high as the Rockies
chasms six times deeper than the Grand Cranyon
Pluto artfully sculpted

may these young souls
touch beyond ice mountains
their vibrant spirits
forever reside
in the living
with the privilege
to do so

hearts out to them
families, friends…
wood hole nymphwoodhole nymph breaking from birch tree bark
created over the last three days – mixed media

boiling blood

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boiling blood
coagulates like milk
clogging thoughts
thwarting permeation
to the heart
raging senses
flame anxiety
heat depression
lacerate hope
undernourishment
of the mind
as blood thickens
the heart hardens
like curdling milk
the soul sours
until
no contentment
in cool flowing breezes
only writhing anger
in hot spiraling winds

animated refuse

animated refuse