Chicago

Well, here I am back from the good ol’ windy city. The trip was awesome. My mom and I really made a vacation out of our few days– we saw a lot of the city, and had some fun mother-daughter time just the two of us. We took the train overnight (15 hours), stayed in a hostel, explored different neighborhoods, took over the Chicago Art Institute, and oh yeah, went to my AWP reading.

First thing we did upon arriving and getting settled was to head over to Quimby’s. In case you are not aware, Quimby’s is one of the absolute coolest comic books stores ever. If you live in Chicago, or are visiting, go there. They have a lovely selection of indie mini comics, and now my own comics can be counted among the selection: Shelf Life issues #1-3 and Art Bitch are in stock.

The reading took place at Simone’s Bar in the Pilsen area on Thursday night, March 1st. Mama and I got there early to scope out good seats and snack on the delicious hand-cut french fries and sweet potato fries. The reading was hosted by six small presses: Bateau, Burnside Review, Interrupture, Rose Metal Press, Slope Editions and Versal. I was representing Bateau, along with Chuck Carlise and Ryan Flaherty. There was a lot of poetry, and some flash fiction as well. I read five short stories, two of which have been published (in Bateau and Toasted Cheese Literary Journal) and three that are newer and not yet published. The large crowd was wonderful, the readers lovely and it was a very welcoming and positive experience for me. I got to meet Ashely Shaffer, editor of Bateau, which was such a treat! (Little plug here: if you haven’t read Bateau, you should order an issue, because it’s the sweetest, coolest, prettiest little press you ever did see. I am honored to have been published twice by them– in issues 4.2 and 3.1.)

Here is a video my mom took of me reading.

We also sketched some of the other readers, but I’m having trouble with my scanner, so will post those at a later date.

And lastly, here are some photos from the trip:

 

Of course, spending time with my mom always ignites cartoon ideas, so look out for some Chicago-inspired Art Bitch comics coming soon…

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AWP Reading, Chicago, Thurs. March 1, 2012

This is Beautiful, This is Beautiful; six small presses

  • Thursday, March 1, 2012
  • 7:00pm until 11:00pm
  • At Simone’s: 960 W 18th St., Chicago, IL 60608
  • An offsite AWP reading hosted by 6 small presses: Bateau, Burnside Review, Interrupture, Rose Metal Press, Slope Editions and Versal.
  • Readers include: John Gallaher, Brooklyn Copeland, Sean Lovelace, Chuck Carlise, Louise Mathias, Ryan Flaherty, Anna Moriarty Lev, Jane Lewty, Erin Costello, Nate Liederbach, Amaranth Borsuk, Trey Moody/Joshua Ware, John Jodzio, Kate Nuernberger and Brad Liening.
  • I’ll be reading short stories, and these other people will be reading some great stuff too. Free to the Public! Full bar! Food! Oh my!
Above photo courtesy of Diana Van Der Jagt, from our trip to Chicago in 2007.

love after love

This is a poem I saw in a book called, “Ten Poems To Change Your Life” and I’d like to share it with you all:

Love after Love

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here.  Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine.  Give bread.  Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit.  Feast on your life.

~ Derek Walcott ~

snow night

I have created and posted a new video: snow night.

more than any of this, my water, the window. we begin to make amends with winter, sliding her heavy foot behind, hoping we won’t notice her guilty face. she hides under a tree, pulling in her white skirt, shadows leaving corners of bright sunlight. these cold nights are so long and i love the darkness.

i’m small, not a thing at all. I won’t be those small girls barely taking up the room on a chair, but i am small under the moon. I take up space at a table but under a sky it’s nothing at all.

triptic nude poem

I drew these nudes at a life drawing group I attend with my mom on Wednesday nights. It’s a lovely group of people, and a great chance for me to work on my figure drawing skills in a room with other artists. Sometimes I feel a strong urge to add words to the drawings, from the mood in the room or something I see in the model’s face.

it was a kiss that I couldn’t forget, in the park in winter with people passing. I’m not sayin’ I won’t love another…it was impossible to think of anything else.

graveyard of scissors

Here is a new poem. One cold night, around a lovely fire, my friend Karen who is a farmer said, “Our field is a graveyard of scissors,” in response to a conversation about leaving things places. This struck me as one of the most poetic things I had ever heard. So I used it in a poem.

 

for True Love Farm

our field is
a graveyard of scissors,
I’m always leaving them
out there.
maybe it’s to go back
and get them,
or my secret dream of
scissor trees and
blades sticking up as flowers:
carrot scissors
and turnip scissors.
I might cut up the ground,
make paper dolls of it –
soft, thick earth in the shape
of girls with grass clothes.
or I jam them into
the soil, unmovable,
markers of death
to know that something
was there.

hey guys, it’s a new poem

sometimes

july 12, 2010


“will she ever get home?”

sleeping, eating, killing, wondering,

he’s been waiting a day of forever,

the cat will be waiting at the door,

will welcome me.

the books and spoons and dead cockroaches.

aching because I know I’ll eventually get there.

aching

facing the forty minute eternity.

just outside of work

here I am.

my pencils in the closet are sad.

my clothes are missing me,

my cat is hungry

that I’ll never see again.

red and waiting,

I think about my stoop,

I feel as though I won’t make it.

concrete to get through,

so many bends and straitens and so much

there are so many steps to take,

getting home.

it seems an impossible feat,

when I’m standing outside

sometimes.

new poem

my hands
my hands are falling apart.
when they get like this,
there’s nothing to be done.
i can’t touch things anymore.
i’ll have to hold the toothbrush with my feet
and cook with my nose.
this will be difficult,
since my cooking’s already not much,
though my english muffin pizzas
are something to be admired.
my dad taught me how to make them.
the way we melt cheese
melts hearts around the world.