I love the images on Liivia Sirola's blog, especially seeing her apparently random images in different cities in Europe, so I decided to share some more of the photos from my walking & writing trek in France last fall (and inspiration for the first section of my forthcoming poetry book, Revolutions We'd Hoped We'd Outgrown). Please bear in mind that Liivia is an accomplished photographer, and these are shots quickly captured with my phone. I'm sorry the photos aren't particularly crisp, or even very well composed. Consider this an on-the-fly travelogue of a few of the many things that caught my eye.
These photos, and Liivia's of Paris, have me dreaming of returning. But I feel guilty about the carbon imprint of jet fuel, and find it hard to justify the trip. I'll have to settle for revisiting France by photo. And distract myself with the beauty of the Northwest...
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So I'm supposed to be marketing my upcoming book, sending emails and posting about it relentlessly on social media, so people will know about it and buy advance copies (all of which helps the publisher know how large of a print run to do, so there's incentive for me to market the bejeebers out of this thing). But it feels wrong. Not just because I feel awkward about it and more than a little embarrassed to toot my own horn, but because recent events, especially the massacre in Orlando, have me feeling profoundly sad. Even though I don't know anyone who was personally affected by the killings, I grieve with the friends and families of the victims, and I suspect you do, too. It's difficult to come to terms with the sudden and violent deaths of people we love. I know because I lost my sister and niece to a head-on collision. Senseless violence, though, I mean, violence intentionally perpetrated by another person is hard to fathom, which makes accepting loss practically impossible. Even the word "acceptance" sounds a bit like acquiescence. As though accepting their deaths implies some degree of condoning or accepting the behavior that led to them, rather than simply acknowledging the reality of the loss and moving past the initial shock. Then I read about the girl who at 14-years old was "gifted" by her parents to a man more than 30 years her senior -- a man who subsequently fathered two children with the poor girl. The parents, Daniel and Savilla Stoltzfus, reportedly turned their daughter over to Lee Kaplan in an arrangement that somehow allowed the Stoltzfus' to keep their family farm. It's horrifying to think of parents selling their own children, if that is, in fact, what happened. And horrible to think of anyone buying a child, apparently for his own pleasure. And yet, cultures throughout the world have arranged marriages, often with an underage girl, and often with a "bride price," similar to a dowry. Are these situations any less horrific than the situation of the unfortunate girl in Feasterville, PA? Or what about the situation in some countries, where unscrupulous grooms and their families continue to extort money from the bride's family by beating her unless they are paid. Sometimes they will go so far as to kill the wife in an "accident" such as bride burnings in order to free the man up to marry (and extort more money), starting the cycle all over again. Sorry to be so depressing. On a happier note, huge kudos to the heroine, Jan Betz, the neighbor who alerted police to the situation in Feasterville. Her compassion may have prevented who knows what kind of abuses against the eleven children in total who were found in the house. Not to jump to conclusions, but based on what the police have revealed so far, the prospect that none of the other children was affected, directly or indirectly, seems highly unlikely. Since the arrests of Kaplan and the Stoltzfus parents, several neighbors have come forward to say they suspected something, and that some of them had notified the police as long as two years ago. If that's true, there have been several heroes acting on behalf of their neighbors, whether successful at the time or not. Those are acts of courage and compassion, and I applaud them. Meanwhile, in Poland, the populace prepares for a vote to ban abortion in all cases except when the mother's life is in danger. In 1993, they passed a vote that makes abortion illegal except in cases of incest, rape, or extreme deformities of the baby, as well as to protect the life of the mother. The latest law would force victims of incest or rape to carry the child of their rapist full term. As if rape weren't already a terrible crime of violence against women, the ability to then make the woman carry his child may appeal to those brutes, and may even motivate some particularly sadistic rapists to rape with the hope that he can spread his seed and father more children in the world -- with no greater repercussions than the original rape charge, IF he is caught. He wouldn't have to bear the child, give birth to it, have the heart-wrenching decision of whether to keep it, and wouldn't have to pay a penny for its upbringing. But let's not talk about the rapist. Regardless of what happens to him, and in fact regardless of whether the pregnancy is the result of rape, the government has no business controlling women's reproductive rights. If abortion is illegal, where will they draw the line? Will it be illegal for a woman to drive while pregnant, in case the baby should be injured in a car accident? This is the law in some countries. Will it be illegal for pregnant women to work outside the home, or even leave the home, for the same reasons? Are we one step away from the regressive and oppressive ideologies of the Taliban, Daesh, and other extremist, fundamentalist religions? Are we headed back to the Middle Ages?
