Sunday Features - The Perfect Woman - Our Bodies - Ourselves - 19/06/11

The Perfect Woman.. Our Bodies, Ourselves…
Today’s features are centered around the theme of the perfect body. We take a look at our bodies and ourselves. We look at what we do to them, how we value them and how they are so often presented by the media. The images are a rich tapestry of colour, texture and form, celebrating our differences and our similarities. All are reaching out with love and compassion to our sisters.
Today’s features were inspired by the wonderful image from Venus Oak, whose witty and poignant image draws us into the world of the media, where the quest for the perfect body has turned our young women into skeletal waifs, and yet has convinced so many of us that we need to be size zero and yet have big booby curves. Venus’ image convinces me that I am OK as I am.

The Perfect Woman © VenusOak



Girl With Pea
I love this image by Sybille along with the powerful message that accompanies it.
The young woman, looking innocently seductive, is in fact trying to combat the very stereotypes that the image portrays. She has been brought up to believe in the fairy story role models, as we all were, but is now seeking to find her inner strength. Sybille has also made a link with the thorny issue of mother/daughter relationships. We see the mother in the photo frame at the bottom left of the image, and her expression says it all.
Sybille explains…
“Everyone must know by now how much I love fairy tales and how much I hate the way women are depicted in them – unlikely role models for our daughters. The Princess and the Pea seems to be one of the worst of them – I ask you, a girl chosen to be the future queen because she looks pretty after having been out in a storm and because a pea hidden under her mattresses makes her bruise… Hmmm.
Well, this is her daughter, struck by the same ‘pea affliction’ she decided she was having none of it, so now she’s attempting to desensitise herself by surrounding herself with peas, hoping to cure the disease… Sybille Sterk
However this is also an image about mothers and daughters and the need to rebel against your mother and all she stands for – Princess of the Pea’s portrait can be seen standing in the corner looking with surprise and disapproval at her daughter’s shenanigans."

Girl With Pea © Sybille Sterk


Accolade
This poignant image speaks volumes about the way in which which we and the media treat our celebrities. We place them on pedestals, knowing almost nothing about who they really are. We revere them for their ‘beauty’ and then subsequently let them fall when another comes along. The poignant expression on the woman’s face reveals the truth of what she is feeling.
“Every day I see idols raised, idols with feet of clay….they stand before us, true identities masked…
We put them there, we heap praise, gold, glory, raise them high, then turn our backs when a new idol arises…“vanished in the sun upon the sands, worshipped a space, then left to be dispraised”…. it’s a hollow life…” Janis Zroback

Accolade… © Janis Zroback

 

If you love me – love me whole
Madelines lovely image and accompanying poem speaks to us of the need to be loved for the totality who we are, rather than for what we look like. It adds to the theme that is running throughout the features. We do not want to be idols, princesses, of media models, just simply ourselves.
“if you love me, love me whole
not light or shadow areas …
If you love me, love me black
and white. And gray and green and blond,
and mixed …
Love me day,
love me night …
And early in the open window!
If I want, I do not cut:
Love me all … Or do not love me"
Dulce María Loinaz

If you love me, love me whole…© Madalena Lobao-Tello





The Monstrous Feminine
All of Thelma’s work deals with the way in which women are perceived. Her work is challenging and thought-provoking. She speaks of our bodies being valued for their individual components. This, and the need for us to be valued in our entirety, shines through everything she does.
“In science so called monsters and freaks were identified, used for experiments, explained and controlled through forms of knowledge which normalized ‘correct’ or ‘proper’ bodies.
That natural science defined monsters in this way suggests the final critical link to the construction of the category of woman in traditional western knowledge systems operating through binary divisions of ‘self from ’other’.” Thelma Van Rensberg

The monstrous feminine, 2011©

Thelma Van Rensburg

 

Ready to Start This delightful image from callmejulia, is a heartwarming celebration of what is on the inside, rather than the outside. Here Julia is claiming the right to enjoy and promote her artistic and creative self. There is a real sense of self enlightenment here.
“This represents my willingness to put myself, my artistic self, out there.”callmejulia

Ready to Start © callmejulia


 

Geisha Tammera’s beautiful image portrays so well the stylised life of a Geisha. In much of the literature, Geishas were romanticised, but the reality of their lives was very different. They were revered for their bodies and appearance, never for themselves. Every action was proscribed for them. They were little more than highly paid sex slaves. Tammera is so strong with her wish to bring important social and feminist issues to our attention. Thank you Tammera.
“For sexual enjoyment and romantic attachment, men did not go to their wives, but to courtesans. Walled-in pleasure quarters were built in the 16th century, and in 1617 the shogunate designated “pleasure quarters”, outside of which prostitution would be illegal, and within which “yūjo” (“play women”) would be classified and licensed”.




