Interconnected: Sharing artwork across borders
What is art? For you it might be capturing your best friend doing her hair on film, other might say it is dancing to Red Hot Chilli Peppers while someone would define it as a painting at Le Louvre. Whatever it might be, here are some artwork created by you. Thank you to everyone who submitted and shared their work with the world.
Collages and 35mm film by Isabel Padilla
How to hold a paintbrush
To the arms of the one that makes my manners
Melt away
With those thoughts
That my demons are trying to reach
With their fingertips
And fading rage.
Blazing above me,
This invisible and incandescent stain in the sky;
stands on my eyelids.
Keeping me from thinking,
He makes me forget.
And I forget how to think.
He brought me back to my needs.
As I only remember how to hold a paintbrush.
Clutter
Days that melt into each other. Hour after hour after hour holds no home, the tedious monotony dismantling this settled system of structure. Time itself rings hollow. Another weekend spent in bed (or perhaps it was a Tuesday afternoon?).
My limbs are pleasantly soft with fatigue, sweetly reposing in these silky soft sheets.
My mind sighs at the stirring morning light.
A fleshy absurdity, unbearable, yet here I reside again in the pitying pillows, passing yet another fragment of the present, thoughts stretching in futility for the world outside this cold panel of blue glass.
Strawberries
Red and fresh faced.
So precious, so sweet,
In mind.
Then, grasped
Bruised and blemished by reality.
Greedy hands in grey sleeves
That gropes for greatness,
So ignorant in their touch.
The juices of triumph,
Metallic and sickly sticky
Against unwashed fingers.
Red and stained with pride.
We began to lose our heads for each other, every feeling was getting bigger, time became our enemy since every moment at his side for me was As small as a crumb of bread, it was never enough, its protective sourcesmade me feel that I was in the hollow of a mountain and that I could jump knowing that when I fell I would be there safe, alive, because that was how I had put my trust and my life in the person who devoured my soul and left me heartless.
-Angie Miranda
Illustrations by Ravenne Maria Helena
SHOP GIRL
MORNING
I stutter in the morning.
A slow, aching mass
puffed, cranked and badly wired
false starts and sputters
to tour bus ladies and bored husbands
and their slow, aching masses
bloating down Main Street
low and easy,
slugs on a garden gate.
I pour salt over one and she buckles
wrinkled strips of wet flesh,
saliva on pavement.
I rent a plane
a crop duster
with big bags of expensive French sea salt
and pull a wide, sweeping bank over town
a blizzard of sparkling, white flakes
shrivels the crowd
wheezing spit balls
in saline snowfall.
The phone rings,
I sort greeting cards,
water plants,
restock fancy soaps and powders
the stutter,
not my flaw
but my power
AFTERNOON
It occurred to me
That I was an employee
Staff
A peg
In a wheel
On a list
For a tax form
Responsible
Hardworking
Fast learner
Slow burner
No future
No sooner
Did it occur to me
That I had not looked up from the desk all afternoon.
EVENING
Come one
come all
five minutes till close
the perfect time
come wander the halls
come stretch every second
that bitterly taps
a slow drip of water
against my forehead
please tell me the weather
I wish to be blind
to not see through windows
till you tell me
“now,
it looks like rain”
distinguish yourself
a rare bird, a treasure
regale me with songs
of boats, sports and leisure
pastel clouds
and khaki Bermuda
beach, bed, breakfast
best places to summer
satisfy my hunger
use me
abuse me
in ways I’d not thought of
while I finger the cash machine
relinquish my freedoms
knee-deep in water
-Jennah Barry
Poem by Loretta Delores
Keep creating and expressing yourself.