Marlene Creates: Connections

  Larch, Spruce, Fir, Birch, Hand,Blast Hole Pond Road (2007–) Marlene Creates

  black & white photographs, selenium-toned silver prints,.10½ x 15½ inches, 

collection: Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, Provincial Art Bank.

 Marlene Creates  is a well known Canadian artist who has inspired me in many ways through her friendship and professional knowledge. We first met on the board of directors of Visual Artists Newfoundland and Labrador and later served for three years as Co Chairs of the organization.  

I remember when Marlene shared her initial thoughts about a new art  project - a boreal poetry garden.   At the time I was  exploring the meaning of gardens and the idea of a poetry garden was very appealing. I've admired  her dogged determination to create the Boreal Poetry Garden through physical labour and inspiration.  Now the project is in full swing   I've attended several of Marlene's initial  readings and I even get a mention in one of her poems. A recent article in Canadian Art gives a good overview of her recent work which has moved from the gallery into the landscape itself. Hope you enjoy how words and woods go together. 

Contemplation

I'm sure everyone has a favourite way to step back from life and gain perspective emotionally and creatively. I'm no different. One of my favourite places to contemplate is in the car (not while I'm driving!). There is something about the movement of the car that soothes me and brings my mind to another place. The movement of objects whizzing by in my peripheral vision adds to my thought transfers.

In 2004 I wrote a thought flow about this process. I never call what I write poetry because I know little of the academic aspects of poetry. Calling it something else removes the stress and moves your writing to an easier place.

Transfer

Sound tranquilizers sooth agitation,
lulled complacency moves thoughts
to a matched rhythm,
tired ideas wither,
replaced by sparkling gems
mined to create thought mosaics,
patterns for future direction.


The ocean also has the same hypnotic effect on me. Again, its the rhythmic sound and visual sameness that brings me to a new place where ideas seem to come more easily and you feel at peace.

Integration

sun lurking beyond the veranda roof
unrelenting heat on parched legs
white from winter isolation,
blueflies buzz and skitter
their hum marking the drowsy flow of time,
grasses tickled by warm breezes
nod to usurping yarrow,
gentle waves lap the shore
creating hypnotic instructions,

a dullness descends,
monotony paints life in equal values,
concern abates,
enthusiasm wanes,
I become one with the environment
a seamless integration of sea, sun and thoughts,
a slow absorption into the fabric of creation.


Then there's the peace of nighfall....

Waiting

I spent the day in emergency with a raging skin rash that kept me from sleep for the last 36 hours. I kept getting bumped by the ambulance arrivals from accidents and heart attacks. I tried to be patient. It is a long holiday weekend which accounted for the high level of activity at the hospital .

I'm very impatient when every square inch of my skin is burning off and itching. There's a lot of waiting in our lives . As I sat there crossing and uncrossing my legs and trying not to scratch I remembered a poem I had written in a similar waiting experience this time for blood work. Needless to say art is not high on my priority list today. All energy goes toward not scratching and trying to keep my eyes open after doses of Benadryl. The sentence of possibly 6 weeks of this is daunting. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. It is a spring like day today with sun and a gentle breeze. That's uplifting.

Waiting

Sitting patiently,
staring at dirty gray tiles
lined up to show the way to numbers.
Black is the predominant colour,
smooth leather, scarred by salt,
an absence of laces,
strides determined
to quicken the pace of service.
White plastic bags
held protectively in clutched hands,
holding secrets.
The numbers move slowly,
36...., 37....., 38.
Feet that moved quickly and defiantly,
now shuffle, cross and uncross,
lie flat,
in the realization,
that we are just a number
you wait to be called.
to feel the prick of a needle, your reward.