Tuesday, 31 May 2011

Extraordinary Connectedness -- Sunday Features 29 May 2011

Burned out, a faded star on the darkest night. Roughed up, worn thin by the rotation axis of the squeaky wheel. Withdrawn, a parched wasteland withered from the decay of neglect…
There’s a connectedness that often exposes itself through poetry and art. When one loses her luster, the entire night sky dresses in mourning. When one suffers, the whole embodiment of the united spirit feels the infliction. When one slips as a refugee into the internal abyss of hiding, the incarnation feels the gravitational pull of her falling away. This week’s features weave and intertwine in these very extraordinary ways, ways that are undeniably enigmatic in their unity. 

It’s sparked by a moment of mourning, where being trapped behind the veil of one’s own skin takes on levels of alone.

 Under My Skin © by Ariana

There are levels of alone that no soul should ever uncover. And there are depths of fear that should never be traversed alone.

and what about stars and fireflies- © by autumnwind
incoherent moonless midnight
and the rains
bore holes
in my shelter
floods here and there
helter skelter
the boogey man comes to my door
though he is overbearing
large and cumbersome
I see him approach
through the keyhole
with eerie horror movie speed
the headless horseman
and I cannot flee
cannot lock my door in time
at once
(isn’t it ironic)
I think to pray
this my prayer
flashing before my soul eyes
so you thought you could handle it
but things spin out of control
legitimate reasons
propelling you
just for now… just for him… just today
just for sanity’s sake
you rationalize
and too late decide
dear God, I have made a mistake
like time it creeps up on you
a viper
surprising you with a well earned fate
poisoned inside
a part of you died…
as you wonder
is it still too late?
dive into the abyss of lies
let your fear
convince you
and tomorrow…
you will be brave
for now
you justify
vindicate yourself
as the black hole
swallows you
and you close your eyes
all the while
indulging in white rabbit dreams
of what could have been
so run away
fly away
whatever it takes
butterflies fall blackened
trails of ashes…
… to ashes…
please save me

Yes, she threw it out to sea, hoping to bury it deep enough, to drown out the madness. But nothing was strong enough to keep the chaos of her undoing at bay.

Shores of the Manic Sea © by Agent7

While treading the waters of the nightmare, her silent scream wouldn’t dream of giving up.

My Heart Screams but No One Hears the Silence © by SimplyRed
beneath the lavender bush
a quiver of sorrow
drifts gently by
on Autumn breeze
her scent
unfamiliar to many
but blinded eyes
see all…..
surrounding lilac
my very being
yet disturbing
all my senses
not ignored only
gently placed
on pillows
of comfort
I give
my heart
my all
my life…
to others
but self
I glimpse
of youth
and serenity
ripples of
Wizard Lake
silent fantasy
my very
for what
enchants me
is foreign
to only

She could feel it as she pushed a littler harder. She could see it on the other side of blue.

The Depth of Blue © by berns

In midnight blue burning into dawn, she paints her guilt into a shadowbox for safekeeping.

I Due Kry © by Edibl3leper
Not tonight
or tomorrow.
Not mixed with the gin,
used to keep away sorrow.
Not ever again,
at least not in front of you.
In days gentle shadow,
tinged with warm orange taint.
I’ll hide the shame
with a self-conscious girl’s restraint.
One more time,
to keep you safe.
So now I lay me down to sleep
upon a guilty pleasure I use to paint
my waking into rest
morph my devil to a saint
For the last time,
because I cannot hold you here.
In such visions you lay upon my chest,
eyes closed
breathing slow
In such flights of fantasy,
my hands slick your chestnut hair
behind polish ears
that are cold and soft.
In these dreams,
I kiss you soft and motherly
I breathe you in
and taste you.
In these nightmares,
you love me
like I love you
maybe more.
In these undoings,
we love each other
not just
I you.
You saturate me, you plague me, and forever you will rape what could be perfect. The whole time hating me because I love you.

From the dust she was fashioned. From the dust she will blossom.

Primordial © by AlenkaCo

Primordial © by AlenkaCo
you emerged from the primordial ooze
with all the other life on earth
but your evolution had an interesting twist
that made you separate from all else
it’s not that you are more intelligent
don’t kid yourself about that
I’ve seen a raven make a tool from wire
to pull food out of a jar
and it’s not that you developed speech
I’ve listened to swallows converse
it’s something more intrinsic
that makes you strive beyond yourself
can it be that you alone are aware of death
you’ve searched for the meaning of life
in books and words
believed what others say
what if the answers are not out there at all
but inside your primordial soul
Even the desert, parched with crusted over layers of guilt and condemnation, cannot completely disconnect her from the nourishment of the embodiment.

You Belong © by Janis Zroback

How long will it take her to shake free of the bonds of self-doubt in order to release her true reflection?

