Creations by you

What is art? For you it might be capturing your best friend doing her hair on film, other might say it is dancing to Red Hot Chilli Peppers while someone would define it as a painting at Le Louvre. Whatever it might be, here are some artwork created by you. Thank you to everyone who submitted and shared their work with the world.

Collages and 35mm film by Isabel Padilla

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How to hold a paintbrush  

To the arms of the one that makes my manners

Melt away

With those thoughts

That my demons are trying to reach

With their fingertips

And fading rage.

 

Blazing above me,

This invisible and incandescent stain in the sky;

stands on my eyelids.

 

Keeping me from thinking,

He makes me forget.

And I forget how to think.

 

He brought me back to my needs.

As I only remember how to hold a paintbrush.

-Cadmium red

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Clutter

Days that melt into each other. Hour after hour after hour holds no home, the tedious monotony dismantling this settled system of structure. Time itself rings hollow. Another weekend spent in bed (or perhaps it was a Tuesday afternoon?). 

My limbs are pleasantly soft with fatigue, sweetly reposing in these silky soft sheets.

My mind sighs at the stirring morning light. 

A fleshy absurdity, unbearable, yet here I reside again in the pitying pillows, passing yet another fragment of the present, thoughts stretching in futility for the world outside this cold panel of blue glass.

 

Strawberries

Red and fresh faced.

So precious, so sweet,

In mind.

 

Then, grasped

 

Bruised and blemished by reality.

Greedy hands in grey sleeves

That gropes for greatness,

So ignorant in their touch.

 

The juices of triumph,

Metallic and sickly sticky

Against unwashed fingers.

Red and stained with pride.

-Rebecka Kann

 

We began to lose our heads for each other, every feeling was getting bigger, time became our enemy since every moment at his side for me was As small as a crumb of bread, it was never enough, its protective sourcesmade me feel that I was in the hollow of a mountain and that I could jump knowing that when I fell I would be there safe, alive, because that was how I had put my trust and my life in the person who devoured my soul and left me heartless.

-Angie Miranda

 

Illustrations by Ravenne Maria Helena

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SHOP GIRL

MORNING

I stutter in the morning.

A slow, aching mass

puffed, cranked and badly wired

false starts and sputters

to tour bus ladies and bored husbands

and their slow, aching masses

bloating down Main Street

low and easy,

slugs on a garden gate.

I pour salt over one and she buckles

wrinkled strips of wet flesh,

saliva on pavement.

I rent a plane

a crop duster

with big bags of expensive French sea salt

and pull a wide, sweeping bank over town

a blizzard of sparkling, white flakes

shrivels the crowd
wheezing spit balls

in saline snowfall.

The phone rings,

I sort greeting cards,

water plants,

restock fancy soaps and powders

the stutter,

not my flaw

but my power

 

AFTERNOON

It occurred to me

That I was an employee

Staff

A peg
In a wheel

On a list

For a tax form

Responsible

Hardworking

Fast learner

Slow burner

No future

No sooner

Did it occur to me

That I had not looked up from the desk all afternoon.

 

EVENING

Come one

come all

five minutes till close

the perfect time

come wander the halls

come stretch every second

that bitterly taps

a slow drip of water

against my forehead

please tell me the weather

I wish to be blind

to not see through windows

till you tell me

“now,

it looks like rain”

distinguish yourself

a rare bird, a treasure

regale me with songs

of boats, sports and leisure

pastel clouds

and khaki Bermuda

beach, bed, breakfast

best places to summer

satisfy my hunger

use me

abuse me

in ways I’d not thought of
while I finger the cash machine

relinquish my freedoms

knee-deep in water

-Jennah Barry

 

Poem by Loretta Delores

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 Keep creating and expressing yourself.

 

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