Symbols

 

She asks for symbols

while doodling stars and hearts

in blue ink

across the top of a blank page

Maybe I don’t get it, Professor

Maybe I never will

She’s on to circles and squares

then sees images of old Egyptian pillars

And creates her own hieroglyphs

with no meaning

(to her)

“To evoke the imagination.”

She voices before putting her head back down

Simi circles and unfinished squares

That are dotted like a morse code

But they have been placed

With no meaning

Dotted with intent

But no definition

Somehow she still feels the depth

Of each meaningless symbol 

 

-Saschia Johnson

 

 

 

Yesterday I blogged about Jan Van Eyck

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“As I can”

This summer I slowed down on a lot of my writing. Worked on the screenplay and some poetry here and there but mostly just backed off and you know what? I realized I have been working my booty off the past two years and not realizing it. And not appreciating my own best efforts. Not in a bragging type of way but in a way that made me realize This Is my best effort. And I feel like the artist Eyck reached through time and confirmed that for me.

Jan Van Eyck is a Flemish painter from the 15th century. Below is what scholars believe is a self-portrait of him titled Portrait of a Man in a Turban

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From Wikipedia

Above the portrait painted on the frame which isn’t show here (but you can see it here) the words As I can or “Als Ich Can” written in Greek are painted on the frame. Now there are different ways that line has been interpreted. One is that it is simply a self portrait and he is playing on the pun Ich and his last name Eyck.

Another interesting idea is that as I can is coming from part of a motto that scribes would put at the end manuscripts that they have copied. They would write the entire motto “As I can not as I would.” Or in other words this is the best I can do, I wish I can do better. So he dropped I wish I could do better and just wrote As I can or This is the best I can do.

For some of us artists this is a profound realization. Coming to the place where you accept that you are doing your best work and having the ability to appreciate that. I think that this is a portrait of that moment for him. He found his niche his sweet spot. Makes me wonder if he ever looked at sculptures or mathematicians and thought man I wish I could be more them. But learned to find joy in the talents he excelled in. Oil paints, adding depth, and making sure to add the minute details made his work stand out from the rest even to this day. His works evoke feelings, thoughts, curiosity, and even with me his work confirmed that I need to accept my best efforts for my best efforts.

 

Here’s a blog post on the MacDonald Sisters some inspiring female artists

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Phantastes by: George MacDonald

Phantastes by George MacDonald is so fun and imaginative I can’t stop reading it. It’s about a man who ends up in Fairyland and wanders in and out of trouble. C.S. Lewis claims this is one of his childhood favorites. It is quite inspirational for me and even more so for some of the pieces I’m working on.  I have a thing for older literature so a book published in 1858 is perfect for me.

Here’s a link if you’d like to check it out.

 

 

Happy Hump Day Everyone

Circles -A Collaboration

The world in all its glory

still vacant

The abyss below

echoes back words I’d like to decipher

    [will it ever be enough]

Some days the echoes

are all that matter

and even though he’s my world

these echoes are sticky

like a magnetic night sky

without a cloud for miles

Where the comets and planets come alive

and beat

to some universal pulse

strangely connected to the abyss.

But then I’m hungry

and lonely

and I gotta take a piss

so I leave the stars and the comets

letting them die once again.

But when I return the clouds have doubled

tripled

fuck there’s nothing left

the clouds have swallowed my vision

whole

-Saschia Johnson

something about the breeze…
watchful of a comets descent,
inhaling through the eyes,
digesting in the mind
a peculiar empathy of knowing
crystalizes in the heart,
i too have long heard the
gravitous orchestra it follows
in spiraling cadence,
of starbright tears, given to the sky
jaw clenched with quiet defiance
gifting awe
to strangers eyes, a parade of lights
in a whisper
vanishes in majesty…
wondrous to fade so spectacular
something about the wind,
loud so loud,
familiar
crooked grin on a moon,
time traveler alas,
a statue standing in a remembered
sorrow, thoughts
familiar
clouds choke the same,
as decades ago,
just…one difference, in a gratitude
to follow a light parade,
to taste a wind too loud,
familiar gloom, welcomed
to have kept the eyes, heart and mind,
through the decades…unfrozen,
something about the breeze,
familiar to a comets descent.
-Lord Byronic featured art also by lordbyronic
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Crumbs Dishes

I’m in search of symbols

I search the worst places first

starting with Social media

the dusty ones

Those few I should’ve deleted

a while back

I clean the house

Because they could be mixed in with the dishes

Or with the crumbs on the carpet

And when that’s through I sit and think

And think

If I were a metaphor where would I be?

There’s the trees

the oceans

The sky and wild creatures

Love, heartbreak, Death

Is it possible that the search

is the metaphor

The crumbs the dirty dishes

the urge to find a connection

-Saschia Johnson

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~*Energy Drinks*~

Somebody’s Name

Long square round faces

Big eyes squinting ones dark ones with mysterious secrets

Perky lips plump and pouty Big and juicy

A world full of descriptions

but what I really

want to know is their names

and where they’ve been

and what they named their favorite freckle

when they were ten

but most of all

how they’ve survived

on just descriptions for so long

 

-Saschia Johnson

 

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I Want It All