Your Voices Are Searchlights
Dear Creative Sister, When we dare to meet in the deepest pools of creative intention, how will we introduce ourselves? A Room of Her Own’s long vision is to amass a multimedia mother archive of the collective memory and storied history of women artists and writers. Weaving the diverse voices of our radiant Waves Anthology together with newly-submitted creative work, responses to The Q, Global Camps, and more, each...
Yellow Eye by Andrea Mozarowski
“Yellow Eye” by Andrea Mozarowski The woman with one yellow eye entered the narrative decades ago, following my first trip to Ukraine, post-Perestroika. She first takes the form of a Romani woman, who barges into a scene set in Portobello Market and disrupts a drama triangle that includes the female and male protagonists, post-war Ukrainian refugees. Since then, she has abided in me, until recently,...
Hungry by Bunny Bowen
“Hungry” by Bunny Bowen In sum, this work is about: I started this painting about 25 years ago. Yes, 25 years! It began as I noticed that coyote scat is full of prickly pear seeds when the fruits ripen in the fall. I started a painting about that, then just set it aside, unfinished. Every few years I would dab a bit more paint on it, but it never worked. Then, after the invasion of Ukraine, I was...
May I Call You Sister by Sharon Baker
“May I Call You Sister” by Sharon Baker A Monologue, performed by a Female named Lexi. LEXI: Back in high school, I was Wild. Cleopatra eyeliner, oh so tight mini skirts and pointy boobs. See? Still got em. Truth: I was scared of….Everything. Thunder. Men. Spiders. Men. Snakes. Men. Bein’ hot or cold. Men. Rollercoasters….Men. I didn’t see much for myself in the way of….Anything. In my family, all...
Dear Missy by Lonna Whiting
“Dear Missy” by Lonna Whiting We had no business driving around town at 3 a.m. after that party, let alone any business popping your convertible top down in the absolute dregs of subzero winter just to get some all-night Taco Bell. But Green Day on the CD player just hit differently that night. It might have been the beers. It might have been the ditch weed. It was probably both. Do you remember the way we...