So that you have an idea of how it really is here most days this time of year, here are a few of my fog photos. I love the fog, actually. Life echos. You can hear it even when you don’t really listen because the beat of everything around you digs itself into your arches and pulses its way up your spine until you pay attention. You can see and hear anything you want due to the lack of clarity and visibility. It almost doesn’t matter what is really there.
This is the photo I posted yesterday with Morte Incenso…
Here are photos I took at different times on the same day. If you look for a while, you can imagine what might go on when you aren’t there. Stories exist everywhere. Life creates stories and stories re-create life. Words are never really necessary.
“Open your eyes, for this world is only a dream”
December – end of the year. 2014 folding soon. A great time to re-evaluate and check the direction we are going in. Me? I’m writing. Making. Creating. I have some wonderful new friends, some incredible older ones, and I am moving forward which is always an adventure.
First, the Holiday season…..which includes food, gifts, and gratitude.
I am so grateful for every single day reminding me that the only way to create a good life is with the power of our choices. I choose happiness.
There are reasons why we write….
I am the intruder in this
Vintage crime scene
Time traveler from Back then
Young girl in a room
Surrounded by blue walls of
Rage voiceless until now
A burning scent of cement
Oak and pine clinging to particles of
Morning fog because the Sun died
Nothing flourishes in this darkness
Judgment beat into skin and bones by
Hands of clay Heartless
No amount of scrubbing ever changes that
I recognize the smells of this room
Years quiet only the screeching fear
Never the voices
The beginning of high Mass
The wanting to crawl beneath the earth
The sobbing of fracturing souls
The wordless glances like auras
Telltale signs of storms to come
All of it right here Now
Hot pellets of fire
As I inhale
It comes in tsunami waves
And leaves like a thief
I hear the snap and crackle of resounding
Lies and the Lack of
Empathy and concern for a young heart
As if anything I’d done could be sinful
As if children are rags to wipe one’s pain with
No one came to save us then from
What had been done to You
No one comes now Just Me
The rest have died young or gone mad
But I have come for the dolls
My invisible inheritance
For the will to flourish to rise up in me
As it does when I think of them
For the black crack in my memory
When they disappeared like the Light
That is said to shine when the fog lifts
I was told it would eventually
That it would roll away like a snake
Tail beneath body beneath radar
Sinuous and winding
Blinding its victims with the Joy
Of seeing the day sky and night
Constellations and so I have
Come for the dolls that vanished
Just like you
For all the souls that were broken on
Empty shelves sticky with shellac
And dead dreams
They deserve a proper burial
Just like you just not
In another place with other people
Not like you and the strangers you loved
I want them fused inside my broken heart
Healers that they are
Roses on their grave
And a marker that says
“Here lie the stolen saviors of the girl who lived here
Graces of hidden prayers
Defenders against dead saints
and ceremonial flames”
Their bodies were never necessary only
Their beautiful eyes
That witnessed the crimes of the fog
And the people who hid within it
All that is needed now is
Their unfailing love
I know now that I’ve never lost it
© Jacqualine-marie baxman 2014
“I know you’re tired but come, this is the way.”
Thirty-four years ago, December 8, 1980, John Lennon was murdered. Why is this important given so many historical assassinations?. Let’s face it. Rarely are “inconsequential” people assassinated.
For many of us, Lennon was more than a Beatle, a musician, a creative. He was a controversial creative during a time of heightened vocality due to politics and great – and painful – cultural shifts. Not everyone was a fan. Many people vehemently disagreed with his political view and his own way of life.
Why is it so important that we remember his death? I can only answer for myself but since I am part of a generation that publicly stuck their necks out, I will tell you what I think.
Lennon’s death was the loss of innocence that was attached to hope that the world could change simply because we wanted it to, simply because of love. Not everyone saw our actions as love, but they were for the most part. He was indicative of free thinkers – some argue he had the privilege to do that due to his success and finances but I argue that what matters is that he kept being a voice. Many people, after accumulating what they want, stop speaking out, stop representing the very change they originally sought to effect.
