Bears Read Poetry in Denver: AWP Annual Conference & Panel on Opera

April 2010

The best thing about the annual Associated Writing Programs conference is seeing people I haven't seen in years, and listening to what is new in the world of writing, small and university presses, and creative writing programs across the country.

The big highlight for me this year was not the panel presentation I was part of, but the one I attended on poets who write for opera.  This has been a passion of mine for a while now, and it is the main topic of my doctoral dissertation.

As Kate Gale noted, it is a small world, poets who work on libretti, but I would like to see that change.  As I look forward to the opening of Amelia at the Seattle Opera, with its libretto written by the poet Gardner McFall, and to the Rio de Sangre (Kate Gale & Don Davis) opening this fall at Opera Florentine, I'm encouraged that even in a period when most opera companies are scaling back their productions, these contemporary operas are still making it to the stage.

Adding an Inner Breast Pocket to a J Jill Blazer

I wear a lot of jackets and blazers, and I'm alway upset that 

they don't have breast pockets like a man's jacket or blazer.

I'm a writer.  I need to have a recorder (or a small notepad) 

and my cell phone on me all the time.

Why is that?  I carry an iphone and other gadgets, and I don't always carry a purse.  Why no nifty pocket to reach to inside my jacket?  (I used to think it was always so cool when 007 did that.)

My best guess at why manufacturers don't include this as a regular design feature (other than it adds cost) is that women like a good line to their clothing and we have breasts.  Many clothing manufacturers like to emphasis princess seaming for shape, but only high-end sportswear manufacturers find a way to make a shapely, functional garment with pockets.  Power walking is not the only time I need a reliable pocket.

Usually I check the construction of jackets before I purchase them, to see if I can add my own pocket.  This J Jill jacket was a good candidate because even though it didn't have a lining, it had very nicely finished seams with added binding for strength.  That's a plus if you need something to anchor a cell phone pocket to.

I started by using some gridded quilt backing to trace the design of a pocket and see if it would fit to my jacket.  I put the jacket on wrong-side-out, and pinned the grid to the inside of the lapel, then marked where to cut it.  I wanted it to match the curve of the arm-hole in one corner of the pocket:

If you go back to photo #1, you'll see this shape will result in a pocket that is almost sideways, but which slants over the top of my breast toward my armpit.  I like this design because it keeps things from falling out, and it's easier to work with than a regular vertical pocket when sewing it to the jacket (especially if there's no lining to work with).

Here's the fusing pressed to my pocket fabric along a fold, and the pocket cut to match the fusing.

I sewed the pocket along the curved edge, the short edge, and the edge parallel to the fold, then turned it out and ironed it flat.

While wearing the jacket inside out, I pinned the pocket to the seams, then hand-sewed it to the armpit seam, the side seam, and along the seam of the lapel.  For extra support, I took a ribbon and anchored the pocket from its top to the shoulder seam.  The pocket opening is at the lapel seam and it holds my cell phone nicely.

Calico Shirt, Nonna Luisa Style

After 5 years of graduate school, I have the title of Ph.D. to add after my name, and not much money in my pocket.

So. my first resource for fabric is usually free, or cheap.  I'm very familiar with a certain army.

This blouse was going to be used for a project for my granddaughter, because it had good yardage to work with, and I liked the pattern--nice colors to pull from for trims.

On a lark I tried it on.  It was too big, but it fit in the bust, and being someone who has a hard time finding a proper fit in that area, I decided to try and see what I could do to salvage it for my wardrobe.

There was one princess seam on each side, and I could have added more.  The pattern would have easily disguised it, but I decided to try a series of midriff mini pleats instead.

I liked this effect, the way it condensed the pattern and played against it.

I did go to my trim box and start adding a crocheted trim to the cuffs and collar.  This aqua pops against the print.

And this is my new blouse, Nonna-Luisa style.  It's still loose, but it has some shape.

Repetition and condensing a pattern:  hmm... there's something blooming in my writing mind.

The Power of Repetition

Crochet a row.  Put it down.  Type on computer.  Repeat.