Beyond The mask
This haunting image by Edibl3leper makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. You must read the whole commentary as it is a total delight. Wanting to stave off the ageing process and beautify herself, she gave herself a cucumber face mask, and this is the image she saw of herself when she looked in the mirror. I particularly loved the openness and honesty of her words, but also the strength of her final paragraph.
“That is a perfect analogy for my feminism, my personal female identity. Raised with feminine examples I adored while I simultaneously feared becoming some of those same things myself. As an adult, and as a young woman I found myself by embracing something I was unsure and uneasy about becoming, by making it a little prettier to look at. We all get by as we can, one day, one picture, one poem at a time.” edibl3leper

Beyond the Mask © Edibl3leper

Education I love this image, with its bold colours and deliberate simplicty. It is a celebration of all we believe as feminists and women.
“This series deals with the conundrum of trying to simplify life in the Western world where the dominant discourse tells us more is more, not less is more.
This body of work is a homage to diversity, human rights, alternate lifestyles, gender equality, class equality, race equality, equal opportunity and ultimately – life." Kristen Haddon

Education © Kristen Hadden

 

Extrinsic Silence
This is one of the most shocking and powerful images raging about physical abuse that I have seen. It shouts out that our bodies are our own and that abuse is not acceptable. It speaks of shame and guilt, but ultimately Heather’s strength and courage shine through.
“This is what happens when you bottle up secrets and truths, keeping everything locked within. When one becomes brave enough to ‘speak’ sometimes to others your words appear as hieroglyphics. thus, removing the mouth. As a women, it’s taught from early on to not speak our mind, thoughts, desires, not to rock the boat, not to call the evil doers on their crime. No more.
This photograph is very dear to my heart. i had to keep secrets in for such a long time. this photo was taken directly after physical abuse towards a woman. terrified to ‘speak’ the truth…i faced that fear….eventually."

extrinsic silence © Heather King




Free at Last
I love the exuberance that shines through all of Lis’ art, and this one brought a huge smile to my face. We see the woman celebrating freedom, dancing with joy and rejoicing in being. It is a delight.
’Free at last ,she dances,
no more ties that bind.
no buttons being pushed.
A wild woman now filled with endless joy!
See her leap round and round,
chains are gone,
no thumbs to numb,
she,s free , happy herself she found!
by eoconnor

Free at Last – a woman’s Bliss © eoconnor
 

Survivor Finally, we celebrate woman as a survivor with this striking image by Rosy H. Rosy’s words say all there is to say…..
For all those who struggle and continue to survive against all odds.
She’s strong, she’s also vulnerable. She’s tough, she’s also tender and been hurt.
She’s ‘Woman’ Rosy H

Survivor © Rosy H

 

Members supporting members Please take a few minutes to congratulate our artists – it does not take long and it means so much. xx
Anna, Sybille and Jenifer

Transcendence - The Ways We Change - Midweek Features 15/06/2011

Something that is much on my mind at the moment – the way we transcend our prescribed roles, the labels people use to try and box us in and the mystery we create through the way we change throughout our lives.

Here’s a definition of transcendent from the Free Dictionary
tran·scen·dent (trn-sndnt)
adj.
1. Surpassing others; preeminent or supreme.
2. Lying beyond the ordinary range of perception: “fails to achieve a transcendent significance in suffering and squalor” (National Review).
3. Philosophy
a. Transcending the Aristotelian categories.
b. In Kant’s theory of knowledge, being beyond the limits of experience and hence unknowable.
4. Being above and independent of the material universe. Used of the Deity.

All the featured images and writing below reminded me of the ways we’re held in chains and how we transcend them and move on.
From the way we reinvent ourselves physically…


Black Swan by © Cabisha



To the way we change inside…

Being Good, is Boring. by © LauraBroussard
Being good is boring,
I have come to believe.
Knitting in meetings,
going to night clubs
and drinking selzer…..
Drinking tea at sundown.
Being good, is boring.
Being one who feels
freed from good behavior,
is a release ………….
oh, such beauty
is felt now,
in the sunset,
in your laughter,
in your comaraderie…..
Being good, is boring.

