Postcards from the heart
October 2023 (Part 2)
Dear Art Friends,
As promised, this newsletter compiles the second half of my collection for the Poetry in Motion show with Artburst Studios. I’ve been working on this collection since March, and I am thrilled to get it out into the world. Read below to see the pieces and the poems that inspired them. But first, here is a Friday postcard from my heart to yours.
Artburst collection part 2
I wish I could speak German to hear and understand this poem's original form. Every time I read it, I am transfixed by its depiction of beginning and living a life, the grief and gratitude that "this country called life" demands.
Go to the limits of your longing God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night. These are the words we dimly hear: You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing. Embody me. Flare up like a flame and make big shadows I can move in. Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final. Don’t let yourself lose me. Nearby is the country they call life. You will know it by its seriousness. Give me your hand. ~Rainer Maria Rilke Read more about Rilke here
Ada Limón is our current poet laureate. I shared this poem with as many people as possible during the last few years. In fact, I think I shared it in an earlier newsletter! If you don't already know it, I am also honored to share it with you.
Instructions on not giving up More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees that really gets to me. When all the shock of white and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath, the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin growing over whatever winter did to us, a return to the strange idea of continuous living despite the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then, I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all. ~Ada Limón Read more about Ada Limón and her work here
With so many wildfires in California and Colorado, the final stanza of the poem "Martha" by Delilah Silberman captivated me. The image of carrying my friends is potent. That’s what friends do; we hold each other. This poem honors the elemental makeup we bring to our relationships – water, wood, and fire. I loved that the narrator got to be the strong one here. We take turns.
“It’s me alone in this cool body The day my house burned down, A flood would have helped. I carry my friends in the rain. They are all made of wood.” Read the full poem here
I have long loved the line “I plowed my life this way,” yet I wanted the piece to be about the future rather than the past. I love the concept of planting a greening season both as individuals and collectively.
Harrowing The plow has savaged this sweet field Misshapen clods of earth kicked up Rocks and twisted roots exposed to view Last year’s growth demolished by the blade. I have plowed my life this way Turned over a whole history Looking for the roots of what went wrong Until my face is ravaged, furrowed, scarred. Enough. The job is done. Whatever’s been uprooted, let it be Seedbed for the growing that’s to come. I plowed to unearth last year’s reasons— The farmer plows to plant a greening season ~Parker J. Palmer Read an article about this poem from author Parker J Palmer here
I’ve written about this poem in a previous email! My two older kids attend a backpacking camp for a month each summer, where they do tough things that endlessly impress me. I miss them dreadfully, but their absence has allowed for some sweet correpondance traditions. I send poems that remind me of their remarkable character and journey. I don't send repeats, except for the poem “How to Triumph Like A Girl” by Ada Limón. My daughter gets this one every year because it never gets old.
How to triumph like a girl I like the lady horses best, how they make it all look easy, like running 40 miles per hour is as fun as taking a nap, or grass. I like their lady horse swagger, after winning. Ears up, girls, ears up! But mainly, let’s be honest, I like that they’re ladies. As if this big dangerous animal is also a part of me, that somewhere inside the delicate skin of my body, there pumps an 8-pound female horse heart, giant with power, heavy with blood. Don’t you want to believe it? Don’t you want to lift my shirt and see the huge beating genius machine that thinks, no, it knows, it’s going to come in first. Read more about Ada Limón and her work here
Ross Gay's work has been a consistent source of inspiration for my art. He reminds me of my son (also a writer and poet), who consistently perseveres when darkness looms and bears witness to the sunrises that others fail to see.
"Sorrow Is Not My Name" BY ROSS GAY —after Gwendolyn Brooks No matter the pull toward brink. No matter the florid, deep sleep awaits. There is a time for everything. Look, just this morning a vulture nodded his red, grizzled head at me, and I looked at him, admiring the sickle of his beak. Then the wind kicked up, and, after arranging that good suit of feathers he up and took off. Just like that. And to boot, there are, on this planet alone, something like two million naturally occurring sweet things, some with names so generous as to kick the steel from my knees: agave, persimmon, stick ball, the purple okra I bought for two bucks at the market. Think of that. The long night, the skeleton in the mirror, the man behind me on the bus taking notes, yeah, yeah. But look; my niece is running through a field calling my name. My neighbor sings like an angel and at the end of my block is a basketball court. I remember. My color's green. I'm spring. Read more about Ross Gay here Read the Gwendolyn Brooks poem that inspired this poem here
Reminders for visiting the Artburst Show
Artburst Studios created this video to walk you through each step of navigating the platform:
Please join me at this online show from the comfort of your own home.
When:
Start time: Sunday, October 22, 2023, at 10:22 AM Mountain Time
End time: Wednesday, October 25, at 10:AM AM Mountain Time
Where:
At the "Poetry in Motion" Show Hub, all online from the comfort of your favorite place to access the internet.
What:
To preview my pieces for the show, head to my website
How:
Create a free collector profile on the Artburst Studios' website.
By creating a free profile, you can preview all show pieces (including sizes, pricing, and other details) 24 hours before the show begins.
On Opening Day, before the start time, sign in to your Artburst Collector account in advance. Gather your preferred payment method.
The show goes LIVE at 10:22 AM Mountain Time. If your heart is set on a specific piece, we recommend being ready to go at the show's start.
Successful Check Out: Add only one piece of artwork to your shopping cart and complete one purchase at a time. Adding multiple selections to your cart delays the process if one of your choices is already sold out.
Post-Show Bliss: Delight in the show afterglow! The artist will contact you to confirm shipping options.
Questions:
I am here to help. Click this link to send me an email at julia.martin.art@hey.com if you need additional assistance.
New website, new pieces
My website has a new look! Check it out and find some additional pieces available for purchase directly from the website.
I really enjoy your work Julia. The exquisite poems you connect and work from represent my underpinnings as well. Thank you