Art and Poetry

WOVEN IN THE WRONG STITCH

And all of these things? They have created space. Allowed me to fill the darkness with better. Trusting that everything I once grasped too tightly to was just woven in the wrong stitch. While I unthread to remake, I remember the new space I’m creating between my finger tips. The way the openness feels in the morning, like you can take on the world. It’s the way the same vast feeling that practically swallows you whole by night time. It’s the power you feed into darling, don’t you know? When the light illuminates the darkness it doesn’t happen immediately. It trickles in, covering all the dark spaces with color. Slowly the colors unravel in the morning sky and you can not only feel, but sense the power. Light always wins, just keep looking for the small threads...

MARTIAN LOVE

A Martian runs in my veins, His strange words reign over my very mind and existence. Trapped in distance. In cages Through all the stages. Fly away they said. All his words stuck in my head. Strange words I can’t understand. In trespassed land. A Martian and his Martian friends, Martian drinks held in Martian hands. The oxygen on Mars will suffocate you he said. You’ll never be a Martian. Not unless we’re wed. This syndrome of conditions. Rules and preceding missions. Not unless. Not unless. Imaginary futures, Somehow different. Nurtured fantasies. Martian love in my veins, in my brain.     Author: Dakota Arkin Cafourek Email: dakota.arkin@gmail.com Author Bio: Dakota is a content creator and travel + art writer based on the East End of Long Island. Link to social media or websit...

SUMMER’S KISS

There was always a parade of picnics And soul music And posing by public pools And knowing the electric slide   Fair street fights and foot races ran parallel to corner store hangouts And block party hookups   We played Hopscotch in flip flops And fell out of Philadelphian trees   And then I got too close to that beautiful boy at the beach In my favorite blue bikini On the ruddy boardwalk Above stacks of seaweed and salt water taffy   We stood blushing And face to face our knobby knees sticking out from under our second hand shorts our summer kiss already floating On a surface of air At the center of the ocean   Becoming wishes Waiting to be blown away   This is when I was red t-shirts with no sleeves On green bikes With boys who used to be friends watching us like new women...

BIRDCAGE

Birdcage is a continuation of my on-going work exploring the complex way in which our society views women and its relation to beauty. These mixed media pieces—employing wax pastel, chalk pastel, and acrylic— place idealized women in isolated, domestic environments, the bright colors and alluring surroundings helping to mask their confinement. With the renaissance of mid-century home décor, the furniture and plant life depicted challenge the viewer to question whether this is a scene from the 1950s or of modern times, further illuminating the recurring nature of a woman’s plight. While creating these works and incorporating furniture and plants from my home, I came to the realization that my own daily routine—hours spent in solitude working in my home studio—in some ways mirrored the isolat...

THE WORLD HUMS SWEETLY: REFLECTIONS OF A DIGITAL NOMAD

Sleeping Naked on Plastic Arriving in Bangkok with no money. At least, not enough to buy sheets for this small apartment. The waterproof mattress sticks to my skin so I cover it with silk scarves. I bundle some clothes into some other clothes for a lumpy pillow. I am so happy. Falling asleep naked. The window looks over the Chao Phraya River as the city moves and I dream of you. Little comfort is needed when you are 24 with love shimmering. ————————- 27 and Sometimes Concerned About Capitalism Otherwise thinking about love or food or myself. I met an Italian girl in Las Palmas and we were both confused about Spanish men. We drank cappuccinos every day at La Olive and talked, frustrated about these bastardos who stopped texting us back. The we...

LONG LOST LOVE AFFAIRS WITH MY CAR

Rubbing half smeared-eyeliner farther across my cheek as I rise out of my luke-warm, limp-pillowed, insomnia ridden bed.   Press the chilled doorknob of my mother’s house; as I pull forward I rip open the security and prison of my saffron and sage warmed upbringing:   enter the cold unknown, enter the dampness on the rugged dark path ahead of me, enter the sweet smell of the roses with small teardrop of dew waiting for morning dust to kiss them, enter the cold clinking of keys that I fumbling with determination between my chipped-nails and anemia   Atticus is cold and takes time to warm up to me I turn on my favorite tune-on to break the awkward silence I caress him, my own legs, tighten my ass muscles and sit up straight   Headlights on here we go.   I swerve down...

