Summoning the Flood
… Virginia Woolf famously declared that for women to make art, they needed £500 a year (rather more now) and rooms of their own … It takes a monstrous gesture to claim that space. As artists we have learned we have to take up the whole house, upstairs and down, attic and basement. Alice-like we will have to spill out of all the windows and doors and out into the street, making the private public, the domestic...
The Q | is our art ever too much
Q: How do we respond when it floods our boundaries? How can we embody the flood?*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 WAVES, which is also archived on our website and may be shared on social platforms.Name* First Last Address* State /...
Vibrations by Jerrice J. Baptiste
“Vibrations” by Jerrice J. Baptiste Mother and daughter still hum together. Their low pitch voices accompany any work of their hands. Peeling of purple skin potatoes. Whipping them until smooth on tongue. They hum over a big breasted bird basting. Butternut squash peeled, simmered, cinnamon & coconut milk added. Mother looks at her daughter. She smiles. In the womb, her body hummed along with her. Their...
Calculation of Angels by Ann-Marie Brown
“Calculation of Angels” by Ann-Marie Brown As a creative woman, my deepest need is: That the paintings I create be seen. ____________________ Share your response to this work, in any form, here Ann-Marie Brown Artist Statement: In sum, this work is about: Covid isolation. Housing insecurity. The perseids overhead (which have always looked to me like calculations of angels on an expansive...
The Woman Who Wanted a Child by Holly Karapetkova
“The Woman Who Wanted a Child” by Holly Karapetkova For a short time I walked the earth as a woman, breathed in the scent of gardenias and gasoline, made love to a man. We lived in a small house with a narrow staircase leading upwards into nothing; the second floor was never built. I fed him fresh garlic and parsley from our garden, the smell rising to the top of the staircase where we made love, knees and...
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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fathoms Feb 28, 2026 -
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