Who will speak out against such legislation? Who will speak on behalf of women who get sold, married off, and forced to bear and raise the children of their rapists and oppressors? Who will speak out on behalf of lesbians, gays, transgender, and queer folks who are judged and targeted by nearly every fundamentalist religion (and some not so fundamentalist), as well? I'm supposed to be marketing my book, but it feels like there's more important work to do in the world. The funny thing is, the book addresses these oppressions -- against women, gays, religious minorities (yes, including Muslims) -- and bemoans the fact that we return to these fights for basic rights over and over again. Some days it feels as though the compassionate among us repeatedly rally against these actions and attitudes, and some days our voices (my voice) seem futile. But maybe if we all stand up -- for love, for autonomy to control our own bodies and lives, for human understanding and respect -- maybe it will move the needle. Maybe we will return to a less violent and oppressive world. At least for now. At least till the next fight. Oh, and to make my publisher happy (and stop avoiding and procrastinating), here's the link to the book. I'd be ever so grateful if you decided to order it. Or even just admire the pretty cover. ('There,' she says to herself, still feeling supremely awkward. 'That wasn't so hard, was it?') I had the best time at the Sitka Center for Art and Ecology, leading a workshop to Walk, Sketch, Write last weekend. The participants were amazing -- many of them accomplished writers and/or artists. Over the course of two days, they created stunning sketches, poems, and moving prose. The sketches and written works they made can serve as starts and inspiration for new work, or simply stand on their own. In the next couple of weeks, I'll mail them sketches they did on postcards, as a way to extend the workshop. But, I have to admit, it will be hard to let go of their beautiful drawings!
A huge thanks to Molly, Abby, Mindy, and the other fine folks at the Sitka Center for hosting the workshop and giving such a warm welcome to us all. If you haven't been to a workshop at Sitka yet, I enthusiastically recommend it. The setting is gorgeous and the facilities wonderful, too. It's the third week of an artist residency in Seattle with fiction writer Susan Kim Campbell. The residency is the gift of a private donor who offered use of a beautiful Tudor Home in the Mt. Baker neighborhood. The word "gift" is an understatement. There is no word to match the treasure of watching the sunrise over Lake Washington. Or use of a stunning home with writing nooks everywhere. Between Susan working on her subtle, smart, and uncannily funny fiction, and my putting the final touches on a poetry manuscript slated for publication in the fall, we've taken small breaks to enjoy the many literary pleasures Seattle offers. Below is a sampling of the places we've visited so far, in some cases, joining Seattle poet Tina Schumann. This year's Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) conference in LA was a whirlwind of friends, book-signings, readings, panels, and fabulous Mexican food. Artsmith's table was abuzz with Artsmith residency alumni and workshop & reading luminaries signing their latest books, plus writers leaving great creative prompts for our "Hack Your Muse" anthology. If you didn't make it to AWP, but have a prompt, please submit it via Submittable. While you're there, you might consider applying for our 2017 artist residency, January 2-9. And catch a glimpse of the AWP fun below...
