“Surrealism is destructive, but it destroys only what it considers to be shackles limiting our vision.” ~ Salvador Dalí
Author’s Note: When I first started this Substack, I was sharing poems from my first book—yet it evolved so rapidly into a space for my photos, prose, & other pieces that I never really finished posting all of the content from that collection. This is the beginning of the longest & most experimental poem in that manuscript—but you can continue onto the middle here.
It seems as though being an artist who wishes for one’s work to remain in the public eye means not really getting a say as to whether or not one personally wants to remain in the public eye as well. In the cult of celebrity, the personal is a central ingredient… But the internet (meaning the resources funneled to and the marketing surrounding it) also forces the contemporary artist to find their brand—a term which remains understandably uncomfortable for many.
I remember when it was only a matter of finding one’s voice, but (in the spirit of getting with the times) I suppose it’s worth remarking that recently my father said to me in his brilliant Spanglish (which I won’t even attempt to recreate because I really should’ve written this gem down) that my brand was “basically, minutiae like little insects.” Rather than being insulted, it was one of those rare moments I felt truly seen by him… I can’t remember what we were talking about, but it certainly wasn’t social media—or even marketing.
Nevertheless, he’s spot on.
My entire life, I’ve been endlessly fascinated by the natural world—and insects have proven to be a particular fascination, whether I like to admit it or not… But it’s their symbiotic relationship with everything that enchants me—for they are the true builders, gardeners, movers, and shakers of this earth. I’m glad to find a similar pattern among certain Surrealists—artists whose vivid portrayals ask audiences to reconsider their reactions to the least of these. 🐜
Considerations { excerpt }
Consider, O Lord, how You sit
atop the sky; like a man
in a glass-bottom boat.
Consider sky elsewhere;
Worn thin as a mattress.
Consider the women, marbling
in their corners
the men with tongues of bronze; How
you tool the silence around them.
Consider the rolling wheel of Spring
the Summer, a haunt of blue;
How the rivers roll up
like prayer mats.
Consider my Lover;
The yellow church of his skin, the clean
wells of his ears;
How the notes of a song come to him
like birds descending
on a power line; How
in his absence
I am of two throats
each of them cramped.
Considerations {2 of 3}
“One day it will have to be officially admitted that what we have christened reality is an even greater illusion than the world of dreams.” ~ Salvador Dalí
I thought that poem sounded familiar! I always love enjoying your work, like your dad said, except… the tastiest of little insects when I try your words out in my own mouth.