Trying to Find Myself © by Christina Rodriguez
I feel scared…
Am I nervous…?
I can never tell…
My heart pounds…
Do I miss you…?
I need you to find me…
I feel you so lost and alone…
Will I ever go beyond this?
Apprehension has taken over…
I am just a blanket of terms now…
Where is the one I am searching for…?
I will never find you again…
If I did find you, I would get lost…

Rise up, o warrior spirit! Take back that which has be pillaged during that season of captivity. The hour is at hand.

The Warmonger © by virgosun

Pick up that torch lit by incarnate forerunners and illuminate the whole city with that impassioned spirit of the survival warrior.

Little Woman — Warrior Large © by dab
Left on an island overnight
by her own fucking family
With a man they knew molested
and her younger sisters three
She tore her favorite necklace from her neck
and threw it to the wind
Screaming at them in outraged disbelief
Adult, age ten
She sat up all night
White-knuckle grip on a knife
“If you come near them I’ll kill you”
She stared wildly into his eyes
Powerful girl warrior, much larger than her size
Her sisters slept and were okay
She… She remembers it like it was yesterday
She… She is my mother
and Warrior
and legacy
She gave me life, then wings
So I could fly, free
The gifts she gave are of magnitude so great
I can but ill describe the overflowing it creates
Of her strength, to this day, I remain utterly amazed

Sunday, 22 May 2011

That other skin - Sunday Features - 22/05/11

Today’s features are an exploration of ‘that other skin’; the skin that both protects and hides us. The skin between the different parts of our lives, our beliefs and our relationships both with ourselves and others. Here the artists and poets question these issues in a way that is profoundly moving and often challenging. They make us think.

The features were inspired by the wonderful image and poem by Alenka, below. Here she questions the meaning of organised religion and what it has meant for her as a woman.

that other skin by © Alenka Co

and then there’s religion ….. by © Alenka Co
and then there’s religion
that other skin
the one you’re wrapped in
after they dunk you in water
to wash away some sin
you hadn’t committed
but blackens your soul
with guilt for the suffering
of a saviour
you didn’t ask to save you
ahh, religion …..
that other skin ……
the wrap of community
of comfort, consolation,
of culture, of bliss,
explains why we’re here
where we’re going
lays down the rules
and if those rules lead to good lives
then I bow with respect
but, please ….
don’t threaten me with damnation
I know when I do wrong
and I suffer for that
in a hell of my own making
please …..
don’t tell me God tells you what I should do
He’s God
He can speak for Himself
please …
don’t presume to speak for Him,
don’t judge me in His name
don’t use Him to justify
what you want to do
please ….
don’t make God in your image
be an image of Him

The next image and poem are in contrast to each other, both exploring the concept of ‘beyond belief’ in different ways. MoonlightLover is expressing her views about our society and religion whilst Liesbeth has dedicated her beautiful image to her father in law who did not believe in an afterlife.

Come Tenderness by © Liesbeth

Beyond Belief by © MoonlightLover
At twilight in the eternal city
Here`s tragedy in life without no pity
Crowds of onlookers pray for peace
While pagans look for the Golden Fleece
But in the fountain of disbelief
There is generally little relief
They say the Holy Virgin Mother appears
Her blood and tears are souvenirs
Forgiveness and insanity matted in her hair
It’s short walk across to St Peters Square
The papal legacy hidden torture of despair
You can smell the stench of guilt in the air
Cherubs with evil smiles
Hang from shops for miles and miles
And priests that have never been put on trial
They stand in the aisle with a pedo-smile
Suffer in silence little children
Just follow us on our holier than thou pilgrim
Coins thrown into the Trevi fountain
Could never maketh a golden mountain
There is no true God
The Papal state is run by the mob
So say whatever you want to say
Heathens know that Sex and Money rule the day

I placed the following image and poem together as they both spoke loudly to the viewer, both exploring the concept of speech and communication, both being inherently engaged with the concept of truth.

Seeing Red by © Janis Zroback

VOICE: What Will You Spread Today? by © Kristin Reynolds
Have you ever noticed how strange
the human voice is?
Be it spoken, written
or drawn—
rendered as any medium meant
to carry said strange human voice?
How it stands apart
as the exception to the expression
of every single
impression of man?
Voice is the perfect programming tool
for expressing either truth
or lies.
It is a singular tool for man’s possible evolution;
or subsequent immanent failure to become.
To be.
Even more than that:
it is a means by which to exponentially further either
the sun,
like a Buddha in the shape of a bird
busting out from the chest;
or create a sucking black hole
of nursing idle dis-ease
feeding inside of the self:
fully erect and holding,
it’s teeth like lucky treasure found
in a tomb made of buttery meat.
Voice is meant to be heard!
To spread what it sees inside of itself,
Cancer or Light:
what will you spread
with your most strange
and glorious gift?

I love the following image and poem, dealing with the meaning of togetherness and friendship, such important concepts for us women.

