Undo Hurt
Wallowing
Beheld the Glory
Exhausted Spontaneity
Nowhere to Speak Of
Artist Statement:
“Undo Hurt”, “Wallowing”, and “Beheld the Glory” are part of the “Mimics the Moon” collection. The words for the poems in this collection were sourced from my personal correspondence. The handwritten words are from old letters and the typed words are torn from loose pages of an old poetry book sent by a friend. Most of the words are from the book Immortal Poems of the English Language, 1983 edition, pages around 610-20.
“Exhausted Spontaneity” is part of the “PARTS” collection. This collection of erasure poems transformed an old copy of a Thomas Wolfe novel into a book of erasure poetry and visual art. While each page is stand-alone, they are thematically thread together. The work is done directly on the book and includes collage and painting, mostly with acrylics. The overarching goal is to find or create rays of hope and beauty, particularly by subverting the text where it describes ennui or angst.
“Nowhere to Speak Of” is a paper mosaic using torn pieces of old magazines and junk mail. It is inspired by a barn near my home. The piece is connected to the following CNF micro:
Nowhere to Speak Of
Every road or trail out of my house leads to a view of an old red barn planted in a valley of wildflowers framed by mountains. There’s a windmill in the field, but it keeps its distance from the barn. The closest things are a smattering of trees, but they, too, refrain from crowding the structure.
I love that barn. I mark the seasons by the colors of the surrounding field: green, then speckled with yellows and purples, then California gold. And when the rains come, the wet red shimmers, renewed.
Once, driving past, I confessed my daydream to my husband. “That red barn speaks to me.”
“You should find out who owns it,” my husband said. He’s a practical man.
But I don’t want to own the barn. I don’t even want to go inside. When I gaze at the barn from afar, it whispers promises of solitude and quiet and time. It hints it’s the kind of place where one can sit in beauty and make art. I almost believe it. From afar.
Amy Marques grew up between languages and places and learned, from an early age, the multiplicity of narratives. She penned children’s books, barely read medical papers, and numerous letters before turning to short fiction and visual poetry. She is a Pushcart Prize, Best Small Fictions, and Best of the Net nominee and has work published in journals and anthologies including Streetcake Magazine, MoonPark Review, Bending Genres, Gone Lawn, Ghost Parachute, Chicago Quarterly Review, and Reservoir Road Literary Review. You can read more at https://amybookwhisperer.wordpress.com.