Virginia Woolf extolled the virtues of a country walk as a way to "rock oneself" back into writing.  The gentle swaying of a crib that she evoked in that statement, is the feeling I have when doing needlework, especially crocheting or knitting.  It is this actively calm rhythm which loosens my thoughts from the drive of delivering information, getting a point across, or thinking in a way that is outcome-based.

Beyond the repetitive motion which rocks me into a sentence, there is also a repetition in a sentence or a poem which pleases my ear.  In prose it is a careful assonance or alliteration which lets me know the writer wasn't just interested in delivering me from point A to point B, but that she intended to use the best language to get me there.  It might also be a phrase that comes back and increases the tension of the narrative through its repetition.

In a longer poem I might check the repetition of a key phrase and ask myself what purpose it serves.

The use of repetition can condense and unify visual scope

In Anne Sexton's poem "It Is a Spring Afternoon," there is a very long series of scenes, and a key scene of a girl outstretched on a tree limb.  After we are introduced to her for the first time, Sexton repeats  the phrase "Everything here is yellow and green."

.

This repetition acts as a gathering point for all the other images before the image of the girl, and the images after, to bring the landscape of the poem and its meaning into focus around the image of the girl and her naked body.

It Is a Spring Afternoon

by Anne Sexton

Everything here is yellow and green.

Listen to its throat, its earthskin,

the bone dry voices of the peepers

as they throb like advertisements.

The small animals of the woods

are carrying their deathmasks

into a narrow winter cave.

The scarecrow has plucked out

his two eyes like diamonds

and walked into the village.

The general and the postman

have taken off their packs.

This has all happened before

but nothing here is obsolete.

Everything here is possible.

Because of this

perhaps a young girl has laid down

her winter clothes and has casually

placed herself upon a tree limb

that hangs over a pool in the river.

She has been poured out onto the limb,

low above the houses of the fishes

as they swim in and out of her reflection

and up and down the stairs of her legs.

Her body carries clouds all the way home.

She is overlooking her watery face

in the river where blind men

come to bathe at midday.

Because of this

the ground, that winter nightmare,

has cured its sores and burst

with green birds and vitamins.

Because of this

the trees turn in their trenches

and hold up little rain cups

by their slender fingers.

Because of this

a woman stands by her stove

singing and cooking flowers.

Everything here is yellow and green.

Surely spring will allow

a girl without a stitch on

to turn softly in her sunlight

and not be afraid of her bed.

She has already counted seven

blossoms in her green green mirror.

Two rivers combine beneath her.

The face of the child wrinkles.

in the water and is gone forever.

The woman is all that can be seen

in her animal loveliness.

Her cherished and obstinate skin

lies deeply under the watery tree.

Everything is altogether possible

and the blind men can also see.

Fiber Artist, Julie Kornblum: Visually Delicious

Entwined Copper Midnight by Susan McGehee

Talking with Julie Kornblum, April 2010

Julie Kornblum is a fiber artist, a weaver, a mother, an eco-arts activist, and a featured artist in the 

Fiber 2010 show at the Studio Channel Islands Art Center. 

Her recent shows include: “Materiality” at ARC Gallery in Chicago; www.arcgallery.org; “Women’s Works 2010” sponsored by the Northwest Area Arts Council in Woodstock Ill, www.naac4art.org; and “ReVisions, New Creations from Scrap” at two locations in San Francisco, sponsored by SCRAP, www.scrap-sf.org. 

She has been awarded first place in the fiber art category in the Art Buzz 2010 competition, which was published in a hard bound book, www.artbuzz.org/book.html) . One of her woven wall pieces was awarded first place in the 2-D division in the 2009 Juried Member show at Studio Channel Islands.

LV:  There is a specific moment I've been interested in lately, a moment 

that is common across different artistic disciplines. It's that moment 

where action is taken on vision, the moment when imagination is no 

longer just in the mind, but is becoming manifest by doing.  I've been 

asking different artists, and different types of artists about this, the 
pleasure of doing, why it's pleasurable, how pleasure is perceived  

(through which sense organ--is it mostly visual?), and what it is  

about that particular moment that characterizes it as different from  

normal daily activity.  A task is being performed, but not a pedantic  

one.  It may be a repetitive task, but it may not be characterized as  

drudgery.

