art

February 25, 2022

/ HJ / Leave a comment

amidst the attacks
on trans kids’ care
and Ukraine
and the continued unfounded laxations
on policies meant to keep us safe and healthy
and, of course, the never-ending attacks of
those of color in this country
(particularly those Black in this country)

amidst all this tragedy and infuriation and chaos yesterday
i achieved a personal best,
an achievement,
a goal i’d thought unattainable,

and i need to remind myself that i’m allowed to celebrate that.

i can celebrate and mourn,
i can celebrate and call to action,
i can celebrate and take action,
i am not required to fix the world
before i work on my silly little circus moves

in fact

working on my silly little circus moves
is what gives me the strength to do all i need to for the world…

without circus,
without celebration,
without exercise and investigation
of what my body can do,
without art and all i do to self-express,
without that humanity
i am simply left
a giant mass of depression,

and depression/forlornness/existential dread;
that is [part of] what maintains the status quo.

without art/celebration/joy
i am left overwhelmed with all that needs to be done
in the world.

with,
i can balance
all i know is terrible
with my little pieces of what is good,
so i can have the energy to call representatives
and give my little bits of extra income
and write poetry to [maybe] inspire others
as well

we,
those of us who are queer,
those of us with mental states that fill us
with anxiety
and/or
despair,
we are human
and are allowed our humanity,
our joy,
our celebration,
our art,

and, as a lovely side-effect,
that humanity,
when taken,
can help us do our part
to negate some of the external sources
of our stress and panic and dread.

i am allowed to celebrate
just to celebrate
because i am human
(no matter how many conservative lawmakers try to deny that about me and my kin)
i am human
and i am allowed joy in my life

and perhaps my joy can uplift others in their joy as well

so here’s to baby’s first solid, unassisted, one-armed meathook,
to the side-abs i am creating
and the joy i am stoking
in myself
because i am allowed,
i need no external validation
but it helps to hear it out loud all the same,
i am allowed
i am allowed
and i can bring others up as well.

October 23, 2021

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will i ever find my own voice
my pattern of poetry
my own way of writing
a style all my own
in this poem-a-day-venture?

do i even want to?

i want to find my own style
while drawing
because right now my “style” is simply
me not really knowing what i’m doing
and trying things out
and fading limbs when they err too close to the hands
and to the feet…

but i generally know what i’m doing
with writing
(or at least i was formally trained
for a time)
(though that doesn’t necessarily mean
anything
at all)

a style in visual art
to me
would mean
i’ve achieved choices
and a way to be recognized
and a general idea of what i’m doing
(and doing it with purpose)

but a style
in poetry
to me
would mean
pigeon-holing me
into one particular mode of voice
and this cacophony of styles
i suppose
is my choice
(and i guess,
at least right now
i do with a semblance
of purpose)

August 23, 2021

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the highs
the lows
the devastation
the celebration
the joy
the sorrow
the feeling hapless and hopeless to ever find anything to fix this
and wanting to hold onto it, keep in it, feeling safe inside of it
and yet
(and yet)
knowing that finding healing will make my life better,
open doors i didn’t even know were there,
burst open a way to make beauty out of the anguish
(because, hasn’t that been the goal all along?
isn’t that why you[i] always [used to] say things like
‘i went through this
i can help you through this…’
putting forth all your[my] effort
to bring others up
when you[i] felt down?
why acting and poetry and art in general
are the aspiration
the hope
the dream that keeps you[me] around?
(well, that and spouse and cat and dog))

feel them
remember them
but understand them
and don’t think of them
as forever.

August 13, 2021

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i wish i could find a *thing*
that helped me all the damn time

i have writing
until my mind is too scattered to make any sense of
the thoughts flickering in and out of my brain

i have embroidery and sewing
the fiber arts
until my hand is shaking so much
through an excess of energy
that it seems unintelligent
to have me anywhere near needles

painting could be my
saving grace
calming state
area of expression
but the minute i pick up a brush
i remember how bad i [think i] am at art
and the frustration comes back
ten fold

and i’m still at odds with myself.

[this would be the perfect time
to try to find
a meditation that works for me
but something about my agitation
makes remembering meditation
a near-impossible cogitation

but maybe
today
i will]

May 14, 2021

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Contemplations of Memories of Musical Theatre College
(In Canada)
those memories i don’t quite carry…
i have the stories
(the ones that i memorized like monologues,
like i do all my important memories,
because i know otherwise
they’ll float away
into the ether
of my mind)
but i don’t have any memories
of egregious things said to me
or a teacher crossing a line in front of me
(though i heard some second hand,
and those do stick in my mind,
as general feelings about particular instructors
moreso than the words/facts themselves)

for someone who rarely understands what their feelings are at any given moment,
i pretty much only remember emotions from any point in my life.
(and unfortunately
the memories that stick out to me
are all pretty much ones that fall under the umbrella of
despair.)

i had fun
at Musical Theatre College
(in Canada)
and yes, there were some crazy things we did
(but i also knew of other colleges that did more [or slightly less] heinous things
said more troublesome things
made more problematic decisions)
but i’d already been in this industry,
and in classes associated with this industry
for over a decade at that point,
so i suppose i had already taken for granted that
this was how we were supposed to find our
‘voices’
as artists.

which is absolutely not to say that what was done is what should be allowed
or is the ‘right way’ to train young, impressionable artists,
i simply stuck my bony chin out
and accepted it as it was(is)
and perhaps that makes me complicit
and perhaps that makes me traumatized
but there HAS to be a better way.

…right?

May 12, 2021

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combing
through etsy
to find
a piece
of indigenous art
of wood
for the five year anniversary
that suits
us both

~~~

wow
yesterday i was so inspired
to write and contemplate
the original monologue
and today
i am not feeling it
at
all.

(but maybe i should just try anyway)

~~~

(and why do i feel the need to decompress after acting class
whether i do well or not
whether i achieve any sort of catharsis?)
(i still feel a bit like an observer
an outsider…
when will that end and i can feel truly
part
of something?)

May 11, 2021

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i like watching kip draw,
the decisions made
so quickly,
the lines deft and
decisions clear.
i often wish i could draw,
but when i practice
i get so frustrated;
every image i see in my head
i don’t have the muscle control to get
onto the page
or screen
or whatever.
while i draw, i feel like that portrait
of Jesus
that was “cleaned”
[botched]
and i’m just trying to do my best
to put some eyes
a nose
and maybe a mouth
back on myself
but i know with my skills
they’ll be
so sad
so i just do it lightly
and hope no one else notices
my black hole of a face
with child-like imprinting
there where real features used to be.