April is Poetry Month
This post is adapted and expanded from one I did for FaceBook earlier this week.
Ars Poetica is about the written word and visual art coming together. I never knew about this kind of formal art and poetry event until I joined the gallery in Bremerton in March of 2019. It had been an annual April event for many years and it was one of the first art events I took part in with the gallery.
Artists were given a collection of poems and could pick one (or more) to respond to. Some artists were able to use a painting or other piece they had already created if it seemed to fit well with a poem.
The artwork was hung in the gallery for the whole month. A reading and art presentation was held in the gallery on a Sunday afternoon. Each artist and poet presented their joined works together. It was fun to experience the written word coming to life as the spoken word illustrated by visual art!
I found the painting I did but cannot find the poem that goes with it. Too much crap on my computer. Arghhh. Anyway, my painting is called “Moonlilies” and I was going for a Henri Rousseau kind of vibe.
Found the poem! It was taped to the back of the frame. (The picture was in my photo folderso I din’t actually have to look at the painting to post it)
In 2020, we were all set to go for the next Ars Poetica in April. I had a poem picked out and made a painting. But you know what happened that year- COVID shut us down and it just never happened.
This painting is one of the few I’ve done in acrylics. It’s hard to tell from the photo but it has a highly textured surface, including tiny glass beads in the paint that actually give it a weird shimmer in some areas.
They are both titled “Sol Music”.
Sol Music
Travis Davies
A morning’s light, assaulting from the east
Showers of electromagnetic radiation, catapulted 92.96 million miles
Delivering photons, colliding with a small wooden kitchen table
A solar-powered radio basks in rays of nuclear violence
and vibrates the air with jazz
Ars Poetica was not held in 2021 or 2022 either. As with artists, the writers’ group consists of mostly retired and some very elderly folks. Our collective fragility in the face of COVID was enough for people not to want to get together for group events until the risks seemed manageable. Last year, 2022, we did hold a poetry reading (sans art) at the gallery for local writers and the Bremerton Poet Laureate.
Ars Poetica is back on for 2023, and this time around, I will have 3 paintings on display, to go with works by 3 local poets.
The first one, “Acorn Woodpecker”, was specifically painted to illustrate a poem by Alan Chessman. Acorn woodpeckers bear a resemblance to the Pileated Woodpeckers we are familiar with here in the PNW, but there are far fewer of them since they require oak trees, and we don’t have so many of those. Since Alan never specified the type of woodpecker heard in his poem, I just chose one I that I liked.
Sunday Morning Reverie
Alan Chessman
Sunday morning reverie
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat
Woodpecker drumming on a metal gutter
Beating his brains out for what?
Rat-a-tat-tat
Relentless riffing on rusty metal
Nothing nourishing in that
Just wearing out a beak
I think about my own sore head
from hammering the same tired actions
I gripe about imbecile leaders wait for others to change
lament my aging body and on and on and on
I’m going to talk with woodpecker
maybe we can peel back some bark
glean something nourishing
and both find what we’re looking for
The next one, “Early Morning Snow”, fits with a poem by Cindy Vandersluis. I made the painting several years ago. This is the view of our back deck from the living room just before the sun came up one snowy March morning.
Snowfall
Cindy Vandersluis
Remember that winter the storm
surprised even the birds?
Snow came down in silent, slanted shifts,
it drifted high and low,
covering everything from fence posts to
hundred-foot firs
to the blue patio umbrella,
a forgotten summer relic.
Amidst the blinding brightness
the white dog no longer looked white,
more the color of smoke as it rises from a bonfire.
Come sit here next to me ─
look at what we’ve accumulated.
Let the snow come down,
let it bury past regrets
and cushion future falls from grace;
just below the silence
lay the purple crocus in wait.
For my last entry, this is my painting “White Poppy”, created in 2020. A fellow artist at the gallery, Barbara MacCalla, saw the painting and wrote a poem to go with it. She died not long after that. I am hanging this piece (and her poem) in her memory.
White Flowers
Barbara MacCalla
The owl and I agree
White flowers are best
by moonlight
JP Hart
03/29/2023 @ 5:47 pm
…forgotten words and bonds…?
Cup of soup indeed👓WanderLust I must purchase🎨your gorgeous cougar🎠🎈Rose🎈Please advise…lest my walls come tumbLing down…BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE LO;} once upon a time:BINDLESNITCH (gasp-gush) IF only our magic keyboards and wands and brushes and creative voices could placate the ceaseless violence and all this ‘man’s inhumanity to man’ vs. all things holy 4:07 CST💙 — yep: away from home, away from home . . .
