Reading Virginia Woolf in the Nineties by Kristie Letter
“Reading Virginia Woolf in the Nineties” by Kristie Letter yes, Virginia in irregular rhythm and (extra) articulation, who thought beyond plotting, to take on and through and know mermaids (singing) and sisters who never flower into bards, swimming in words, sapping down difficulty becoming, re-evaluating Madonnas, beyond teen spirits into Victorian charms, a nose for truth, for key moments, the heat of the...
The Poem by Diane Furtney
“The Poem” by Diane Furtney “ . . . this loose, drifting material of life . . . Some idea of a new form. Suppose one thing should open out of another—as in an unwritten novel”–Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary It’s instinctive, the lift at it, the damp summer grassweed smell, and you think small: gopher, badger, fox; an over owl; between the weeds. Then these shallow ditches, and the low foliage...
The Only Surviving Recording of Virginia Woolf’s Voice by Alison Townsend
“The Only Surviving Recording of Virginia Woolf’s Voice” by Alison Townsend I’m not expecting to hear her speak, stopped as I am at a red light in Stoughton, Wisconsin, on the daily, desperate dash home from work, my fractured spine throbbing as if it housed my heart not my nerves, this snippet on NPR as unexpected as recent November warm weather. But here she is, sounding husky and a bit tired, her plummy...
What Remains by Maggie Stetler
“What Remains” by Maggie Stetler — Remembering Virginia Woolf I. As a woman, I guarded my body too, longed for a mother, not a man, married for love and art but not sex. As a child in Pennsylvania, I dodged imaginary Cold-War bombs, pre-divorce barrages. In London, yours, a real war. No matter,...
Virginia Woolf’s Hollyhocks by Deborah Doolittle
“Virginia Woolf’s Hollyhocks” by Deborah Doolittle Country born, they are still the village gossips at the garden pump, watching the neighbor’s cat, the doorman’s dog, the grocer’s delivery boy. Some say there is always something new to look at. It is a commonplace they cannot help repeating: how the days come to them in exaggerated quantity and the hours slide past like slugs and snails. How they don their...
Art is my taste for freedom. I drown day and day until I pick up my paintbrush once again. So, somehow, I can tell myself that you’re not stuck in this room and that the canvas is the key.
Nina Salvadoré
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Seabed or ocean floor? What is the difference?
Submit Your Art & Writing to WAVES
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We meet each other in waves of light, waves of vision, waves of sound–a studio beyond boundaries.
Creative sisters, shoulder to shoulder, shore to shore.
This time, there is no setting our art aside. This time, there is no setting our art asunder. This is our time.
December 6-7 | oneness | noon to noon EST | dip in and out throughout this twenty-four hour wave
Recent From Waves
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seabed or ocean floor Sep 26, 2025