The dreams and wishes we have for ourselves…


Nesting by © Naomi Downie



To the fears we have, which simply melt away and allow us to become something or someone we never believed we could be…

I Think I May Be Drunk by © Edibl3leper
I’m asking her things
I swore I wouldn’t
I’m letting down barrier’s
I knew I never could
I’m enjoying the softer parts
of what I once wished was wood
I’m listening
instead of counting the seconds
until I can speak once more
I’m enjoying knowing someone again
Enjoying being with someone
enjoying being a friend
I must be going soft in my old age.

Understanding the labels that hold us back and putting the lie to them…

The Great Big Lie by © Heather King



And the lies we’re told that hold us back and kill us…

left behind by © Sally Omar
a snag, a tear, a sharp jab
left behind
to wander alone
in the realm of darkness
no where to go
silence prevades
distant is the drum
of her heartbeat
her soul drips
the blood of the lonely
falling through
the time given
to walk upon this earth
it happened in a moment
without warning
her brow now lined
with age
the blush in her cheeks
now faded
her face once soft
now wrinkled
her body once supple
now sags
those she loved are gone
memories fade
a candle no longer burns
it has been snuffed out
by years of regret and pain
she walks out of breath
out of hope
waiting for the grim reaper
to snatch her up
she begs the lord to take her
into the light of the heavenly place
as she walks the lonely highway
of lost dreams
left behind

The dreams we have that lead us ever onwards….

Dream Big by © Lea Michelle



The hopes that make us try and try again…

Dreams of yesterday….and crooked smiles of tomorrow by © SimplyRed
the keyboard is stuck
I am motionless
transcending
into yesteryear
backspace oh please
no dont enter ! enter!
backspace oh please
free me on the escape button
your tantalising keyboard
allows me
freedom of speech
and yet where
shall my thoughts go
over the oceans blue
into all my yesterdays
or into the night
of all my tomorrows
loves lost
love waiting
love found
love as it is……..
yes the keyboard
screams at me
click click click
as I hang my head
the shame
the shame
nothing new to say
a speech fit for a King
oh I wish this were so….
but a Kings empire
I possess not….
just a thought or two
no reading
between the lines
no anticipation
of the next chapter
a blank canvas
stares against my will
no watercolours nor oils
to sweep emotions forth
a dried brush
sitting beside
a lonely
palette…
and yet
Istill tinker
to make
the gilded frame…

And finally, the transcendence we’ve been waiting for, almost in reach…

illūmināta by © Antaratma Images



Taking the first steps into a new life…

Can I Have my Heart Back? by © mermanda
Can I have my heart back
its been 6 years
you took it that day
that day I said I loved you
remember what you said
stumble and stuttering
isn’t it my decision
to decide who I want
where to give my heart
you felt the power I conveyed
I guess it made you run away
but you reached in and stole it
before you left
heart beating strong
ripped it out of me
your hand deep in my chest
so easy and carefree
as if you owned me
I could do nothing but watch
then you turned and walked away
warm dripping red
left me there for dead
how I have been so angry
at all that you are
left me there to die
I was convinced your love was true
thought that you loved me like I love you
maybe you tried to protect me
and save me from your life
from the demons you held inside
but you found someone like me to call your wife
blonde hair and dressed to a tea
fun loving and sweet
but my Dear
she will never be me
I’m standing at your front door
with anger as my fire
love doesn’t live here anymore
you took it with my desire
give it back now
before I make you pay
for all the years I waited
day by day
and all the times I wasted
what was I expecting
for you to change
run back to me
with my heart wrapped in a bow
how could I think that
when your so fuckin vain
never say your sorry
never take the blame
so you like to feel the power of my heart beat weaken
every time I think of you
you hold it so close
tie it up in ropes
put in in your pocket
for whenever you need hope
I’m here to get it back
I need it to love another
he doesn’t deserve the way you’ve had it all along
or deserve the reason he should fix your wrong
so this is me attempting to be strong

And here it is achieved – transcendence…


Entering The Rest by © Geraldine (Gezza) Maddrell



But the memories of how we got there will always be with us…

Remember by © msdebbie
Remember when Pluto was a planet?
Remember when we danced to forget?
Remember when my smile was swallowed?
Remember when haunted thoughts followed?
Do you recall how I romanticize songs?
Recall how I demonize false memories?
Recall my fear of being surrounded?
Recall the struggle against liberal liberties?
Remember when you tugged upon twisted torment?
Remember when you returned me to earthly orbit?
Remember when I longed to be an assassin?
Remember that I hoped to erase all accidents?
Recall how my halo was broken?
Recall hollow lies once spoken?
Recall Icarus wings cruelly melted away?
Recall Prometheus chained another day?
Now that I’ve deafened all echoes;
Now that the replay is worn and bored…
Please remember I held you,
Surrounded you.
Even as I
Romanticised memories,
Demonised injuries,
Struggled against
Liberal liberties.

