Sunday, May 1, 2011

Central Questions:


Central Questions:                              Artists Among Poets                                    E. Dannielle Slaughter

~Do period terms, such as "Surrealists" or "Modernism," mean the same thing in literature and the visual arts?
The surrealists and modernist poets were dealing with the same variables culturally as the visual artists were during those time periods. Therefore there were many over lapping processes and conceptual ideas when making the visual and written artwork. For my understanding, I look at it as the time period as provoking a certain response rather than the mediums that were chosen to realize those concepts.
~Can one usefully apply terms developed to describe technique, such as "texture," "structure," or "narrative," in one art to another art form or medium?
Of course, for example texture in a painting refers to the surface quality, the texture can be rough or handled delicately and everywhere in between. In the written medium, texture refers to the language and the pauses that happen during the structure of the work. Breaks in the page, lines and words that make you pause awkwardly or hesitate when reading could be considered rough. It could refer to the visual image that the words are building. And the same works for structure and narrative. Structure refers to the craft and rules set up for the final piece, its functionality. Narratives can happen visually or with symbols as letters that create words; narrative is really just a structure that acknowledges the linear within the work, whether accepting or dismissing it.
~How do images, symbols, and motifs work differently in visual and verbal arts?
I don’t believe that they do work differently. I think that poets are artists who are defined by a medium: language.  I think that if you were to verbally describe a poem and a sculpture without talking about medium, and solely talking about content, mood, point of view, texture, structure, rhythm, intent, motivation, etc. then you would not know whether it were a poem or a sculpture.
For example, try this while comparing (verbally and without mention of medium) “A Girl” by Ezra Pound and “Clothespin, Philadelphia” by Claes Oldenburg.
       ~How do twentieth century multimedia art forms differ from twenty-first-century ones?

The collective definition of art from my generation: Art is the product or process of deliberately arranging items in a way that influences and affects one or more of the senses, emotions, and intellect. It encompasses a diverse range of human activities, creations, and modes of expression, including music, literature, film, photography, sculpture, and paintings. The meaning of art is explored in a branch of philosophy known as aesthetics, and even disciplines such as history and psychology analyze its relationship with humans and generations.
Traditionally, the term art was used to refer to any skill or mastery. This conception changed during the Romantic period, when art came to be seen as "a special faculty of the human mind to be classified with religion and science". Generally, art is made with the intention of stimulating thoughts and emotions. The possibilities are endless with advancements in technology but a structure and intent still defines. 

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The evolution of him, she and them

Some hearts, I put in the safe
in their steel walls at the first meeting.
Biting their fingers at the bone,
if they cried with that harp
and followed them into the great vast well

All afternoon they look up,
the sweet rays in the light's edge
the butter in the wooden troff
hardening against always cries

But other couples, she asked the
doorman with his brow
is easy up by the moon then
walk into bay's surf of a whim
to be with the other at the night's feet

Very likely,
but how would you like my well
if they never knew from one stone to the next
if they were going to fight currents
splashing around like an owned child
who breathes in the water or lays
there amidst the breasts
dancing on ahead with your hard worked feet.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Window Shopping

I could never be
with a man who wears tennis shoes and socks to the beach, Well I already have but that was long before I knew his preferences in beach attire.

I could never have
children the way she did, Well not have them in the physical sense but they would never have to live that way.

I could never teach
the way they do, Well I could purpose the same line of words but not in that space or time.

I could never work
the way she does, Well I could spend the same hours but would have to be more productive.

I could never talk
the way he does, Well, I could pretend but it wouldn't be sincere.

I could never be
the judge at the Pearly Gates the way he does, Well I could but it would be an empty lot.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

jealousy and paranoia

The flesh that makes up my face is smooth
like Russian dolls that stack inside themselves
The hair on my head standing straight
like a needle that defies gravity
My heart pounds through my body
like a swinging mace
The tension in my mouth snaps
like a rubber band being pulled by opposing trucks

The volume overwhelms my mind
like the flooding of tides after 40 days of rain
My stomach turns
like the churning of the milk mades hands
My feet move from this place
like they are treading through quick sand in the Indian jungle

My eyes tighten away from the wet filling
like the barrel that is soaked in the stock's sacrifice
The quiet room falls on my scream
in the same tone as the closed fire place blankets the floor with its breath
This fever consume and holds me as I drink the wine of jealousy and paranoia

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Purgatory



Waking up in this place.
 Standing. Crowded,
pushing and shoving.
Screaming. Darkness. Confusion.
Flesh is forceful behind
but nothing in comparison to
the force of the concrete wall pushing back.

Coming in it was wider
but everything has narrowed now.
There is nowhere to go.
Coming to this place because
there was no option in another.
A lack of freedom for what was thought
to be security here:
here in this tunnel
 that has no way to move forward
and no possibility of going back.

So many of the people surrounding are children,
 they should not be here.
The rest of the others are seemingly
on their way out but it still feels wrong:
the elderly and the injured.

The floor is rising up and moving around.
It is very cold and comes
forcing in a way the flesh and the wall
could not have prepared for.
Every few minutes this place
fills with water completely
and almost to the top.

Where is it coming from
and how to make it stop are not questions
 that can be indulged upon.
Grabbing onto these sharp grates
towards the top of the hard wall
is the only option,
just trying to hold on.
Without hope. 


Friday, February 18, 2011

1, 2, 3, 12

1, 2, 3, 12...
a mechanical device
for measuring time
an electrical device
for measuring time
indicating hours
minutes, seconds
typically by hands
on a round dial

against the clock
with the clock
time still counts

counts down moments
the increasing of time
the indefinite continued
progress of existence
and events
past, present, future

reckoning of time
time allotted
appropriate time
an instance of something happening
the clock talks loud of time
today, tomorrow, yesterday

Don't be afraid of the clocks he has said
they are our time
time has been so generous to us
He said we imprinted time with the sweet taste of victory
We conquered time by meeting at a certain time and in a certain space
We are a product of the time
Therefore, we gave back credit where it is due: Time
We are synchronized