Oct
24
In the Arena of the Visual and Literature
We come out of darkness—and it is the darkness inside our own mothers.
Created in the formless dark, we take shape only within the light, eyes squeezed pudgily shut, hands in tight fists shaking at the new bright cold.
Slowly, the world takes shapes, we open our eyes, we learn to focus, our fists relax into working hands, and we make things with those hands for the benefit of those eyes.
And sometimes what we make are visual poems.
I am left sometimes stunned by beauty, because I could not imagine it but there it was.
And visual poetry can work with the beauty of the word, the image, the wordimage, and context.
Created in the formless dark, we take shape only within the light, eyes squeezed pudgily shut, hands in tight fists shaking at the new bright cold.
Slowly, the world takes shapes, we open our eyes, we learn to focus, our fists relax into working hands, and we make things with those hands for the benefit of those eyes.
And sometimes what we make are visual poems.
I am left sometimes stunned by beauty, because I could not imagine it but there it was.
And visual poetry can work with the beauty of the word, the image, the wordimage, and context.