"Edge" by Sylvia

Hello muffins! It's been a terrifically busy week at HerSpeak Headquarters, but I wanted to pop in with a tidbit of inspiration to jucify the last bit of the work week. I've been reading The Bell Jar and am enamored with Miss Plath. I wanted to share this short video clip of "Edge" as read by Helen Demetriou. Enjoy!






What's switching you on, kittens?

OUT THERE SOMEWHERE

Out There Somewhere Oil on linen 36 x 36 cm

Happy New year to all of you! Bring on 2012.

The painting above is a new one. I've given it a title which comes from the last two lines of a poem written by my grandmother D.E Ross. In 1986 my grandmother and mother, Elsie Brimbelcombe, published an anthology of poems called 'Out There'. At the time of publication my grandmother was 87 years old. She had written poems for most of her life, apparently having her first poem published in a Western Australian newspaper when she was fourteen. Grandma-ma died at the age of 92, so she had a pretty marvelous innings.

Here's the poem I've taken my title from. It is in the anthology and is also called:

Out There By D.E Ross1.

I do not cringe before the opening door
to Outside,
but brace muscle and mind
to meet
the open horizon
its fresher winds
the brighter light
undreamed of in the chrysalis:
each cloud a carriage
each breeze a wing
each star a stepping stone
beyond Time
-before and after-
toward the secret
of its source
and mine.

11.
There are no boundaries
Out There
but the original laws
that devised
creation.
neither north nor south
or east and west,
above
below
or here and there
No tides,
but streams of power forever flowing.
Time is not negotiated
wasted or lost:
an hour rates high in our accounting here:
yet a thousand years
could be held as a breath on the wind
Out There.

111.
There is no waste in God’s economy.
New solar systems
gather grace in space
[along with waste
from our allotted span of influence].
In God’s eternal meld
of warp and woof,
of foul and fair,
we have each one of us a share
in a new heaven and a new earth
aiming for birth
Out There
somewhere.

This poem at one level is about dying. My mother, very bravely recited it my grandmother's funeral in 1991. Yet, as the years go by, and the more I think about the things I think about, I see that it is also about life...or how life could be...with imagination. As I read this poem I sense that the women I paint, as they float across the ripples created by my much loved trees-of-life, are upon 'the open horizon' swept by 'fresher winds' as they shed 'the brighter light' at the same time as they are drawn to it. The women in my paintings represent eternal Mother, Mother Nature, and my grandmother's line 'each star a stepping stone' creates visions of life traversed across the Universe...and indeed possibly the Multiverse.

'Out There' can also be 'read' as imagination. This is particularly conjured in the second stanza of the poem where, 'There are no boundaries', and the simplicity of descriptive compass directions, and the banality of 'above below or here and there' disappear as concepts of boundary and restraint are forsaken to welcome 'but streams of power forever flowing'. Our imagination has the potential to be this powerful force where possibility is entertained and where wonder provokes questions never before dreamed of....and thus answers from seemingly 'out there'! As the poem suggests in the last paragraph, 'we have each one of us a share...in a new heaven and a new earth...aiming for birth...Out There...somewhere.'

Imagination and spirit, seem to me, to be pretty obvious pals!

In the last stanza, my grandmother refers to solar systems and the 'waste from our allotted span of influence'. She was very interested in cosmology and would often take me and my brothers outside to watch the amazing night sky. She knew all the constellations and could identify planets. She was concerned about the waste or rubbish left in space, as well as the detritus polluting Earth. In fact, another poem in the anthology 'Out There' is called 'Residue' and is about the clues our rubbish gives to our character.

Out There in my grandmother's mind, was a place...the capital O and T give this away. But, place does not have to be only physical. It can be in our dreams, in our individual imaginations as well as our collective ones, within our psyche. I love how Out There could be where multiple perspectives, close and far-nano and macro, are experienced simultaneously. As regular readers will know, I have a great interest in concepts of perspective, especially as we need new ways to 'see' in an increasingly gloablised world in which we live locally...also because the Universe/Multiverse is compelling us out there by revealing its secrets.