The Bird Watchers by © Cynthia Lund Torroll

A Better Letter by © mermanda
A better letter
to a dear friend
one that says more than
“Hey, how ya been?”
something from my heart
hidden deep within
The world is full of
and sin
people who look outside
and never question
why is the world this way?
we all need to wash it away
start fresh with a new day
let the sun burn away evil
and at night
let the stars refresh our souls
still giving us light
This I promise you
as a true friend
one that will never leave you
hanging in the wind
that when the rain falls
and you feel cold
when life feels like
its loosing its ground
like your spinning around and around
not feeling bold
and can’t hear a sound
I will reach out
stop the blurry world from
from going round
umbrella in hand
give you my hand
stop your rain from falling
and make you understand
that when darkness falls
I will protect you from it all
reach inside
suffocate your fears
strangle them with my tears
powerful they are
my pain makes you better
breaking your fall
I’m reading your thoughts
now your seeing clearer
rage starts to die
can sense it getting cleaner
heart beat is stronger
hear it beating slower
sweet rhythm it thumps
My will is working
this power to feel
must be for something
rather than sit inside
and be for nothing
if it saves some
who cares about myself
what I do
who I am
you’ve seen it all
is this the end
or this my true call?
save the souls
heal the meak
then in the end
feeling weak
I would do it all again
to know your ok
sacrifice myself
to make your pain go away
a true friend does this
again and again
until the end of days
until my time has ended
and to float away in the wind

Now to the theme of real skin – and what ageing makes us feel. Here we have a beautiful image and poem celebrating growing older.

Acceptance by © madworld

Age is Not Just a Number by © RhythmImpulse
Lets unravel the ribbon of time,
Loosen its noose around our necks
And slip back to the age
When we napped behind
The ribcages of silken clouds.
We can swing from candy-striped vines,
Soaring until the vast skies embrace us
And filter our veins with the same
Robin’s egg blue that powders its cheeks,
So that way
When the rope tightens and our skin sags,
When the clock screeches and
The sunlight devours our vision,
We will bleed sapphires instead of rubies.

The final image and poem questions the stereotypes that we face on a daily basis. Both are so strong and powerful. I love them both

Stereotypes by © Beth Consetta Rubel

No Heroines by © Sybille Sterk
Skinny girls in skinny skirts
Pouting for the camera
Showing off size zero figures
With not a word to say
Hard-working mums in sensible shoes
Hiding behind big bags
Juggling family and job
Ever reduced to the sidelines
Celebrities with big boobs
Posing for their audience
Spouting gibberish
Splattered on today’s news
Clever lawyers and doctors
Doing their jobs every day
Saving lives, putting away criminals
Supporting actors not lead roles
Politicians shaking their locks
Mouthing approved policies
In businesslike suits
Mostly unheard by the masses
Where are the heroines
Showing girls of today
To aim for the sky
And take no less
Than all that could be theirs
Where are the role models
Showing the girls of tomorrow
That their bodies are theirs
That make-up doesn’t make the woman
And size zero is just nothing at all
Where are the leaders
Showing our daughters
To be whoever they want to be
To hold on to their dreams
And to never ever let go


PS. The features are posted on the blog first this week as Anna is away for the weekend, they'll be posted on Redbubble tomorrow. :-)

Wednesday, 18 May 2011

Eclectic - All That We Are - Midweek Features - 18/05/2010

Today, rather than let myself be tied down to a theme, I wanted to show the variety of all that we are here on Pink Panther. The depth and the many topics and subjects covered by the art and writing submitted is amazing and these features are a celebration of all the different things that matter to us. :-)

From those of us struggling to comply with the demands to fit in…

Influenced by © MotleyChloe

To those who struggle with what’s on the inside…

Alas, I am the Moon by © Debi Peralta

If I were the Sun
Giver of light and life
Warming the Earth and melting the ice of Winter
Calling deep into the soil to open its pores and make way for its bounty
Oh I would do so much more
My light would not cause humankind to turn away
But would bring new sight to the blind of mind
Giving light to consciousness
Opening portals to vistas of peace and equality
But I am relegated to stalk the night
Following obediently across the sky
The wicked temptress am I
Making mad the minds of men in my fullness
At times not even visible
Chased to the horizon by the Sun
Alas, I am the Moon

The demands society makes and forces upon us, which can leave us dispirited and hopeless…

Self Portrait by © Beth Consetta Rubel

The lies society tells us and expects us to believe…

Beyond Belief ( Collaboration with Charlie The Tramp ) by © MoonlightLover
At twilight in the eternal city
Here`s tragedy in life without no pity
Crowds of onlookers pray for peace
While pagans look for the Golden Fleece
But in the fountain of disbelief
There is generally little relief
They say the Holy Virgin Mother appears
Her blood and tears are souvenirs
Forgiveness and insanity matted in her hair
It’s short walk across to St Peters Square
The papal legacy hidden torture of despair
You can smell the stench of guilt in the air
Cherubs with evil smiles
Hang from shops for miles and miles
And priests that have never been put on trial
They stand in the aisle with a pedo-smile
Suffer in silence little children
Just follow us on our holier than thou pilgrim
Coins thrown into the Trevi fountain
Could never maketh a golden mountain
There is no true God
The Papal state is run by the mob
So say whatever you want to say
Heathens know that Sex and Money rule the day