TO ALL THE ONES WE LOVED AND LOST

there is loneliness, and there is heartbreak – in between that, there is loss.   i don’t know what it means to be bereaved, i don’t know what it is like to feel death. but i do know this – i know what it feels like to watch a loved one slip past your fingers (helplessly) i know what it feels like to try and try and try again but silence is the only word from the other end (it rings so loudly inside my head)   there is an aching in your bones and you are tired from the weight. there is still a heart beating inside your ribcage – yet why does it feel so faint?   it is broken; you are aware. it is a miracle you can still live. the other person has taken a piece – ripped off so cruelly, without a thought to spare.   how can that be? i nev...

LOVE LETTER TO MYSELF

LOVE LETTER TO MYSELF After Ocean Vuong/After Frank O’Hara/After Roger Reeves   Darling, don’t be afraid. You have ended so many times only to begin again in the morning. Your pain is only a burning reminder that you have legs that can carry you through hell, and can stand proudly in heaven. Darling, are you listening? The most beautiful parts of your body are the parts you had to grow again after plucking them to put in a bouquet for someone who who did not have the capacity to water them. The man whose arms were wide enough to hold both you and your shadow were the same arms that would tattoo your pain in invisible ink—so that you would know it is there, staining your skin, but no one else could see it. You would scrub and scrub yourself raw at what looked like your own skin— and ye...

A BROKEN RHAPSODY

This is her story. This is my story. This is many girls’ story. A rising anxiety. A devastating envy. A awful jealousy. A low self esteem. Why her? Not me? Is she better than me? All you want is that love in his eyes. That acknowledgement from the crowd. Distorted body in a broken mirror. You search and search. What is wrong with me? Mum says you are beautiful, you deserve the world. Dad says to follow your heart. Sister say to be wise. What does your soul say? Be happy. I want to be happy. Break the mirror for good. Take a stand. Love yourself. Why do men love other women? Because they love themselves. Why does your family loves you? Because you love you. And it is only you. You, you, you. You thought those words, big forehead, hippopotamus, too nice, too dumb you heard as a teenager woul...

WOMEN THAT ROCK + HARNESS: FEBRUARY FEMALE ARTISTS

What better way to celebrate the female empowerment movement than through music? This month’s recommended artists are brought to you by Women That Rock, a movement created by women, for women. Dedicated to supporting and promoting up-and-coming female musicians and female-fronted bands, Women That Rock is cultivating a community of badass ladies who are creating amazing music and connecting with one another through their art. Follow Women That Rock on Instagram at @womenthatrock and stay in the loop on amazing lady artists, news & upcoming events. If you know an amazing female musician or girl-fronted band that needs to be heard, email their information to thewomenthatrock@gmail.com! The Liza Colby Sound: Part shaman, part seductress, Liza Colby was born to earn the mantle ‘Queen Of Ro...

PAPER HEARTS: A POETRY COLLECTION

Every morning, as sure as the sun rises, my thoughts begin with you. These waking dreams, so steadfast in their morning advent, do far more service to the notion of permanence than you ever did.   Every morning, you are gone // jjm 1/13/18 ——————————————————-   Don’t think for one second that this will be easy. That’s not what you came here for. Spine and spirit in the face of hardship are what make you formidable.   formidable // jjm 1/1/18 ——————————————————–   When I close my eyes I can still conjure up the warmth and golden glow of being bathed in ...

SCOTTSDALE PHOTOGRAPHER CELEBRATES ART OF DANCE

Emily Black is a portrait and dance photographer who loves collaborating with other women to produce her work. Prior to starting her photography business, she worked in oil paint, ceramics, and basket making. “I was definitely a solitary artist,” she says. “I would go into my studio with an idea and torture myself until it was done. I didn’t realize how lonely it was.” Now, however, her artwork is collaborative. She works with portrait clients, makeup artists and dancers to bring a shared vision to life. “I love photographing dancers because they make such beautiful shapes. I’m a sculptor deep down,” she says. “Shooting a dancer is like photographing a sculpture. I have control of the lighting and I can design the best presentation for the camera, ...

Lost Password

Register

sensation
sensation
sensation
sensation