Multiverse oil on linen 80 x 100 cm

COUNT DOWN

TO MY BOOK LAUNCH

for

FOR EVERYONE: WORDS AND PAINTINGS

More information HERE

Cheers,

Kathryn

www.kathrynbrimblecombe-fox.com

HerSpeak's Accidental Poetry Slam

Hello Rosehips! While scanning the scribbles of my journal I came upon an unintentional poem I made while writing a note to myself:


You have a plan-- It's okay if you're afraid.
Don't wallow in DOOM that hasn't bloomed yet--
The world isn't evil
Just some of the people in it.

But you don't have to answer--
Their shitty sour whims and catcalls.

You will not drown at the bottom of the tank
a Penniless
Friendless
Raisin of a person.

You believe it when you say,
You believe in the "Sea of Possibilities"
Because you know it's True-- You've seen it.
You answer to and Bull Ride a
Kinder,
Gentler
Vibration.

<3

I Am Rich with Autumn's Gold

I am rich today with autumn's gold,

All that my covetous hands can hold;

Frost-painted leaves and goldenrod,

A goldfinch on a milkweed pod,

Huge golden pumpkins in the field

With heaps of corn from a bounteous yield,

Golden apples heavy on the trees

Rivaling those of Hesperides,

Golden rays of balmy sunshine spread

Over all like butter on warm bread;

And the harvest moon will this night unfold

The streams running full of molten gold.

Oh, who could find a dearth of bliss

With autumn glory such as this!

- Gladys Harp

About the image: White-throated sparrow from last Autumn. I haven't seen them here yet this Autumn. They may be here just not visiting my deck yet :)

About the words: I am enjoying reading seasonal poems and this is one that I thought described autumn beautifully.

Video Zen: Beach Grass

Hello Honey Bunnies! Today's Video Zen is a few sweet seconds of being seranaded by insects and the wind blowing through tall reeds on the beach. Enjoy!



Check out more moments of video zen as well as how-to's and discussions on my youtube channel. :)

Prayer: "Shower Ferocious Blessings"

Hello Dumplings!*

I came across this exquisite piece of writing in a delightful goddess newsletter crafted by Anita Revel and I just had to share it with you! These kaliedoscopic bits are exerpts from a prayer written by Rob Brezsny, sure to super-charge the sleepy and skeptical:

Digital collage by Molly

"Dear Goddess, You who never kill but only change:

I pray that my exuberant, suave and accidental words will move you to shower ferocious blessings down on everyone who reads this benediction.I pray that you will give them what they don't even know they want - not just the boons they think they need but everything they've always been afraid to even imagine or ask for.

Dear Goddess, You wealthy anarchist burning heaven to the ground:

Many of the divine chameleons out there don't even know that their souls will live forever. So please use your blinding magic to help them see that they are all wildly creative geniuses too big for their own personalities.Guide them to realize that they are all completely different from what they think they are and more exciting than they can possibly imagine.

Make it illegal, immoral, irrelevant, unpatriotic and totally tasteless for them to be in love with anyone or anything that's no good for them.

Dear Goddess, You psychedelic mushroom cloud at the center of all our brains:

The curiously divine human beings reading this prayer deserve everything they are yearning for and much, much more. So please bless them with lucid dreams while they are wide awake and solar-energy-operated sex toys that work even in the dark and vacuum cleaners for their magic carpets and a knack for avoiding other people's hells and their very own 900 number so that everyone has to pay to talk to them and a secret admirer who is not a psychotic stalker.