And the lies we tell to hide how we feel inside…

Broken B&W by © michellerena

The vulnerability we cannot bear to show on the outside because we’re afraid of rejection…

Bipolar ©— by © Eastsider
I know at times I said things,
that made you feel so sad.
The last thing I ever wanted to do,
was make you feel so bad.
I know my moods would change,
you just couldn’t understand.
Even when I was angry,
I would hope you’d take my hand.
There are parts of my past,
I really must let go.
Once I learn to bury it,
I shall be able to grow.
I always have been honest,
I never told a lie.
There’s just one thing about me,
I always tried to hide.
I have to take medicine,
which helps to make me well.
I took myself off of them,
it made your life pure hell.
I tried so hard to tell you,
that I have a disease,
it’s name is called bipolar
I hope you forgive me please!

The misconceptions people have of us because of our age or gender…

Along, Came A Spider… by © Agent7

The need to heal and help…

Playing House by © Jenifer DeBellis

(click here to read the poem properly)

The love we feel for each other...

Hey Sista! by © Nicolette Thain

And the way we hurt each other instead of being there for one another…

sticks and stones ….. by © Alenka Co
When I was little I was told
that sticks and stones may break my bones
but words will never hurt me
yet words can stab the heart, my friend,
incite fear and hate and suspicion …..
When I was older I was told
the pen is mightier than the sword
but pens run out of ink, my friend,
and all the words that were ever writ
will never bring back the dead
and yet ….
words can heal,
soothe a grieving heart,
reach out to the lonely soul
share the pain we cannot bear alone
express the love we feel for one another

sticks and stones …..
by Alenka Co

The way we feel when love has gone…

she. by © Mushda

And the need for each other…

Fragments of the falling sky by © April Mansilla
Look up the sky is falling…
Will you hold it up for me just today, maybe tomorrow for the rest of the life of this depression
Will you be everything I love; my stars and warm water everything that just seems out of
Reach today.
I Looked in the mirror and watched the illness in my eyes
The flicking images of the life of me.
Many of you live in there close to my heart
Of course
Heart work please
I close my eyes waiting for the
Tap tap
I am here
You are alive again
And the melancholy moves like rain
my tears thunder
My veins light up and crack
Is this what it is meant to be living
All I wanted was to be the flip side of the leaf
The side that catches the sun and illuminates
Before the storm
Not this shell who breathes with down set eyes
And a hand over her mouth
Run Wake up from those dreams and take refuge
And it fooled me for a second
When I rested my head against the cool window
The tap tap
Of rain
I hear the growl from the heavens
I done…
Will you take my steps where my mind needs to go?
Will you run fast for me from the dark and the caged beliefs?
Because everything just seems out of reach today
Don’t give up on me
There is so much amazing art and writing here in the group. Be proud of yourselves and congratulations to all the artists and writers featured. :-)

Monday, 16 May 2011

In Dreams Exposed - Sunday Features, 15/05/2011

Mixed in between the layers of fear, frustration, and despair is a spirit longing to dance in the open air. Caged somewhere within the walls of a diaphragm is a voice waiting to be released from its captivity. Lodged somewhere in a neglected corner of a heart is a bleeding desire to pour out love and receive it back tenfold. Asleep upon the pillow tops of imaginations is a dream sitting in the wings, waiting for its stage directions. And perched atop these intricate layers is the woman peering out through curios eyes, wondering how and where she fits into it all.
This week’s features are a wonderful representation of the phases of reflection and contemplation women find themselves experiencing within a moment, a day, a week, a lifetime. It’s an endless cycle of fruitful meditation — a journey of healing, discovery, and revelation. May we all draw encouragement and strength from these testimonies and expressions translated into beautiful imagery.
Silence can be maddening. How long can she hide behind the mask before the volatile emotions find a way out?

Self Portrait 06 — Fear and Anger by © Christina Rodriguez

There’s always the risk that these repressed emotions will stagnate if left to their own devices
for too long. And indifference is a realm of the ugliest proportions.

Indifference by © callmejulia
Somewhere between Eden and the City we lost ourselves;
Compassion is eroding.
It is being washed away by humans who lack humanity.
Worse than feral animals
They are machines made of gears and greed
Instead of heart and thought.
This toxic stream of mankind is eroding my mountain being
Creating a schism within me.
Slowly, I can feel my heart begin to turn instead of beat.
I am becoming a part of this ill-oiled machine.

Just take a look around the next time the waters of doubt and isolation creep up around you;
you may be surprised to discovery you were never alone in your drowning.

The Same Deep Water As You by © Heather King

Let the walls of our feuding hearts and minds in ruins come down lest we perish
altogether under the sleeping dream.