JK: I'm about ready to go into that place again.  I just finished a project 

and I'll be starting something new soon. I have ideas simmering on the 

back burner of my mind, about ready to boil over into doing, to make the 

idea a reality, sampling, playing with materials, working it out. 

I've been wanting all day to go into the dining room and sort materials
while I visualize the project I want to do next. The idea is hot, burning in
my head. It's the next one in the queue, it started to bubble closer to the
surface as I was coming to the end of the last project. its always this way.
I'll start thinking about the next thing as I'm finishing the current one.

Sometimes it's not pleasurable. It can be frustrating for days and weeks.
There can be technical issues, the materials don't work the way I want them
to. I try something, and try it a different way; it doesn't look how I
pictured it in my head, or it just doesn't look good to me. I walk away, I
leave it for the day or I have other tasks and duties in life to attend to.
the idea continues to percolate on the creative back burner. This is the
working-it-out phase. Its in between the vision and the actual doing.

On my circus piece, "Behind the Cotton Candy," this phase took almost six
months. for the yardage I just finished yesterday, the fused plastic gave me
a couple weeks of frustration.

After this stage there will be a moment, an aha moment when I know this is
it, this is what the project will be. Then I can begin. And this is a
pleasurable moment. I'll feel a sense of accomplishment, like the pleasure
of solving a problem - even though the project is far from being completed.
Sometimes I'm still far from the actual doing, since there is much
preparation of the materials ahead of me. Sometimes its also a huge relief,
like getting your car unstuck from the mud, and back on the road. This is
especially true when there's a deadline for getting the piece done.

The doing is enjoyable, very enjoyable. Sometimes it is so pleasurable that
people don't want to finish things. There can be almost a let down when
something gets finished. Maybe that's why I start thinking about the next
thing just before I've completed what I'm working on. Starting something new
is the most exciting part. 

LV:  Is the pleasure coming from what you're seeing, or is it derived from a 

different sensory input?

JK:  It is visual, yes, but it extends beyond that.  Sometimes when
knitting or weaving, I so love the colors and textures of the yarns I'm
working with; the pleasure of creation is from seeing them up close in my
hands. Sometimes its tactile on top of visual, the feel of the fabrics in
sewing, or the yarns in knitting and weaving. It is akin to eating a really
well prepared dish, a soup, cake, roasted chicken, bread, wine - whatever
does it for you; only you're taking it in with your eyes and finger tips.
It's that kind of enjoyment. When I'm really loving the work is when its
visually delicious.

There is also the pleasure of mastery. When I've joined the right technique
with the right materials, and it all comes together well, and I know I'm
making something of beauty; then that goes beyond the senses. Another
element is meaning. When I make something that looks great, and the
materials and technique support the concept and meaning I'm hoping to
communicate, then that's the ultimate. Is it a conceptual pleasure of the
intellect? It's mental and emotional. I don't know where it resides.

LV:  Do you still feel this if what you're doing is repetitive, like weaving?

JK:  The fiber arts do involve repetitive tasks, but they differ greatly from
daily tasks because as you repeat stitch after stitch, you are building
toward a finished product. As you weave, knit or crochet row upon row, you
are accomplishing something that can be completed. Daily household tasks are
maintenance, they can never be finished. You do the cleaning, cooking,
laundry, and soon your work is all undone and you have to start again. If
you clean your house every week for a year, you'll still end up with a dirty
house. If you knit or weave every week for a year you will end up with a
pile of textiles - garments, hand towels, art objects, whatever.  

More works by Julie Kornblum are visible at:

www.juliekornblum.com

Julie Kornblum's work amazes me, because she uses re-purposed and found materials to weave traditional and non-traditional pieces.  The two works shown above are large-scale weavings, and both use plastic shopping bags.  That's amazing.