Dear Goddess, You fiercely tender, hauntingly reassuring, orgiastically sacred feeling that is even now running through all of our soft, warm animal bodies:

I pray that you provide everyone out there with a license to bend and even break all rules, laws and traditions that keep them apart from the things they love.Show them how to purge the wishy-washy wishes that distract them from their daring, dramatic, divine desires.And teach them that they can have anything they want if they'll only ask for it in an unselfish way."

AH! That makes me want to dance around wearing something purple! Perfect words for the upcomming New Moon--time to clear out the old, cleanse, make new plans and manifest like mad! What will your daring, dramatic, devine desires be?

Until Next Time--

Much Joy and Merry Making!~*

Altar Building + Isis Bookwork

Hello Dearies!
School is officially over and the day is my oyster! While I sip my spicy tea and wait for this thunderstorm to start, I'll give you the scoop on what's been stewing in the HerSpeak studio since I've been away...

***A few days ago I felt the itch. You know--the itch to shuffle all your belongings, to make piles and generally mouse about. What ended up happening was this impromptu altar! I had started with a black candle that burns in my studio, which then led to a few stones settling near it...and a photograph...and then knots of string...and then another candle...and a magazine clipping...my tarot cards...and a doOdle and before I knew it, this was the end result:

It's my new favorite place in the apartment.

Aside from improvisational installation pieces, I finished my artist book, "Prayers for Isis". This petite accordian fold book was a project for my Print and Narrative Forms course, which is roughly based on a pocket prayer book or a Book of Hours. The pages consist of intaglio etchings watercolored illustrations and gold leaf on domestic etch paper. The text came from a stream of consciousness ramble I did about a year ago.

The pages read: "When they are with HER, they are queens of ostrich plumes & strings of crocodiles teeth--She Hounds wired and aware. When they are with HER, their skins are diamonds, rosy candied fly wings..."

"When I am with HER, I am stitched up swan parts--sure footed and insane. I speak in tongues of leaves, the recently deceased and lavish faun dreams--of dripping water, willow trees and the thousands of ticklish thistles."

"When I am with HER, me is I, this is WE and She is US--due cause for upper case. WE is grounds for celebration, strange festivities and acclimations in memory of dreams we never had, fires we never sparked and books whose spines we have long forgotten."

Each ovalette of text has a corresponding illustration of a maiden, mother and crone version of the same Virgin Mary/Isis/Tonantzin/Lady of Guadalupe icon.


It was interesting watching my peers handle the book during critique: very delicately, carefully turning pages, gingerly touching the gold leaf and absent mindedly rubbing the soft velvet casing ribbon as they read. Most smiled widely when they found the illustrations and recognized the woman as someone they know from paintings, church windows, or their own mothers. Whether they found Goddess in it or not was not important to me, they found Comfort. And really--aren't they the same? :)

And for tomorrow--more projects to document and post! Oooh it feels good to be back in the blogosphere! I'm going to brew a second cup and flit about to all of your blog homes to see what sort of mischeif you've been making! What have you been up to, my pretties? What sort of tinkering have you been doing in your studios, kitchens, classrooms and journals?

Until next time,

Much Joy and Merry Making, Friends!

12 Secrets: Consulting with Guides: My Heronines

The 12 Secrets of Highly Creative Women

Secret Seven: Consulting with Guides

This week I thought we'd do something different. Instead of me relating all of the exercise details from the book in a long incoherent babbly post, I've created The Wall of HerSpeak Heroine Guides. These ladies are all living, passed, imaginary and inspirational teachers that I look to to get "the juice". While this list is breif, as I have chosen to focus on stictly on my personal favorite famous female artists and leaders, I hope you enjoy interacting with the wall!

Click on the images to play!

The Wall of HerSpeak Hernoine Guides

Who are your guides?

Book Work: Piel de Noche

The To Do list is No More! After much cutting, stitching, and smudgy finger prints the casket book is complete!