I hope you enjoyed the journey I took you on today and thank all the wonderful artists and writers in our group for their fabulous submissions.
xo

The Many Masks of Torment - Sunday Features 12/06/2011

Mental torment: we mold the masks that cover the shame; we wear the warpaint as a badge of honour; we try to smother the voices of torment in the darkest corners of our being. But the masks and the paint and the darkest of dark cannot drown out the madness. It will find a crack, an opportune moment, and creep into every waking fiber of our being — and then it will unleash it’s wrath. It might come in the form of the silent warfare of the repeated whisper that no one else can hear. Or it might sing in the voice of condemnation and guilt that can’t be distinguished from one’s own. Or maybe it’s hiding out with the screams of madness, anxiety riddled thoughts, and/or the ocean depths of depression that carry with them every imaginable clinical name. But one thing’s certain: the torment finds each one of us in its own time, with its own purpose, and in its own shades of raging colour.
There’s a vibration that has been crying out to my spirit this week. It’s continued to reveal these masks of suffering that so many are struggling to fit into, hide behind, or simply endure to overcome. One thing that stood out in these connected works is what beauty can be crafted out of the ashes from such torment.

The voices never tire of tormenting in a restless mind.

Entangled by the endless chatter in my mind by Renate Dartois


Even when we set out to conquer, our very own loose ends often become our very undoing.

Frayed by singerchick
You must know most of my plans come to naught.*
Not from lack of desire; rather,
My failure to tie a knot in the loose ends
Of my unraveling.
These threads have minds of their own;
Fashioning themselves into new patterns,
Draping me in different adventures.
Tethering and leading me in diverse directions
Because
As we all know, life is what happens
While you’re making other plans.

Sometimes, the tormentor rears its ugly head, so even our reflection becomes a constant, nagging reminder.

Parasite of Mine by Christina Rodriguez


Often, numbness is the only defense against the chaos.

pitch black by Alenka Co
I know the pitch-black dead of night
have walked this path a long, long time
numb hands, numb heart
thistles can’t touch
thorns can’t pierce
numb is the only way to tread
to stumble, fall and not be torn
ahead, there’s light
I could step in
but such a risk ….. to feel again

Reminded of the mistakes, reminded of the hurts, reminded of the disappointments; where one voice leaves off, the others pick up.

The Persistence of Loss by Heather King


Let’s not forget about the reminder of being insignificant, unimportant in the larger picture.

Insignificant by Sally Omar
walking solemnly
shoulders slightly drooped
her corn colored hair
hung loosely around her face
her torn jeans
her wrinkled shirt
the emptiness she carried
within her very being
never raised her eyes
when she spoke
never felt equal to anyone
her mother’s constant insults
her father’s constant slaps
the ache in her heart
was way too much to bear
she walked among people
but walked all alone
unnoticed, unloved, fearful
never realizing that she possessed
beauty, talent and intelligence
she walked among the living
but her soul had died
after all, they called her
“insignificant”

It’s often not at all what is appears to be. Sometimes, it becomes one’s forbidden lover — yet, it’s still just another deceptive place of hiding.

Deluded by Janelle McKain


How overpowering those moments are when the compounding torment turns into full-blown anxiety.

Panic-attack Girl by msdebbie
She ran into bricks,
Sweet and low,
Saccharine,
Serotonin-comatose.
How about 20 milligrams
Of Carbamazepine?
Talking too fast, but
Who would know?
Sweet and oh so low,
She is a panic-attack girl,
Anxious and unfathomable,
Crying, tired and unstable.
For her brain,
She craves silence.
For her life,
She longs for distance.
Without words,
She wants to fly away.
Soaring without anything,
Anyone.
Alone in the song,
Colours now pastel.
She feels battered, war-weary.
Not even a soldier.

Medicine can fix everything, right? Or is it too often fashioned into another mask, a cover of false comfort, or another dimension of torment?