Love among the Ruins by © MoonlightLover
We lived and breathed in ghetto shacks
Living with the stray cats
In Love in the eternal city
In Love among the filth and gritty
In the forum we slept
In the Coliseum we wept
a pair of star crossed lovers
freezing under the covers
The Moon is blue
and so are you
you have never been so beautiful
The Gods rue over our misspent youth
for we are the Roman Romeo and Juliet
Now is our moment of truth
No feuding houses of Montague and Capulet here
We are just a hapless pair living in perpetual fear
The world’s a stage and we its acting fools
Stumbling over man-made rules
This is Shakespeare’s urban hangout
Where the streets are a sellout
Lying in the gutters and through the bars
staring up at the moon and the stars
The pope maybe sleeping
He can’t hear our weeping
His Vatican bank
is just another high class skank
But just one more fix
Will do the trick
Take this and you’ll feel better
And I will soon join you in the nether
Juliet you look so serene
You and I will forever dream

That’s right, peel back the layers of those buried dreams… Do you see her? Although the battle rages,
she’s found enough courage to peek out from what the world has dubbed as ruins.

Underneath by © unbeknown

Those dreams must be uncovered as sometimes those very dreams are the only things that can refresh a weary soul.

Sometimes… You Feel… by © Karo (caroline) Evans
“Sometimes, you feel, that death can be so sweet!
Sometimes you want to envelop yourself into a blanket ,weaved by threads of dreams….and fly….
Above the mountains and the oceans!,
You feel sorrow,
Absorbing you into a strange valse!
Where is Peace felt and obtained?
Can your soul reach that inner joy and satisfaction!
Where, you receive the gift of life divine!
That can dry your tears away,
That can give you a new purpose!
When your eyes are looking to the heavens,
Reaching out for the only help,
That can refresh your soul!

And it only takes a moment to reach up and catch those dreams before they float into some else’s reality.

Parachute by © nanaris

Day in and day out, the dreams they come and then they go, but they’re always there
like the ancient trees, whispering their promises.

The Story Tree by © dab
The trees are standing there staring at me
they’re whispering round
300 years……. 400 years……..
six hundred years
(the train is speeding me through
the sub-

how many somersaults they watch tumble
as eyes watch their leaves
To the ground
Day: in
Day: out
a story’s spring
a story falls

just a brief interlude
just a brief interlude
before the return
of spring

There’s a reminder that often goes unheeded to simply be still and listen to the trees in all their ancient wisdom.

Sticks and Stones by © Alenka Co

For those trees are longing to pass on the secrets about life and love and happiness.

The Secret’s Out by © Unique-Mystique
With the wind so colourful
The trees sway within the breeze
And I hear your heart beating
Like now, your secrets out
It’s protruding louder as the day progresses
With the smell of your essence
It’s an embraceful touch
To finally mutter these sweet words
“I Love You so very much”.

Now exposed is the wisdom of ancient dreams (and a few disappointments hiding in the shadows,yes),
but the delighted memories of cherished achievements overshadow them.

The Bright Shadows of My Old Schoolroom by © Judy Jones

And what fills the air when all the walls have come down? When all the secrets have been shown the light?
Love does, in all it’s radiant glory and spendour, it pours forth and lights the night sky.

bittersweet and beautiful by © autumnwind.
etched deep within me
she is the bright
white yellow
of ethereal beauty
moments in time
the delicate power
of lilac’s scent
permeate the breath of her
the sea of golden grasses
own her heart
as the winds command
their ballet and song
which she consumes
so dreamily drawn
her pain
her gift
her tears
her words

her joy
the world

I think of numbers
and falling stars
the queen of magic
I think of eight…
and this year
maybe for many before
I hold her tight
we share
a sacred cave
of cold and dark
at times…
the light
(often hers she shines so bright)
when there is whisper
in the winds
my hairs stand on end
to spin a spirit dance
of knowing…
feeling you strongly today
my sister
I have always missed you
stay close
to beautiful promises
will be waiting for you…
as I forever recall
and hold onto your words

“meet me in the light…”

The message behind the image... Sunday Features 8/5/11

I have chosen the features this week for their impact and the strong messages they contain. We keep asking for all art to be accompanied by a feminist message. This is not done to be demanding or difficult but in order for the work to be appreciated to the full – and of course, to enable others to think about the feminist issues.

I invite you to view these images first, and then see if your understanding changes or improves when you read the messages below each one

For me, the message adds a whole other dimension to the works. Some are very short, others detailed whilst others have poems with them to explain. However it has been done these images and messages pack a powerful punch.

Congratulations to you all.

Take Me For Who I Am by © Karen Clark 

"Take me for who I am. Not for who you want me to be."

to walk in your shoes by © Alenka Co (image and writing)

"to show our support
we put on your head-scarf
and we tried to walk in your shoes for one day
for you had been abused, insulted,
spat upon for wearing a head-scarf
a head-scarf that showed devotion to your faith
and respect for your tradition
and we had a faith too
a faith that said you could do this
that this was a freedom you were entitled to
and to show our respect for your faith and tradition
but mostly to show our respect for you
we wore your headscarf that day
and that day we tried to walk in your shoes"

"After September 2001, hate was unleashed on innocents. Patriotism was used as an excuse for racism. This hate took many forms. It still does today."