There have been a multitude of essays, reports, books, songs, etc. about Lennon’s life. All of them are valid. All of them tell a side to a story. Only people intimately involved with Lennon can possibly know his “truth”. And, regardless of what you felt about him personally, he changed the world for the better as did the Beatles as a group and as individuals in their own right. The led the brigade.
Lennon was a leader of new thought, a brilliant artist who actually even challenged his own work and beliefs, and then he was murdered. Doesn’t this make you wonder about your own free speech, your own right to be heard, to be safe from the perils of the sickness that plagues our culture?
In 1986, a close friend of mine suggested I write a commentary for a then published music magazine. He was a great supporter of the arts and encouraged my silly and insecure writer self to come out and play. I have always written. It just wasn’t always good enough to ask others to read. It took me many, many years to share my poems, my stories, and to show my art. My friend was one of the first in a blessed line of loving people who pulled me out, demanded I use my gifts, and start “here” and make a statement. To hell with whether everyone liked it. Just do it. And so I did.
Here is the commentary for MusicMachine, the December 12-25, 1986 issue in which my little essay appears. It was the first piece of writing with my full name on it. Excuse the naivety and the fledgling words, the awkwardness of it all. But don’t excuse the heart. As awkward as it may be, I was still broken about the negative shift in our world when I wrote it. We loved John Lennon, and even those who didn’t care for him felt a terrible heart-pang when he died. Because, really, we died a little more ourselves. When you connect together all the dots of that time, you see a world that activists worked hard to bring awareness to. We need to keep doing this, to keep believing in change – because once we give in, once we give up, there is no longer any reason to breathe. That is why remembering December 8, 1980 is so important. No matter how simple, how quiet, how ineffective we think we will be, we need to continue to believe that we can make a difference.
Imagine there’s no heaven
You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will live as one
Art Every Day Month – Day 30(a) – Goddesses III
Yesterday was the official last day of the Art Every Day Month challenge. I am, however, somewhat of a slow goer at times, and that’s okay. I’m posting the third poem today- Goddesses – Sky – to the poetrilogy (I’m officially inventing this word) that I began a few days ago. Let’s look at that first, then redirect.
Goddesses – Sky
Sun sister Confidante
Dawn breaking apart the sky and
Storms Halos Rainbows
Cassini’s Rhea watching on the other side of
Zeus’s thunder raging
We subdue the call of chaos hurling
Flakes of wonder white and floating on
Winged angels shedding flight
We are the ceiling of possibility
Corazón de la madre
Without which nothing breathes life
Compasses and tides roll
With Seas Plains Mountains Wind knowing
Eternity is just a perspective
Curanderos sentient raising answers
Already born as we
Wait for the arrival of their questions
© Jacqualine-marie baxman 2014
Another “several” original photos of mine blended together, layered and altered in PicMonkey. Perhaps this month I’ll pay more attention to my Photoshop tutorial…..we’ll see. I might have to leave that to “Projects I’m going to pretend to do in 2015″.
Wow. 2015. I never thought….
Thank you to Leah Piken Kolidas for such a brilliant idea of hosting AEDM annually. I love it. I love it. I am probably going to check in weekly at her Creative Every Day blog and stay open to pushing the limits and accepting more accountability for being an artist. The very least I will do is post weekly – more than I’d been doing – because now my fun self has awakened.
And so, tomorrow or the day after, I return with new topic, some writing, some photos…..maybe some shiny objects to distract you from whatever it is you need distraction from.
“There is a community of the spirit. Join it, and feel the delight of walking in the noisy street and being the noise. Drink all your passion, and be a disgrace. Close both eyes to see with the other eye.”
Art Every Day Month – Day 30 – Goddesses II
Today is the last day of the Art Every Day Month challenge. What can I say? I have had the most amazing time. I’m making the commitment to participate next year also.
