"Color is to the eye what music is to the ear." — Louis C. Tiffany
BY VIOLET AUSTEN, AKA ASTRAEA
I grew up in New York, and I was always surrounded by languages. Spanish, Cantonese, Sanskrit, Yiddish, Mandarin. This is an angrier poem than I've posted here before, but sometimes I don't want to translate myself. Sometimes I don't want to tell people what my name means. Sometimes I am angry. Of course, plenty of people have a much harder time with this, but it's all the same problem. People pretend they can't pronounce my name. Mostly, I'm polite about it.
I love ekphrasis! While writers can often struggle with inspiration or direction, influence from other artists can really help guide and shape your work, or even just give a nice starting kick. (I find that music especially can help me relax enough to let the words come, give me a feeling, and sometimes that's all you have to do.) This poem & accompanying painting are the result of a response to some Sisters of Mercy, the Dragonlance chronicles, Harlan Ellison's Paingod, and however much self-indulgence was necessary to have me use my own work as inspiration. Honestly, I'd recommend trying it yourself - you gain a multiplicity of methods to express different facets of a concept: your work in conversation with itself.
“Stop thinking about art works as objects and start thinking about them as triggers for experiences. What makes a work of art good for you is not something that s already inside it but something that happens inside you.” ― Brian Eno
Thoughts of when when we are kids started to be the center most thought in my head for days. Comparing how we are now to how we were then, how we didn’t understand much. How our children, if we so chose to have any, would be in that same position where they need to learn. How us as parents want to have them know everything but nothing at the same time, so they don’t feel the pain we have had to go through or others had. But they can’t be protected fully, we can only help guide them with what we know.
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