Prozac by Agent7


There has to be something, anything, to drown it all out, to still the raging sea, to paint the colours of a troubled soul right.

Eyes without a Face by MoonlightLover
I lie in bed
Like I’m lying in a coffin instead
My head spinning
My mind deconstructing
Cannot think
Cannot move
Disgracefully innate
May as well vegetate
Like a body without a soul
A mind without control
Depersonalized
Deindividualised
Trajectory senses have blown a fuse
My nano wires are crossed and confused
So What am I to do
He says “Try meditation”
She says “Try remediation”
I say “I’ll try it on the toilet”
He says “You cannot avoid it”
She says “treat yourself”
I say “No, I am not myself”
Whatever it is instilled
The void must be filled
Writers block
Cerebral constipation shock
Shit in, no shit out
My secret ambitions walkabout
Too much eye candy
No substance, flimsy, dandy
Less is more, more is less
Right now I really couldn’t careless
Images stream through my head
A cacophony of mindless chaos instead
I say “So I’m writing any shit I want
Just let me be the woman I want”
He says “let your thoughts go free”
She says “Be the person you want to be”.
I say “But I’m fading away fast, I don’t think I can last”.
“I’m like eyes without a face
This will be my fall from grace”.
He says “Don’t think that way”
She says “Well I have nothing more to say”.

Bubbling with emotional energy, how empowering are the screams that become melodies of witness to others?

all my screams fell into a song by Mushda


Hopefully, within the midst of the madness, we don’t forget what our true reflection looks like.


no one by autumnwind
like a tree
that never fully opens
I am
unable
to reach for the sky
some days
the winds
sing to me
begging..
let go
come with us
it is then
the tears of storm
make my already
too strong roots
sink even deeper
for I am earthed
here
forever
no thing
can ever
be like the wind
futile
to dream dance
and now
I’ve forgotten how
head down
arms crossed
eyes closed
dig me out
from under
and remind me…
who I am

Check the Blame at the Door - Sunday Features 5/06/2011

Oh, we all clothe ourselves in condemnation too often, or we shift to the other side of the spectrum, losing sleep unless the moonlight shines its spotlight in the other direction (away from our own reflection). And this primal urge has ancient roots stemming all the way back to the Garden of Eden. So why do we continue the tradition of beating ourselves and everyone within reach up over every spec on the radar? Isn’t it about time to check that blame at the door?
We begin our journey like any good journey: at the root. How different would all of humanity be if perception had begun the evolution process from a different angle?

I Heard It Was the Tree’s Fault © by Carol Stocki


Your black and white just might be my shades of grey, which just might turn out to be the next person’s muted blue. Who’s most qualified to decipher all of the shades in between?

not always so © by Alenka Co
don’t tell me it’s all black and white
there’s black, there’s white
and all the shades there in between
before we even bring colour in
what is black today will another day be white
what is white-clear now will become yet another delusion
don’t tell me one is good, another evil,
there’s good, there’s evil
but no-one all evil, no-one all good
don’t tell me it’s the intention that counts
that you intend good so it doesn’t matter if it turns out bad
ask the recipient of your “good intention” how they feel about that
the road to hell on earth is paved with good intentions
you tell me you are right, the others wrong
there’s right, there’s wrong,
and you are wrong if you think you have a monopoly on right
I searched for truth
listened to those who said they’d found it
their truths were cast in stone,
written on pages in black and white
spoken with the righteousness of the “neverwrong’”
grasped by the self-deluded
and then I heard a humble man say
“not always so”
and there’s the truth, my friend

All the blame and entitlement surrounding which rights trump which wrongs amounts to nothing more than a tapestry of terminology needing further translation.

Just a Blanket of Terms Now © by Christina Rodriguez


Condemnation, guilt, worldly ideals, preconceived perceptions… we’ve not only clothed ourselves in them and tried to force others to follow suit, we’ve become paper cut-outs — a papier-mâché monument party favour.

Beauty Pageant, 2011 © by Thelma Van Rensburg


Anything that causes division within the sisterhood must be cut out before it rips apart the unity and unravels the heart in the process.


Woman in Four Quarters © by eoconnor



Imagine the ceremonial celebrations that would span the globe while we all let our hair down and shed those cumbersome garments.