Rose Guastella
03/30/2023 @ 12:06 pm
Hi JP,
Thanks, JP. That painting is currently being stored at the gallery. (I am pretty much out of room at home!) But it can be yours if you really want it! You can email me at roseguastella@gmail.com if you’d like to continue that conversation.
Art Stone
03/30/2023 @ 10:30 am
These are great !
Downy Woodpeckers were my campanions for a couple of days at Ft, Stevens last week. They wait for streaks of sun to pierce the strands of moss hanging from the Sitka Spruces and then begin their feasting.
Rose Guastella
03/30/2023 @ 12:11 pm
Art, I know Fort Stevens! Home of the remains of the Peter Iredale. I was just there this past October, stopped for a short visit on my way to Cannon Beach.
Art Stone
03/30/2023 @ 12:53 pm
You would not believe the change in the dune and the enormous piles of driftwood that accrued during Winter’s King Tides. Most is too heavy to lift but I got a couple pieces in my truck for future campfires.
Rose Guastella
04/01/2023 @ 1:00 pm
So I hear! Those king tides were rough this year.
Suzanne
03/31/2023 @ 3:54 pm
An artist can never go wrong choosing to paint a bird!
Do you know the poem by Jacques Prevert about painting birds? It’s always a delight to read again, if you have, brb….
How to Make a Portrait of a Bird
–Jacques Prevert
First paint a cage
with an open door,
then paint
something pretty,
something simple,
something beautiful,
something useful
for the bird.
Then place the canvas within a tree
in a garden,
in a wood
or in a forest,
hide behind the tree
without saying anything
without moving an inch…
Sometimes the bird arrives quickly
but he can also take many years
before deciding,
do not become discouraged,
wait,
wait for years if you have to,
the speed or the sluggishness
of the bird’s arrival
has no effect
on the outcome of your painting.
When the bird arrives
if it arrives
keep the most profound silence,
wait for the bird to enter the cage
and when he is inside
gently close the door with the paintbrush.
Then
erase all of the bars one by one
while taking care
not to touch any of the bird’s feathers,
then do the tree’s portrait
choosing the most beautiful branch
for the bird.
Paint the greenery
and the freshness of the wind as well,
the spray of the sun,
and the noise of the animals
in the grass
in the heat of summer
and then wait for the bird to decide to sing.
If the bird doesn’t sing
it’s a bad sign,
it’s a sign that your painting is bad
but if it sings
it’s a good sign
it’s a sign
that you can sign the painting.
Then you very gently pluck
one of the bird’s feathers
and you write your name
in a corner of the canvas.
Rose Guastella
04/01/2023 @ 1:01 pm
I never read that poem before! Wonderful. Thank you. <3
koshersalaami
04/01/2023 @ 9:02 pm
The poem/painting pairing is a great idea.
Today I’m surpused by your versatility. You’re fluent in a lot of visual languages
Rose Guastella
04/01/2023 @ 9:34 pm
Thank you, Kosh. I like to try different styles and techniques once in a while. Today, I’m back in my comfort zone, painting a water scene.
JP Hart
01/12/2024 @ 11:08 am
WIND: Poppy Petals Spun: MIND
So—high shall the WIND have an answer or would it hail shuriken star souls >M<IND our ^O~Kent^ soldiers our kindred cold rotund forearmed veins four ER three in case not unlike a silk chute primarily rayon now and again perpetuity from that nation in motion the centenarians deified yes blessed by kevlar droplets and unique snowflakes or sleet pelts straight … *left-right*right-left* where only the ocelots tuck dreamt so tomorrow warms … "post dawn at once upon a time." '0! 0~0~d00rs our green door thick as antiquated trees toward Sussex Saginaw for sure Schenectady in the land of the free albeit San Jose so fine reruns blue bloods deeply to the Red Sea boys & girls blessed by gratis rems 0'Holy folk, proofed semantic finalty no secrets nor retributional eternity begins 10 MAR 24 IF one lands yeah shoulder rolls 00:00 3 FEB 24 hey never let alone that kindness cup noir ivory die noir quest those black spun dots: sixfive-fourthree-two-one vexed vile velVETs of lovers … LO;}🥼 …