"This work is unlike any other, in its range of rich, conjuring imagery and its dexterity, its smart voice. Carroll-Hackett doesn’t spare us—but doesn’t save us—she draws a blueprint of power and class with her unflinching pivot: matter-of-fact and tender." —Jan Beatty

Posts tagged ‘spirit body’

Daily Prompt Love <3 Seeking Solace

26 July 2017

The world is in so much pain right now, so much anger, so much fear. If I am not mindful, that collective despair will weigh down on my back, settle ’round my shoulders like a yoke, until it chokes me, and I am become part of the problem, rather than doing what I think I should–choosing light, choosing peace, choosing Love–doing all that I can to be a force for compassion and Love in this world. So I have to make sure that I care for myself, body and spirit. I personally seek solace in the natural world, in my garden.

It reminds me, daily, that we are made not from our successes, but from the narrative of learning embodied in failure, every lush, red tomato now the product of years on my knees, learning, lessons gifted by seeds that did not germinate, rain that did not fall, soil that wasn’t ready, woodlings that wandered in and ate the fruit, reminders of my rent being due, for sharing this space.

Reward, and humility, in equal share, mistakes and losses, the cost of carelessness, the reminder that I own no space alone in my time on this planet, reside always in the garden. But even more, for me, in that small space, dwells possibility. Even in the darkest winter months, I imagine what will come, with spring. I find solace in the garden’s persistent gift, the imagining of an unimaginable future.

Make art about where you find solace. 

abundabce

Daily Prompt Catch-Up! 11 Days Worth of Prompt Love! <3

Prompt Love Catch-Up!

6 July 2017

Make art about packing for a trip, what to leave in, what to leave out.

packing

7 July 2017

Make art about arrivals, about arriving.

arriving.jpg

8 July 2017

Make art about reunion of souls.

reunion of souls

9 July 2017

Liminal: occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.

Make art about liminal space.

liminal space

10 July 2017

Make art about light and dark, about the juxtaposition of light to dark, about how we need one to know the other. (with love to Mesha Maren ❤ )

light-and-dark

11 July 2017

Make art about moving past obstacles (with love to Rahul Mehta ❤ )

obstacles

12 July 2017

Make art about a whisper, or a howl (with love to Kim Dana Kupperman ❤ )

howl_artwork_full

13 July 2017

Make art about relocating in our own bodies (with love to Jon Corcoran ❤ )

body

14 July 2017

Make art about the amalgamous nature of memory, of how sometimes the amalgam is more true. (With love to Eric Waggoner ❤ )

Memory

15 July 2017

Make art about point of view, about deliberately shifting point of view (with love to Rodney Jones ❤ )

point of view

16 July 2017

Make art about departures.

departure

17 July 2017

Make art about driving alone, about that silence in the cocoon of the car.

driving alone

 

Sometimes the Day Is the Poem <3

Daily Prompt Love Catch-Up <3 Darkness, Illness, Body

21 June 2017

Make art about finding your way through the dark.

through darkness

22 June 2017

Make art about illness.

illness

23 June 2017

Make art about what the body remembers.

body remembers

Daily Prompt Love <3 Even–Especially–When It's Hard

23 May 2017

Make art about seeing the world through eyes of Love, especially when it seems most impossible. 

love first

 

 

Daily Prompt Love <3 Another Chance: A Very Special Birthday Prompt

19 May 2017

Seven years ago today, my oldest son J was in a terrible car accident, his little plastic Saturn sedan t-boned by a brand new Dodge Charger with its all-steel construction.

J, my laughing, charismatic, kind, smart son, only 22 then, was critically injured, with a compression skull fracture, subdural hematoma, subarachnoid hemorrhaging, and four feather bleeds into his beautiful brain. They airlifted him by helicopter from our small town to the major medical facility, MCV, in Richmond, admitting him directly into the neurological ICU. He was conscious the whole time, talking, joking, charming the nurses, complaining that he couldn’t look out the window on his first-ever helicopter ride, even saying things meant to reassure me, his sister, his brother, the friends who stood by us at the hospital. We bedded down in the ICU waiting room, while behind those heavy doors, monitors clicked and hummed, documenting my son’s traumatic brain injury. That was Wednesday. 

Early Thursday afternoon, as I stood as J’s bedside, a doctor we hadn’t seen before strode in, his crisp white lab coat flowing behind him. He introduced himself as the head of neurological research, and after a moment, he asked us if we had seen J’s latest CT scan. We hadn’t, so he hurried from the room, telling us he’d be right back. J and I looked at each other, confused, and my son must have seen worry in my eyes, as he patted my hand. 

The doctor returned, wheeling in a large piece of equipment, a medical imaging viewer, and positioned it at the end of J’s ICU bed. He turned it on and the image of my son’s skull appeared,  stark in the black and whiteness of it all. For a second, we were completely silent. Then the doctor, smiling, began to explain what we were seeing.

What we were seeing was nothing: no bleeding, no bruising, no swelling. The only sign that remained of my son’s injury just 24 hours before was the spiderweb of fractures in the bone, as if a pencil eraser had been pushed into the fragile shell of an egg, a network of bone break just beneath the C-shaped wound on the side of his head.  J’s brain looked completely normal, showing not a single other sign of the blow he’d taken the day before in the wreck that had left his little car mangled, left nothing but the driver’s seat intact. 

The doctor grinned, saying, “We want to study you, study why and how you healed so quickly.”

That was Thursday. We brought J home midday on Friday. Six weeks later, he was back at work, then back to his last year of college that fall. We talked time and again about his miraculous healing, about why it might have happened. 

J, my wise son, said, “Mom, I don’t know why it happened. I just know I got another chance.” 

He now calls May 19 his birthday. His Facebook status this morning read, “Today, I am alive.” 

Make art about being given another chance. 

 

J and Max

 

 

 

Daily Prompt Love <3 Your Song

28 April 2017

“Every particle in the physical universe takes its characteristics from the pitch and pattern and overtones of its particular frequencies, its singing.

Before we make music, music makes us.”~Joachim-Ernst Berendt

Make art about the song you recognize as yours, the song of the body.

heart song

 

 

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