When the Gloves Come off © by singerchick
Today I shed the extra layers
Dancing joyfully out of these discouragements
Whirling and twirling barefoot with the dust I’ve stirred
Sliding disappointments down my wrists and flinging them asunder
Caring not where they land
Exchanging this weighty garland of woe for a lovely one of blossoms
I shrug my shoulders free from their armor; I am unobstructed and exposed
Yet not unprotected.
With raised arms I set my jubilant hair free of infirmity, to whirl and twirl with my feet and the dust
Limbs, dust, hair, and flowers nimbly spiraling into infinity
“…Yet not unprotected…” For safety is vital at such a vulnerable moment of surrender.


If I take down my MASK … will you PROTECT me with your SHELL © by jaqleen



Philosophy plus over-analysis of boundaries and reestablishing them might prove a difficult pill to swallow.


Mind Melting Matters © by limirick
I swear we live in a magical world.
I swear it on my own certain grave.
I wonder about the boundaries and untapped potentials, synchronicity and
philosophy, time and the movement through it…
while I drink my coffee.
I watch the flashing cursor. It is mocking me as I am suddenly at a loss for words..
overwhelmed by the enormity of it all
and yet, compelled
to know it all.
Thus far,
I have made some heavy in-roads into thought and it’s processes.
But I have spiritual hiccups
and they hurt my chest..
Bless Me.
Over time,
my gag reflux has been thoroughly tested.
I have wanted to spew but
I have not yet choked
on Truth.

Too many have become a casualty of the blame game, castrated along the way and driven into the internal pits of silent torment.


Mute © by agent7



Yet no matter which side of the spectrum one sits on, for everything under the sun there is a reason beyond comprehension.


People Trap Me © by unique-mystique
People trap me
When all I’m wanting is out
Can’t seem to be able to escape
All the red tape
Damages are done
My seam hasn’t torn
My eyes have shed many tears
But the coldness inside of me
It’ll all disappear
Can’t seem to work all this out
It’s like a merry-go-round
It just doesn’t stop
And I’m reverting like in shock
Clear dreams
Those tender words
You used to say
Things were better then when you promised to stay
Everything has a reason
The rights are not always wrong
Lyrics to our future song
Wishing you love and light, so long

Sometimes the only way to bypass the stronghold of a destructive mindset is to surgically remove it.


Surgery © by Karo (caroline) Evans



All the refining and redefining in the universe cannot recover what has been done. Sometimes, in an expired season, one must simply let (it) go.


Seasons © by Sybille Sterk
The skins we shed
With the seasons
Of our heart
Tattered remnants
Waving to and fro in the
High winds
Of the storms
We weather
We submit
To tidal waves
Washing over us
With salty tears
And deep vein blood
Lighting
Striking not
Once
Not twice
But often
Holding on
We are
Tempered
Melted
Reborn
We shed
Another skin
Grow another
Heart
Faust’s credo
Beating the drum
PushingPullingFlyingCrashing
Letting go

Midweek Features - A little bit of Everything - 2/06/2011

Rather than stick to a theme this week, I’ve chosen ‘a little bit of everything’. There was so much excellent art and even more wonderful writing to select from and I could have easily done three features! :-)

To start us off on our journey, here’s an image that touched me with its simplicity and the symbolism within.

Walking The Rail by © Tamarra BaVincio


This poem seemed to fit the image like a glove. An independent, strong spirit runs through them both.

My Demands by © mermanda
My demands are;
that you never walk away
that you sit here with me till my dying day
that you look into my eyes
and never tell a lie
that you love me for who I am
not just as if I were another girl
or another fling
another trophy to mount in a frame
but that you see me
and know my heart
truly want to know this girl with all her scars
with your heart and mind
want to dive inside
make sure that you know
that with us together
we could conquer the world
I am difficult
different
stubborn
and never false
I have strength in me
that is rumbling inside
I know that I feel
fire burning deep within us
so when you see me
know this;
that when I demand these things from you
I look in the mirror and demand them too

And here’s a strong self portrait to continue.

Pink self by © fourthangel


Somehow the poem reminded me of the way we change and ‘become’ (if things go well).

Untitled by © RhythmImpulse
The quilt that once wrapped
Itself around your eyes
Has unraveled,
Braided rainbows are heaped
Upon the hardwood floor.
Now
Your pupils are in bloom,
Like a daisy that blushed beneath
The kiss of spring’s minty breath.
And all I could do was watch
When the milky light flooded from your
Cheekbones and eyelids
To flush the midnight sky.
Daylight touched everything -
It grasped treetops and grazed rivers
And hugged snowcapped mountains,
But it will never hold me
The same way that the glimmer in
Your eyes once did.