[Piel de Noche]

This piece is about memory. It's strange how memory is not really what we think it is--that it is permanent, like a fixture we can look back on when really, memory is elastic. It's subject to editing. We change it to accommodate our lives, our needs. We romanticize it, we demonize it, sometimes both simultaneously. This seems to happen to an even further extent when something we loved, or thought we loved dies. The blurry font, faded bone paper and haphazard binding are meant to elude to the muddiness of memory. I weighted the cover so it resists the reader as if to say, "Are you sure you want to recall this? Do you want to deal with this now? With all these people around?" Then the cover slaps back onto the table exposing the pages.
The book is small, only 6 inches long. I wanted it to be intimate, something you'd have to hold in your hand to read. Each page is hand printed, one letter at a time with water-based ink, sewn together with coffee dyed thread and mounted inside the wooden casket. My dear friend Rick was a peach and translated the text for me. (Thank you!) He did an artful job, making sure it remained lyrical and wouldn't read like stereo instructions. This is the text in English:

[Night Skin]

Beneath the blood black maple—
The dying leaves dance a dance of animal bones—
and I am putting on my night skin.

The evening grass—
The wet hair of a boy I used to know—
it was the kind of love that drew blood slowly.

The trees, waif skeletons of Luna moths
soon to be stripped twigs praying for the cover of frost—
I hear the shudder and coil of living things below me
where tendrils of trees intertwine—
when roots touch—do they make a sound?
Do they know one another?

The breeze stirs the branches in slipperless steps—
Telling me that summer has passed.
The sun is merely a whisper—
The taste of ash lingers there
as the naked quiet of night crawls towards us.

The brushwood weeps a scarlet psalm
as I try to remember his skin—
It was the kind of love that made you fierce.

Beneath these bundled twigs within arms reach of the dead—
In my night skin, I am there with him
tender and fading, the dusk drawn by wind twine—

Where we dance a dance of animal bones
for the last time.

Molly Roberts 2007

I'll be glad to get this thing off my work bench! Now it's time for a little rest and relaxation. First thing is First: Detox! Since I've been making things like a banshee I've been living on day old pizza and pot after pot of coffee with minimal catnaps. I'm looking forward to walking into my studio wearing my pajamas with my hair all awry to begin tinkering with all the ideas that have been piling up. I've got dream boards to create, journaling to catch up on and new years plans to plan! For now, I'm off to dream of buckets of cold water and cucumber facials!

What do you kids do to rejuvenate?

Wishing you Much Peace and Many Blissings!~*

Maya Angelou: Phenomenal Woman

I watched intently as the Great Dr. Maya Angelou recited a poem on Martha Stewart this morning. (Yes, I watch Martha—don’t tell anyone.) I wrapped up tightly in my pajamas, sat very still, and held my breath as she read in a way only the Beautiful Maya could. Her delivery, diliberate. Her gesture so graceful and effortless. I was overwhelmed and I decided I needed to post her work in case there were those in the blogosphere that hadn’t yet heard or seen this sublime bit of lit:

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Maya Angelou

It's so delish! So Divine! It makes me want to put on something purple and dance around! I feel like I'm armed with big scissors to cut away gray! We are phenominal, damnit! I'm going to put a little extra wiggle in the walk today, just for Dr. Angelou.

"Ostara" by Molly Roberts. Oil, vine charcoal, found papers & oil pastel on wood.

[This is WE]

When they are with Her, they are Queens of ostrich plumes and strings of crocodiles teeth—She Hounds, wired and aware. When they are with Her- their skins are diamonds, rosy and wild candied fly wings. When I am with HER, I am made of stitched up swan parts, sure footed and insane. I speak in tongues of leaves, the recently deceased and lavish faun dreams—of dripping water, willow trees and the thousands of ticklish thistles. When I am with Her, me is I, this is WE and She is US—due cause for Upper Case. WE is grounds for celebration—strange festivities and acclamation in memory of the dreams we never had, all the fires we never sparked and all the books whose spines we have long forgotten...

Words and Image by Molly