Masking the truth by © TamLocke

"A mask is worn by victim and abuser alike. To the outside world all will appear as it should… but no one knows what goes on behind closed doors.
It is time to toss the mask aside and speak out against Domestic Violence in all its shapes and forms.
Its time to tell the ugly truth.
Shout it if you have to.
It needs to be heard."

The Combined Maze…Violet by © Janis Zroback

"In Agatha Christie’s Memoirs she mentioned that "The Combined Maze" was one of her favourite books…it is certainly one of mine…
It was written by May Sinclair, one of my favourite novelists of the early 20th century…
Sinclair was a popular British writer who wrote about two dozen novels, short stories and poetry. She was an active suffragist, and member of the Woman Writers’ Suffrage League.
She was also a significant critic, in the area of modernist poetry and prose; the literary term ‘stream of consciousness’ is attributed to her…wiki
In the book, a bittersweet tale, Violet, described by her own father as one who "was that way" was a young woman determined to get everything life offered, including her friends lovers…as a result in the common parlance of the day she "went to the bad" and became one with the night.."

"This tiny portrait is my imagined interpretation of Violet after she left Ranny and was lost to her friends"

Speak no evil, see no evil, hear no evil… Do nothing? by © Berns

"What happens when we don’t speak up ? When we refuse to ‘see’ whats going on around us ? When we refuse to speak out ?"

Read My Lips by © Sybille Sterk

Just Don’t by © Sybille Sterk
Don’t put me in a cage
Don’t slide me in a drawer
Don’t label me
Don’t shut me in a box.
Don’t cast me as a bitch
Don’t call me a witch
Don’t name me Jezebel
Don’t see me as the icy queen.

Don’t adore me as a goddess
Don’t admire me as a princess
Don’t fall at my feet
Don’t crawl in front of me.
Don’t put me in a cage
Don’t slide me in a drawer
Don’t label me
Don’t shut me in a box.
I am Rosie Real
and right here in front of you
not one thing or the other
just me as I am and want to be.

I am Rosie Real
and not just a thing to blame
for your misfortune
or ill conceived ideas.

I am Rosie Real
just full of contradictions
I am just the way
I am supposed to be.

Don’t put me in a cage
Don’t slide me in a drawer
Don’t label me
Don’t shut me in a box.

Don’t dare.

Take Me Over… by © Christina Rodriguez

"Hiding behing a mask…my life story…."

Castration by © Dokmai

"One can die because of frustration.
This is a very personal piece. This is a self-portrait.
My right hand is clutching around my neck. The message is clear: I’m suffocating myself, symbolically of course. Many decisions we take every day bring us to a condition of frustration and we may be aware of this but we won’t do anything about this.
My left hand is stabbing my bosom and my heart. This has a double meaning: on one side this is a castration, the refusal of gender identification. Lately I feel more and more this identification as a burden. I see many women around me bound to their roles, because of their biological sex. The knife is also stabbing my heart, this is obviously strictly personal, but I think other people can relate to this symbolically.
The flowers are camellias, they’re are the symbol of the sudden end of blooming life. I feel my youth is coming to an end and that I have to decide now what kind of person I want to be.
The moon is a feminine symbol. It embraces me, protecting me in some way but also challenging me. It is not a full moon, because I still don’t feel completely aware of my womanhood. At first I wanted it to be waxing, because of the positive meaning, but than I thought that what I actually want is to explore the hidden side of the dark moon, what I want right now is a neutrality without definition, that’s why I cut my hair."

Self Portrait: Into the Light by © Jenifer DeBellis (image and poem)

"She takes it all in,
these fragments of a world
she must face head on.
She watches, and sees
through a scope
now unfogging and becoming
clear. Can she see past
the fear to step all the way
into the light? She might
be ready, but can’t I just
keep her safe a little longer?"

Self Portrait, Abstract Sculpture by © Christina Rodriguez

"A self portrait, my daughters and I…A very emotional piece for me depicting the stress I often feel as a struggling mom. Often feeling bounded, emotionless to all except my children…but despite it all my children are always with me, they are my inspiration for all I do…
The pink fleshy part at the bottom, representing my cesarean I had with both my children…very traumatic experience for me, each operation took almost a year to heal from…"

dress, 2011 by © Thelma Van Rensburg

"This work signifies the boxes that woman are placed in since time began. The barbie head, perfume bottle, measuring tape and dress patterning refers to the box used to do this."

Like A Broken Doll by © MotleyChloe

"older piece again, one of a series on vanity..."