Sometimes we get stuck though, looking back to the past instead of forward to the future.

My look is lost in past by © Moon Black


And sometimes we’re lost within ourselves, looking inwards trying to find ourselves again.

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
cuddles
my very being
comforting
yet disturbing
all my senses
not ignored only
gently placed
on pillows
of comfort
I give
my heart
my all
my life…
ravens
speak
dark
language
sadly…..
unknown
to others
but self
I glimpse
reflections
of youth
and serenity
gentle
quiet
ripples of
Wizard Lake
whisper……
silent fantasy
echoing
through
my very
core
for what
enchants me
is foreign
to only
YOU………

And then there are the masks we wear – inside and outside – and the way they make us lose our way.

Shores Of The Manic Sea by © Agent7


This (in my humble opinion) is the perfect partner for the image.

cry wolf by © April Mansilla
And here he steps into my flesh again
Claws at my insides
Breaks my heart
and
makes
me howl
Tragedies
I run but it is
Never far enough from…
Dear Dr
here
I sit before you
with my red eyes
And basket
Case
Thoughts
Wanting you to save
Me
From what
Has caught me
Dear dr.
I can’t keep dreaming of being
Pulled by the legs
With grounded thoughts
Only in my fingernails
That will soon be bit
Off with nervous
Memory
Rendering me back here
Over and over
In my crimson cape
Of death…
I know there is
No remedy
I know…
It is not that easy to cut
The feeling from my belly
And sew.
Me.
Up.
Dear Dr.
You said you haven’t given up
Even
As I cried
The wolf is
Coming once again

There are so many ‘selves’ we carry around with us and we shed them like skins but something always seems to ‘stick’ as a reminder of who we once were.

Untitled by © Mushda


In the artist’s own words:
Do you still remember when we were little and we were playing in the park, and you asked me what happens when we die?
I said you forget everything, everything.
“Even you?”
Yes, even me.
You do not want to die, never forget.
The remains of what we used to have were taken away with the softest squeeze.
How did I forget?
How?

It’s a good thing to remember where we come from to draw strength and purpose back into our busy lives.

the tree by © Sally Omar
history is carved in the bark
love found on the branches
her trunk filled with history
surviving years of beautiful sun
soft breezes and torrential rain
violent storms
scars from lightning
she stands strong and tall
as her leaves dance to the ground
her beauty is unsurpassed
her secrets never to be told
her wisdom overflowing
more than any man could comprehend
i press my ear to her
and hear the whispering of the ages
the laughter of the spirits
her warmth fills my soul
i am born again within
her knowledge and forgiveness
i am one with nature’s
most beautiful gift
the tree

… especially on those days when “domestic bliss” wakes up the Cinders in us all.

Domestic Bliss by © Mindy McGregor


Here it is all summed up neatly (and a little mysteriously).

The Lost Chronicle: genX²- by © Jenifer DeBellis-
Batting cage
drought is this season, a low pitch
Which way to the waterway?
depth = time² [squared]
divide those grains,
those stains upon that tainted tongue
and groove, dovetailed for perfection
Change direction: dissection
Tied down, stripped away,
a slow peel, layer by layer
No prayer for this torture chamber
Death moves slow; the path of Sloth itself
precision in procession is key
Words fall upon this barren earth
Ashes to ash turns dust into dust
Seven will consume seven
Prophecy of one = fourteen/two
Open up the wellspring of knowledge!
It was easier to move around
the technical aspects
than to carry the shaft
down to the hellish pits of waiting.
Nothing to steal here. Batter up!

Enjoy! :-)

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
agonize
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?
hide
dive into the abyss of lies
let your fear
convince you
tomorrow…
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
Amen

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
cuddles
my very being
comforting
yet disturbing
all my senses
not ignored only
gently placed
on pillows
of comfort
I give
my heart
my all
my life…
ravens
speak
dark
language
sadly…..
unknown
to others
but self
I glimpse
reflections
of youth
and serenity
gentle
quiet
ripples of
Wizard Lake
whisper……
silent fantasy
echoing
through
my very
core
for what
enchants me
is foreign
to only
YOU………

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
angelic.
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
Alone…
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

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:
dark.
dead.
sticky,
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,
outside.
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
lies
betrayal
deception
and sin
people who look outside
and never question
“Why?”
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
steady
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

Enjoy!


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. :-)