Acts of Bravery by Lois Bradley
“Acts of Bravery, Day 1 & 3” by Lois Bradley It would be easier to allow the current to take me swirling, bobbing about in half-lidded repose. But that is not where my artwork happens. Artwork that means something is not created in a languorous vaccum, but when my mind is tense. Alert. Engaged. Open. ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Lois Bradley...
Orlando is the Story of a Writer by Maxine Hong Kingston
“ORLANDO IS THE STORY OF A WRITER” BY MAXINE HONG KINGSTON Tuesday, August 11, 2019 (audio file 150811a – 25 m 51s) Transcribed by Tobi Harper Introduction, Kate Gale, Ph.D.: Now that we’re all fully awake, it is my privilege to introduce Maxine Hong Kingston. The work of a great work is that – after you’ve experienced it – you cannot imagine your life without it. Think about your life without...
The Q | from Maxine Hong Kingston
A question from Maxine Hong Kingston Q: Do we have to make a choice between life and art?*Responses will be curated and may be shared with permission.Permission* Yes, I give my permission Show Full AgreementBy submitting your response, you are granting AROHO permission for possible publication – in whole or excerpts – in digital Waves and Waves archives, which may also be shared on our website and social platform.Name* First Last...
A Message of Courage, Love and Hope
In an AROHO demitasse . . . we spoke about the reality of our bodies making the art that we make. What sheds off. What’s observed through the window-pane. What’s left. What’s still arriving. What the frequency is. Through these words, typed as dusk falls in East England, the sky an indigo tilt, I send you a message of courage, love and hope. For your practice. For your work. For who you are becoming: alongside the...
So by Martha Andrews Donovan
“So” by Martha Andrews Donovan After Shauna Osborn’s Carved Skin And I have so many words— —Maxine Hong Kingston, The Woman Warrior I. Here, in the high desert, I am finding my way back to language. I will carry these words on my back. So. I. II. Dear Shauna, I keep circling — how to enter? I have decided to write this as a letter to you. Unformed. Still forming. Four years...
Does the sea remember everything? I wonder.
Does she absorb everything? Does she keep it safe?
Virginia Woolf
. . .
The Q: Can you fathom the spectacle that would be created if we moved together, arms outstretched, close enough to touch?
The Q: What echoes through you that longs to take form—a poem, an image, a mark, a whisper of becoming?
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