In two days, a month-long artist residency at Brush Creek Ranch in Wyoming will end. A diverse group of interdisciplinary artists--composers, musicians, painters, printmakers, multimedia artists, and myself, the only writer this time--will pack our books and supplies, clean out our studios, and say goodbye. Each of us will return home with the products of our work, and also with a month of marvelous memories of creative time spent with new friends. I'm grateful to them for their inspiring company, and especially to Director Sharon Hawkins and Assistant Director Caitie Taylor, who made our time here go perfectly, and allowed each of us to focus on our work. Huge thanks also to founder Beth White whose vision and support gives eight plus artists a month the space and environment to create. I leave with many new essays and poems, plus sketches, photos, and even a woodcut, all of which I will use to inspire more works. Brush Creek, both the residency and the site, has been a dream. I will look back fondly on time spent in the Rancher's Daughter writing studio, snowshoeing Brush Creek Trail and Bison Bridge, "moose-hunting," hiking to the Taylor Homestead, coffees and meeting locals at Lollipops in Saratoga, open studio tours, and most of all the friendships made here.
And to any artists reading this, I highly recommend applying to Brush Creek for your own artist residency. It's an inspiring and beautiful place. Here are a few images from my walking and writing retreat in France this fall. The images above were taken in late October, early November in the area just east of Paris where I took long walks along the Grande Rondonnee and lesser trails, many of which run village-to-village along beautiful canals. Flowers continued to bloom, even as the leaves changed color and fell.
Time magazine called Harry A. Duncan "the father of the post-World War II private-press movement." In 2016, Gibralter Editions, once Duncan's fine letterpress and now a boutique publishing company run by book artist Denise Brady and Harry's son Guy Duncan, will publish Time Flies / Time Stands Still (working title), a tribute to Duncan, and honoring the centenary of his birth. The "book" is a collection of letterpress poetry from many of the world's most highly regarded printmakers and letterpress artists, each contributing copies of a broadside designed around selected poems on the theme of time. Pictured here are stages of progress for the print that internationally acclaimed artist Karen Kunc designed for my poem, "Traveling at the Speed of Light." The poem was actually written as an ekphrastic poem in response to Kunc's work. She didn't know this when she selected it from all the works she read, so it was a fun surprise for both of us that she zeroed in on the poem she had actually inspired. By the way, Karen is also the creative genius and generous benefactor behind Constellation Studios, a gallery, workspace and professional classroom in a refurbished, historic building in Lincoln, Nebraska that provides access through workshops and events to printing presses, a type shop, wet paper studio, bookbindery, print and book collections, and mixed-use spaces under the visionary eye and warm mentorship of Kunc. Time Flies / Time Stands Still will be a highly collectible, limited edition book that will allow collectors to own works of art by such world-class printers as Denise Brady, Alison Wilson, Jim Cox, Karen Kunc, Bonnie O’Connell, Amy Haney, and Laura Capp. Proceeds will support the historically important press, and also help fund an apprenticeship for an aspiring printer. I'm not sure if they're accepting pre-orders, but if they are, I would get my order in as soon as possible. This is bound (no pun intended) to be a publication that special collections in universities, libraries, and private collectors will clamor to own. This fall, I've embarked on a month-long writing and walking retreat in France. The trip is a graduation gift from my husband and family, including a stay in my sister-in-law and brother-in-law's second home outside Paris--a charming little cottage heated by a wood fireplace and in a village with a delicious boulangerie and greengrocer. What more does one need? The trip ties into my interest in the influence of walking in literature, but more about that later. First, a 24-hour stopover in Reykjavik. Icelandair allows passengers to add up to one week of stopover for no extra charge. You may remember the Iceland economy was devastated by the banking fiasco in 2008. Given Iceland's history, and their ability to make a home out of what seemed a completely inhabitable land, it's no surprise that they have turned the economy around through the promotion of tourism. It's also no surprise that visitors love what they find and return again and again. The land itself is among the youngest land masses on the planet, formed out of volcanic rock, and now heated and powered by geothermal energy thanks to the help of magma and underground springs. In fact, many Icelanders and visitors, like my friend, Tina Schumann, and me, enjoy soaking in the waters of the country's natural springs and spas, the most famous of which is the Blue Lagoon. We rode the first shuttle of the morning, directly from Keflavik Airport, arriving just as the sun started to peek over the treeless horizon. Jet-lagged, sleep-deprived, and disoriented, we quickly learned how remarkably restorative and downright delightful luxuriating in a hot spring can be. And this coming from someone who has owned a hot tub for nearly ten years and never used it. The Blue Lagoon's water has natural minerals and silica they extract to make two different masks--one deep-cleansing, the other moisturizing. No doubt all of us weary travelers looked as lovely and refreshed as the model below. Or at least felt that way. Here are a few more photos from our brief stay, including our walk around downtown Reykjavik, which is, yes, utterly charming. Tukk, tukk, Iceland! Next stop ... Paris!
