I find myself journaling articles to confront the things that held me captive. Our stylings of art come from years of living. I've found just as my ears learned to react to different sounds and words, my eyes learned to compose quickly to those milestones that I needed to record. I've found all art requires a thorough respect and understanding for those materials that call out to us. From the moment I first touched wet moist clay, it called out to me. It soothed my need for control, challenge and character, the three C's for art making. It's cool moist touch felt healing on my agomg arthritic hands. With time and practice, it gained mastery over me rather than the other way around.In my writing, I am always looking for ideas, metaphors or topics that interest me. I'm always looking for an initial thought burst, a memory or a feeling I can blow out of proportion, and use in a grand over-indulgent way. "You may discover your best poems while writing your worst prose." says Joyce Carol Oates, "As soon as you connect with your true subject, you will write." I think this goes for poetry, too. As soon as you connect with your true emotions, you can sculpt your heart with poetry. Enjoy Becoming a Poem...below:
As an artist I will admit there were unfortunate moments in my intensity, when crippling insecurities left me limp and passion-free. When I'm busy doing something I love,
there was progress to my spirit. Keeping busy always put me in a better mood. I am many, but not always the fairest to gaze upon, my smoldering aura embodied the
holy, unholy and the human form; I confess I've opened my exalted head and body to Pablo Picasso who perceived me in strange and abstract ways; and there were times when I've summoned the most evil,
known as Satan for a few hot unholy days, then joined Moses and the Greatest Mother of them all, until I tired of their perpetual sermons, on the hills, if I recall;
three watery graves once called out to me, I offered John, Jr. a Water Lillie, as well as his wife, Caroline and her sister, too,
lastly with an urge to breed, I began following John Travolta around when his quivering wings reminded me of a night spent in the arms of the angel Michael,
I offered him a Lilac Blossom plucked from my own bosom...laughed and kissed him long and hard, becoming this poem for you.
In the final analysis, each of us must follow our heart's desires, intuitions and dreams in our own way through words, books, paints, or any other crafts. As one traveler to another as writer and artist, I've heard it said - no matter how you do it or what materials you use, sharing of one heart to another heart joy to both.
I am a ceramic artist, a sculptress of clay, a photographer and writer/poet. I am grandma raising from grandchildren inbetween the pages of my writings. I'm Winged for Healing. II will be exhibiting some of my clay sculptures at the beginning of my articles, examples of poem therapy as well as excerpts from my books, Sculpting the Heart: Surviving Depression with Art Therapy and Sculpting the Heart's Poetry while Conversing with the Masters.
I'm always looking to find a way to simplify my expression in sculpture, poetry and photography. When I am in tun with my inner artist and intuitions, I am unstoppable. Strong. Able. Creative. I think how hard my hands and fingers have worked for me; and how often they gave me a sense of fullfillment. I'm a young soul in an old body trying to find balance between joy and sadness in my life.
by Joyce White
www.wingedforhealing.com