I am posting Goddesses – Trees today – a brief poem and an altered photo – as a continuation of yesterday’s Goddesses which was Water. Actually, tomorrow I will post Goddesses – Sky which will be the last of this little trilogy of mine, and so the challenge extends one more day. Sky is better tomorrow. Today would be rushing it and there’s no point in that.
Here we go…
Goddesses – Trees
We are forest Diosas
Born sentries in another time
Thousands of years in conversation
She-Wolves at our trunks
Sun bleached red bark shelter
For black sows Doe and Oveja
Inhaling blue oak and bird songs
Of cloud-like ethereal rhymes
Courtesans of No One
We are Queens of Salvation and sweet pine
Grasses on the Great Mother’s Plains
True North True North True North
© Jacqualine-marie baxman 2014
This is two original photos of mine, layered and altered in color, texture and size vie PicMonkey
Art Every Day Month – Day 29 – Goddesses
Today and tomorrow – the last two days of the Art Every Day Month challenge. My first participation and I say right now that I will do this again next year. It has been life altering. I am grateful to have this opportunity laid at my feet. The ways in which this supports my creative soul are two numerous to mention here but I do think my work has improved because of it, as has my desire to do the work. And connecting with other creative bloggers – isn’t that the best gift of all?
Today, I’m posting a portion of my work in response to conversations with friends, creatives who stretch toward the heavens with their wisdom and share their knowledge with those who seek simply by existing in their own truth. This is a three-part poem about Goddesses. Today I am posting Water. Tomorrow, for the closing of AEDM, I am posting the remaining two parts.
Goddesses – Water
We are water dwellers
Swirling in droplets of liquid glass
River Lake Ocean Stream surveyors
Languid at noon while
The sun boils and ships collide while
Whales sing of conquests
We are tsunamis of fearless action
Conscious creators of Harmony’s Song
With Coral Shell and Algae crowns
Midwives of clarity embedded
In the Depths of blue lagoons
We are weightless creatures
Salacia and Amphitrite descendants
Anointing wreckage and dead souls with
Sparkles of peace even after
The Light has gone knowing
Wisdom lives in the reefs where
Etchings of Love still call
We are the reason water flows
© Jacqualine-marie baxman 2014
Collage of my original photograph, mosaic tiled then restructured and enhanced via PicMonkey software
“I am not this hair, I am not this skin
I am the soul that lives within.”
Art Every Day Month – Day 28 – What’s Going On?
My blog is for art, not politics. My own rules. It is for the communication of my visual and word art. I am changing the rules for today with the preface that I am utterly grateful that I can still write what I want, paint what I want, make what I want and live where I want without harm. So far, this is true. That said, I know this isn’t everyone’s experience and I need to use this platform with a sense of responsibility. Political statements do need to be made periodically aside from the way we live our daily lives and they need to be made in a manner that gets attention and moves us forward toward growth. That is what I aim to do here today. Because for me, now, art and politics are the same thing.
Recent news events promoting dissent (there are so many) and creating social media and pop culture frenzies are happening more and more as the decline of our culture seems to be in fast forward. We have been on a trajectory toward explosion for a very long time. The government continues with infighting, citizens act against each other in horrid ways and the economy has crippled everyone except that famous 1% and they are reluctant to share anything. The ordinary channels of change have frozen and we are being rendered powerless, or so it seems. In the face of hopelessness, I am reminded that hopelessness doesn’t really exist. We, the people of the world, make changes faster and more effectively than any government. The question now is, how?