A Journey toward Freedom -- May 2011 Feature Artist and Poet, unbeknown/Jakki Savage

unbeknown/Jakki Savage

PPM’s May 2011 Feature Artist and Poet is Jakki Savage/unbeknown. There is something vulnerable about Jakki’s artistic interpretations, as well as the scope that she views the world through. Her work is emotively charged and penetrates even the toughest skin in order to touch the soul. The depth within her art and writing could only have been birthed through tragedies overcome by a conquering spirit. There’s a sense of honour a reader experiences in being welcomed into her imaginative world to witness her unfold her broken and neglected wings and learn how to fly.
She is a survivor, a mighty conqueror, and she has something worth celebrating: her quest for personal freedom. Please join me in celebrating the wonderful creations of Jakki/unbeknown.

I am not an artist or a writer by trade. I am a 34 year old mother of one and a wife. My occupational roots are within education delivery and nurturing emotional literacy. Professionally trained as a preschool teacher and more recently within social work, I enjoy working with children, young people and adults alike. I want to make a difference in the quality of people’s lives.
As a woman, I feel driven to be the woman I want to be, not a prefab of society’s molding. I am a passionate advocate for equality for women and I have a determination to work hard to contribute to the lives of other women through my daily work. I have a strong moral compass and embrace a “can do” attitude when anything is placed in front of me, I joined Redbubble to do just that: develop something that has always been there, something that I have put aside due to a lack of self belief. I’m on a journey to re-find my road and I heartily applaud other women for expressing their strength and femininity through art. I would always want to raise issues of equality and injustice against women within my work.
The Redbubble community has come to know me as Unbeknown, my real name is Jakki. Unbeknown says how I feel about myself at this point in my life looking back. It marks a line in the sand between what I have been and what I want to become, 2011 onward. I joined this wonderful community in January this year and stated on my profile that “I am but no means an artist, I write to heal, art is my release”. The last message from my late sister was that she wanted me to live, to be understood and to stay upon my path. So here I am: on that path, living and trying to be understood.
I have always had a creative mind, just never truly embraced it enough to do it regularly. I clearly remember my influence to be creative back then/ it was my elder brother who sat by his draught board day and night, turning the lead from a tidy row of pencils into something magnificent on paper. I studied art at secondary school and got great grades for my work, but life took over and the passion I had was quashed, trampled with an inability to cope with my home life. Lately, I have had a few quirky artistic projects; video djing events, a tv advert, made a set of curtains for HRH Prince Andrew to open, a steam punk themed scenery set and eight magnificent gravestones for a Halloween event. I think all these things inspired me to get back into a little more art.

My art means the world to me, it is the most powerful tool I possess to keep myself in a straight line, moving forward. I find it liberating. Being able to use my art to express myself is an important journey I feel the need to take through art, it is the only thing I have that allows me to be fully emotionally literate. Every piece of art I create is drenched in my own need for emotive release, the need to express thoughts and feelings that in reality I am struggling to come to terms with. It’s my way of circumventing the “surreptitious existence” that I have had to know.

I want to be counted now, to feel and to be felt, to speak and be heard and using art as a tool for this is working. I have a voice that I did not have before. I am no longer drowning in a vast pool of pent up emotions. I have a release mechanism that is working for me.

I have had a difficult path up until now. In the last two years I have faced difficult challenges, some of them chosen, some of them not. I have had two operations, one for an eptopic pregnancy and fallopian removal on one side, and another to remove a tumor and an ovary on the other. I have lost my dear sister to suicide in November last year. I also brought my father to justice for historic child sexual abuse. I have lost family members through the latter whom refuse to accept the truth and reality of what he did. All of this feeds into my work, my art is my story, my pain and it is emotional therapy for me — an important journey I must take to heal.

I adore the work of Georgia O’Keeffe, an influential woman of incredible strength. An American modernist, renowned for her unique abstract work, conveying emotions through simple objects she painted. She wanted her art to be felt and to be understood for its step away from literal form. For me she serves as an inspiration for layering meaning within art, her ability to convey depth and femininity was astounding. We have a large print of ‘Grey Line with Black, Blue and Yellow’ at home, a painting she is renowned for, wonderfully symbolic of her method. I carry two quotes with me from her that resonate with me “I feel there is something unexplained about women that only a woman can explore” and “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life- and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do”

My dream is to heal myself; to be able to have one less day of sadness; to stop the pain my life has inherently become to this point and flourish, as a woman in my own right; to be able to paint happy things and brighter times. I would love to create a book for children and women who have gone through similar circumstances using my poetry and art. One day, I might just do that.

Yikes this is so hard… I may want to add to this… but here’s what I have if its enough:

Solace (featured below)
– this was a challenging piece that I wanted so much to get right. It was for my brother, although he will probably never see it. But I wanted to let him know that I was proud of him.

Bullet 21 eleven 10 (featured below)
– because it took me two months to write one word about my sister, this was for her and in all of her beauty I could not write about her, only the pain that was left behind when she died last year.

A COLLECTION OF ART AND POETRYAll work in this collection and publication rights belong to Jakki Savage ©

A Personal Journey
There is a system that fails in its trying because it loses sight of the things shoved to the bottom of the carry on bag.
But this system cannot confine a wounded spirit forever.

