Skirts

There is nothing here this is a blank sheet that needs my creativity, only my well has run dry or my muse has gone on vacation. It’s in you, your life is an inspiration but my life is dull dull dull and all I want is to write write write: no bars or small talk, only outskirts will be worn by me. -Saschia Johnsonnature-2884419_1280

Correction On Shrouded

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Yesterday I posted a poem, but as an over thinker I already want to make one thing clear.

Here’s the poem.

“The air is thin here

among the musk and dirt

my body veiled in cloth.

I’d prefer not to be.

There’s a nakedness I crave

that isn’t available to all.

This nakedness, this madness is divinity

hoarded with chocolates and tea.

There’s incessant knocking knocking

pounding and glass shattering

I open my hands and teeter this way and that

until the urge is gone

leaving my nakedness unveiled

and the air normal”

 

The nakedness the character in the poem speaks of IS available to all but only few venture that path. I think I will rewrite it to clarify that little tidbit.

maybe

“The air is thin here

among the musk and dirt

my body veiled in cloth.

I’d prefer not to be.

There’s a nakedness I crave

it’s available to all

but only few venture it

This nakedness, this madness is divinity

hoarded with chocolates and tea.

There’s incessant knocking knocking

pounding and glass shattering

I open my hands and teeter this way and that

until the urge is gone

leaving my nakedness unveiled

and the air normal”

 

But as they say, a writers work is never truly finished.

 

Here’s another poem from last week that I enjoyed writing.

Shrouded

Shroudedfabric-56285_1280

The air is thin here

among the musk and dirt

my body veiled in cloth.

I’d prefer not to be.

There’s a nakedness I crave

that isn’t available to all.

This nakedness, this madness is divinity

hoarded with chocolates and tea.

There’s incessant knocking knocking

pounding and glass shattering

I open my hands and teeter this way and that

until the urge is gone

leaving my nakedness unveiled

and the air normal

 

-Saschia Johnson

 

MacDonald Sisters

The Long Wandering Path to Desire by Frances Macdonald.

 

According to Claire E. Jones with InquiriesJournal.com, “Margaret and Frances Macdonald embodied this ‘new woman’ with their status and education as professional artists and the visual motifs that they accordingly employed. They managed to combine feminine and masculine characteristics into one figure in their works, effectively establishing an androgynous figure. In the process they managed to establish an equality, if not superiority, of women and men.

…

The director, Francis H. Newbery, was committed to an excellence in art that combined functionalism with beauty while encouraging individuality and experimentation among his students. Here the instructors trained the Macdonald girls as professional artists. This is also where they met their future husbands, Charles Rennie Mackintosh and James Herbert McNair. These four youths came to be known as the “Glasgow Four” during their time at the school.”

I think these ladies seem pretty awesome and I love the way their work seems to sway. AND they are the first female painters I’ve blogged about. Their styles are similar, but still unique to each of them. So inspiring! I can’t wait to learn about more artists.

 

Click here for last week’s artist from history

 

Site used to gather this information:
www.inquiriesjournal.com
All pictures including feature photo from:
www.greenmanpress.com Feature photo by Frances Macdonald I’m unsure of the title

Dear Writer,

Your words give me something to live for. I have plenty to live for, but your words get me out of bed when the world is weighing so heavy nothing else matters. I truly wish the best for you and when the best finds you (if it hasn’t yet) I hope you don’t lose yourself in it. And that we can continue to learn and grow together. 🙂

Sincerely,
Sasch

P.S.
I hope to memorize your stuff over time

To be

While I pick at this mold I’m asked

What do you want to be

A fluffy cloud?

Nah, it’s too late

A pipe?

Nah, my arms are growing tired.

Well what do you want to be?

I wish to remain shapeless

without form

not caste in a womb and fired in a kiln

I wish to remain a moist slab watered daily

easily used as a bowl

then a cup

or kneaded to comfort

but no I do not wish to be a temporary choice

made stationary

clay-690404_1280

 

-Saschia Johnson