Collage Art - Rock Bottom

This one is for my friend, Keeks. I created this one from an old copy of 'Rock Bottom' (written by one of her idols, Pamela Desbarres) and striking images of some of her rock favorites from various medias. 

It was fun to create and I adorned it at the end with a well-worn guitar pick for good measure.

In propinquity,
Nic

Collage Art - Ernest Hemingway

Collage number 2 is complete! I had a tattered copy of Ernest Hemingway’s ‘A Moveable Feast’, bought it for a mere dollar once upon a time, its pages were loose and falling out. While framing Sylvia, I came up with the bright idea for this one.

Initially the book’s spine and the back cover photo of Hem were not part of the action plan but when I was dismantling the pages it ripped in such a way that was fitting to piece in. Creative fate if you will.

This one was just as enjoyable and relaxing as the first except I substituted cold coffee for a warm London Porter.

The morning after I was finished I had a bit of a Fred Flintstone thumb from the glue. I bought new stuff so when I was done my hands looked like I had worked on a small engine. Even the wee throb in my right hitchhiker is worth the time spent making something else.

For those of you not familiar with Hemingway, ‘A Moveable Feast’ is a memoir chronicling his days in 1920s Paris as a struggling, young expatriate writer; written toward the end of his life and published posthumously in 1964. It is a tremendous account and made its most important quote one of the focal points of the piece.

I don’t know what’s next. Something will inspire though, of that much I’m sure.

In propinquity,

Nic

Collage Art – Sylvia Plath

This is how I spent last Saturday night. I pulled out all of my art supplies: glue, double-sided tape, scissors, etc, etc and I made this. I had two copies of the same book so I got the bright idea to utilize one of them and created a collage of Sylvia Plath’s collected works.

I sat contented with a coffee and a good playlist being precise and peaceful. I finally found a frame for her last night so it will be on display at home somewhere soon.

I was pleased with myself, to have created something, to have put my idle time to good use. I already have my stash poised to start another!

I can’t wait to get to work!

In propinquity,

Nic

Writing Blind

Writing Blind

I always hope it will be scrupulous and lively

the tender trap of an ordinary Heaven, writing

piecing together old wounds in my thinking suit

an old mushroom-hued nubby cardigan sweater

I strive for it to be devotedly comprehensive and strident

every single page cluttered with ample prose and poems

created inside the confines of my own private organized chaos

my stomach tied in the most intricate of stubborn knots

and the silence so deafening that to breath is impossible

writing blind toward an ending is an indescribable ecstasy

it is an enforced soberness to arrive at the conclusion

to have left so much of your private self behind in plain sight

the goal: to be a fine practitioner of word-molding magic

the hope: to morph from clumsy tenderfoot to the premiere suite

the way: coached in language by the Supreme who have come before me

the struggle: to isolate the ownership of memory and make-believe

the reward: sensitive curation of intimate markings touching others

I always trust it will be honourable and animated

the hapless adventures of my pen moving across a fated page

a demand for love to disarm the weight of the world and suspend

into the fabricated fortunes, fortitudes, follies and fouls of fiction

I endeavor for it to be forged with unceremonious courage

all tenacity, all mettle, all nerve and valor, audacious and dogged

immune to the clamor and distraction of both praise and criticism

to be able to bookmark my beginnings and focus on the process

I arrive, as imagined, empty-handed to every occasion ready to toil

I tell myself: ‘You are a woman of infinite talents. Get to work.’

and, I write.

**

Writing a poem about writing while aching to write anything other than a poem.

It’s all work. It’s all creative.

Don’t sweat the small stuff, yeah?

Got it.

In propinquity,

Nic

All My Fears Are Trivial

I don’t believe in resolutions. Well, not anymore. Resolutions, eat better, exercise more often, be kinder, be better … blah blah blah. I believe in intentions.  And not just on January 1^st but 365 days of the year. Life shouldn’t be about the annual clean slate but rather the on-going mission for growth and goodness. But, that’s just me.

For me right now, there are a few areas that require a little extra work on my part but that has little to do with a new year dawning but from circumstance. Isn’t that usually the case? I have meditated on it over the Christmas break and realize my problem areas and am now striving to improve upon them, which includes but is not limited to strengthening the fortress around my heart to prevent impurities in and firming my small but mighty circle of friends. Time to purge the toxins, metaphor intended.

The one exception to the resolution rule this year is I started a gratitude jar. Nothing fancy but today I dropped my first slip of paper inside. I vow to add to it, even on the difficult days, one little thing that brought joy to my hours. I will do this until December 31^st and then hunker down with a celebratory beverage and read them all. 2104 was a difficult one so this is my attempt to remember the good stuff if things go south. It’s Amorian, it’s good for me. I challenge you to do the same. It’s a negativity net if you will. I’ve reached my threshold and my ability to cope with drama and folks who don’t deserve a chapter in my ongoing saga. Simplify, simplify, simplify. Just happens to coincide with a new year but if the need had come in June … same tactic would apply.

2014 had magical moments. Singing on the top of my lungs under the most incredible moon I’ve ever seen with The Killers and my people in PEI, Gord Downie squeezing my hand, watching people I love and/or admire succeed and flourish, beautiful reunions, getting my tattoo, meaningful conversations with my Dad, card tag, good deeds, daydreams, Hubbards in summer, nights at The Carleton, seeing my dearest friends smile and laugh, my Mom’s 80^th birthday, the amazing rock shows and ringing ears, all of the poems and notes and stories I wrote/tried/wanted to write.

I have struggled for a really long time, trying to tap back into my creativity. I was nowhere near as prolific in 2014 as I should have been. I’m sad that I let life and hard lessons get in the way of the words that wanted to be written. I am working my way back to that self. I know, I sound like a broken record but the long cold winter us upon us and I have to pick up my heart, dust it off and put it to good use. I have to turn off the TV and turn on the poetry. I need to make an Open Heart Forgery reading. I need to dig back in, visit the new library that opened in Halifax and have more artist dates that include writing, research and results.

So, here’s to you all making your fresh start, wiping the slate clean, I’m here with you, listing my ongoing intentions, rooting for you, hoping the best for you and smiling when you succeed.  And even if you don’t, when a door closes a window opens. It’ll be okay. Chin up, open heart, and try try again. If we are always doing our best, we can never truly fail.

In propinquity,

Nic

Creative Meditation

Because I need to be reminded of this ...

Thank you, Maya.

In propinquity, 

Nic