The day wore an eerie mask,
You knocked upon the door.
Stood up at my window,
My eyes drew upon the car door.
Still open as you had left it ajar,
A needed escape.
Quickly scuffle backwards,
No noise you make.
It was then you vanished,
The road laid bare.
I didn’t leave my window,
Felt safer up here, didn’t dare.
A name called command,
Came from down the stairs.
A caring voice, not one to fear,
All of your belongings are here.
A long walk down,
Every step wearing my frown.
My eyes met her smiling face
Heart sunken down.
This is what my life had become,
One, solitary black bag.
Is that it I said?
Looking around the hall,
Yes, she said, that’s all.
Your father came and brought you them,
Have a look and see.
That is all my stuff I thought?
Not one of my siblings to see me?
One solitary black bag,
No need for a ‘handle with care’ label
Clothes stuffed, not packed for me.
The sum of what I was worth to them
In 1993.

There’s a world where aborted dreams ascend. A safe world in heavenly realms where open arms of healing
are waiting to embrace the brokenness and keep the demons at bay.

Fractured Protection

There’s a voice trapped within the repressed folds of a soul, that unless unleashed will be the very poison
that slowly kills a spirit destined to be vibrant and alive.

Broken Silence
Broken silence.
Seeping out like poison through my throbbing veins.
This was never about any other gain.
Peace sought, the right to live
Happy, without unwanted tears.
Peace sought.
A freedom filled soul.
Bursting to be free, from wretched memory.
Tipping out
Pent up fear, built over lonely years.
Moving on
My gain, my desire
Understanding I never was afforded
Broken silence through deepened pain
My only gain.
Healing of childhood blisters begun.
Deepened pain
You made me relive again.
Keeps you away from here
I have in the end, made no gain.

There is something to be said about eyes that speak volumes without uttering a single word.

How Dare You…

There’s a space that if a conquering spirit digs deep enough, she will uncover a will strong enough to stand tall,
to stand proud. An inner space of courage where shame and guilt do not reside.

Face the Critics
Stand tall
Stand proud
Head up, Shout loud…
Out the monster,
Out his lies.
Stand tall
Stand proud
Head up, Shout loud..
Rid the shame
Rid the guilt.
Stand tall
Stand proud
Head up, Shout loud..
Tell the world
Tell them all.
Stand tall
Stand proud
Head up, Shout loud..
Empty the pain
Empty heart again.

There’s a place within a grieving soul that longs to come out of hiding. A place where release from the layers
of bondage is the first step in revealing and recovering the fragments for attaining wholeness and a healthy self.


There is a single defining moment when simply stepping out despite the fear is the face of bravery that will crumble the giants blocking the way to the promise land.

You engage me sturdy
Head on
Outstretched bright.
Silence yearning
Show fists with all your might.
I charge forth
With brutal barge
I don’t take flight.
Challenged heavy
I have the courage to fight,
I shall not falter
Nor tumble down
For hollow plight.
My freedom
I will hold on to this tight.
Yearning stance
Bound by thrust
Not to your delight.
I’ll stand my ground
I will have my right.

There is a time to be still and a time to move to action, and a time to be silent and a time to move mountains with a single command.

Murdered Sentiments

There are marionette strings that won’t hold the weight of the green-eyed monsters indefinitely.
And once they have been cut, the final curtain will fall.

Beautifully Orchestrated Malice
Like a conductor beautifully crafting her symphony;
Face scorned
My hatred for her ignites
Her poison soaked baton
Strikes down
Blistering hand
Each stroke exaggerated, a destructive cacophony
Leading her disciples
Blinded Minds
My pity for them surfaces
Spinning in the air beautifully
Tilted head
Embracing assumed glory
Green eyes glow
Destructive envy of a concrete heart
Baton down with sin driven satisfaction
Strings broken
Fellows drop silently
Masterpiece Woven.

There is a bottle that cannot contain the screams forever. It’s bubbling and brimming over with the hurts
that must be poured out in order for the healing to flow freely.

Juncture 31

There is a room deep within the chambers of a heart that harvests the pain of memories that will never fade into nothing.
Yet there is a room that must be discovered in order to dislodge the knife butchering a mind unable to forget.

Bullet 21.Eleven.10
There’s a bullet in my heart
Lodged in
Causing me mind-bending pain.
Can’t seem to quite
squeeze hard enough
To stem
Excruciating pain.
Feels like someone
Is slowly ripping out the staples
I used to bind my heart.
Hold it altogether
Exploding heart.
Cannot beat in time
Need to stop the crushing
Chronic ache
Like distorted gabber
Arrhythmias surface wide.
Protruding punctures
Exacerbate bleeds.
Blood vessels sliced.
And ventricles oozing leaks.
Electrical conduction is in overdrive.
There’s a bullet in my heart
Lodged in
Causing me mind bending pain
Can’t seem to quite
Squeeze hard enough
To stem
Excruciating pain.

There’s a secret passage that leads to freedom, a path that leads to the purging of unwelcome garbage cluttering
a mind and hindering a spirit worthy of flight.

Erasing the Ingrained