What now? What do we say about such events as the court ruling regarding Ferguson? You know exactly what I’m talking about. I don’t even have to add the word Missouri and you know. Racism. Ferguson-Racism. Racism-Ferguson. These two words have become the icon of angry bedfellows, screaming examples of the ills of this country, the ills of the human spirit losing its way, of people viewing each other as prey, of those sworn to protect us leaving their own humanity in their uniform locker and their organizations being untruthful about them, or a body of rulers denying rights of birth to a populace that was stripped of options by the prior body of rulers. Racism, sexism, child endangerment, all of it the sickness of a society that has been dismembered. It is all the same circle. Power, and the illusion of and desire to control – these are not unrelated issues. We have been crippled by our own acceptance of the norm. You cannot know a black man was murdered when a white man wouldn’t have been, or learn that a baby has been raped, and a woman beaten into submission without wondering what you as an individual can do to end the horrors, or what your group can do to promote education and understanding of the human situation as it plays out in front of you. Can you? Can you watch without action? Without anger and without compassion? What is the part you must play in this drama because that’s what it is, a drama. It is orchestrated by “those in charge”, whether they are your spouse, your employer, your government….once you hand over the reins of your own life, this is the result. What do you do? What do we do to move us all toward healing? What does an artist do? How can we be effective in order to move us forward toward healing without more harm, more violence, and more rage? The time for silence has ended. You know it and so do I. It has begun to feel as though the work of the Greats such as Martin Luther King are in jeopardy of being wasted. Perhaps it’s simply our time to do the radical work, to continue the race, because it is a race. It is a race to preserve human rights. Our rights.
The great change makers of our society laid the groundwork that gives us a place on which to stand. But, how do we teach a younger generation the truth of their struggle? How do we teach them that history is a present that needs to be monitored and that once it becomes the past, it repeats unless we intervene? Their lives are consumed with their own economic struggle, their own fight against a darkening environment. How do we come together and breathe new life into a dying world in a manner in which the responsible parties turn, watch and change their behavior and priorities?
As a creative, as a crone, a woman of experience and wisdom, as a child of the 1960’s when the word protest was on everyone’s lips, when our actions changed history and cultural norms, I believe my following statement holds truth for my community of caring and dedicated souls, people who stand with me at this moment and issue a commitment to spend every single day learning and educating others on the fine art of personal and community salvation. My words as my art. An anthem. It is time. The clock is ticking.
We are coming for you with art that exposes your crimes against humanity, music that elevates the weary with a new mantra, and writing that questions your deeds and actions.
We are coming for you with names of the victims who died at your hand serving you and survivors who are still waiting for support. They are etched in our work.
We’re coming for you with every mother of every child killed in the streets, every father beaten by the system and every person of color maimed, dragged out of their homes and murdered or who die at our borders. The streets are covered in their blood. We are recording everything.
We’re coming for you requesting answers for denial of rights to all who have different lifestyles and beliefs. We are working to restore the concept of freedom.
We’re coming for you with a relentless desire to heal and educate, to share and search for meaning within the power of our skills, the ordinary, the talented, those who listen. We have you in our sights. Our silence is over.
We’re coming for you with names, addresses and witnesses of women raped, slaughtered or burned, their children left to starve and their dreams crushed. We list them on walls, signs, and memories.
We’re coming for you with something more powerful than guns, with multitudes walking toward you, chanting and organized, holding hands in solidarity until you admit you cannot contain us. We will not stop. We are a fluid wave of intention.
We’re coming for the self-righteous. We sing our own songs of Source. We dance to its music. It is untouchable and pure. It is not yours alone and does not kill or shun in anyone’s name.
We’re coming for you with an antidote to war, to crime through conscious communication, education and truth-seeking in spite of your spin and lies, your need for oil or tainted seeds, your greed or desire to thwart the development of others.
We’re coming for the Protectors who kill the people they are sworn to protect, for the ones who incest children and carve letters on the colors we are born with, for those who enslave. We know your names.
We’re coming to collect what is ours, our lives, our right to clean water, chemical free food, homes that are not made of cardboard, healthcare and economic dignity for all.
We’re coming in peace, in anger, in heat and cold, with dedications and memorials and in number. We walk toward you in silence, with screams. You might not see us coming.
We’re standing at your door, looking in. We see you ready, aiming. You cannot kill us. We are the mothers, fathers, and children of the world and the world is ours. We have come to claim it.
I leave you with this incredible piece of art from the late Marvin Gaye who was himself, murdered – by his father in a fit of blind rage.
Rumi and art return tomorrow