PS: Tukk = thank you. Artist Jan Madill and sculptor Michael Yeaman's works are on exhibit at the Orcas Center on Orcas Island (Washington) in "Light and Shadow," a show inspired by geology. Exploring the planet's geological history as well as humanity's relatively short existence in comparison, the exhibit prompts viewers to consider what Yeaman calls "Deep Time." In addition, a collaborative series of paintings and poems between Jan and the poet Connee Pike reflects on Carl Jung's concept of the shadow. The show continues until Sunday, September 27 with a closing celebration from 3:00-5:00 pm that day. A true collaborator at heart, Jan Madill often invites other artists to participate in her events, and I am thrilled to have been asked to read some of my geology-inspired poems for the closing. Thinking about the event has prompted me to think about the nature of collaboration and interdisciplinary inspiration. As a writer, I enjoy the company of other writers. As with probably any profession or discipline, the collegial conversation is especially rewarding because there is often shared knowledge or understanding of the field and its history, as well as a shared lingo, both of which lend themselves toward specialized discussion. We don't have to stop and explain what a caesura is, and when someone quotes Richard Hugo saying," Stop thinking hard for us all, Bill" we don't need to say that he's responding to William Stafford's poem, "Traveling through the Dark."
That's all lovely, and writers can explicate the vowels of villanelles all night; however, something far more inspiring happens, for me, that is, when the conversation is more interdisciplinary. Gather different artists working in different media and the discussion explodes in fascinating directions. The differences among the various art forms are fascinating to learn. The similarities in our processes are equally interesting and informative. Suddenly the visual artist wonders about color theory and whether light waves can have assonance and dissonance as in music or poetry, for example. This summer I've been in a broadside collaboration with print artist Karen Kunc, and this December, I will continue a collaboration with the visual artist Corinne Duchesne and composer Garrett Hope. When I work with Corinne and Garrett, I have to resist the urge to have defined parameters and scope for our collaboration, if only to have the comfort of an idea of direction. When we do resist that urge we open ourselves to possibility. Seeing Jan Madill's artwork (not to mention talking with her in person), reminds me constantly of how important it is to remain open to possibility. Her artwork takes on huge topics--like geology, and even the universe. I suspect for most creatives, such ambitious themes are daunting, perhaps terrifying. What I notice about Jan, though, is that she never purports to represent the entirety of her topic. Nor does she act as expert. She opens the door to curiosity, her own and the curiosity of others. That curiosity quickly converts to wonder, which I think of as an awe-filled curiosity. And maybe that's what I love about collaboration: to be in a state of awe-filled curiosity of others' disciplines and works. It's how I feel having seen Jan's paintings, Michael's sculptures, and Connee's poems, and it's also how I feel hearing Garrett's music and Corinne's artwork, and how I feel seeing Karen's prints. Awe, admiration, and the presence of something that transcends boundaries of our how we view "art" and its various "disciplines." |
AuthorJill McCabe Johnson's research and writing practice follow the tradition of the French Medieval poetic form, the "chanson d'aventure" or song of adventure, where a writer walks into a new environment for enlightenment and inspiration. Archives
April 2020
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