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 WAVES edition adds a glistening droplet to the expansive sea of longing that bonds us all.
“your voices are searchlights” from Rapunzel Brings Her Women’s Studies Class to the Tower by Susan J. Erickson, Waves: A Confluence of Women’s Voices
“Acts of Bravery (Day 1 & 3),” by Lois Bradley, section image for Waves: A Confluence of Women’s Voices
Sisterhood of the Barbed Wire Museum
[each title is a link to the individual work]
“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 strangely energized, and the painting resolved itself in a way unlike my original intent. It became richer and somehow stars appeared in the body of the coyote… the cosmic trickster.
I brushed Baby Hammerhead against my cheek. Her muscled body was scratchy and velvety. I kissed her. Right between her beautiful eyes. So wild. So perfect. “I name you Sister,” I whispered. “Sister Shark. From now on, we’re Family. I’m Wild as You.”
“May I Call You Sister” by Sharon Baker
“Yellow Eye” by Andrea Mozarowski, AROHO Global Summer Camp 2023
The woman with one yellow eye entered the narrative decades ago, following my first trip to Ukraine, post-Perestroika.
Do you remember the way we laughed in the face of that shattering windchill slapping our cheeks until we felt almost sober? Almost legit to drive home? It was as though we’d co-created a queendom — our chariot, your Chrysler LeBaron.
It’s been a while since we talked. 25 years or so. Dates got foggy for me after my mom got sick and I started marking time with dementia symptoms, long goodbyes and grief. My own memory isn’t always reliable, either. But some things a person never forgets.
“Dear Missy” by Lonna Whiting
“… in my heart [this piece] belongs to Waves and nowhere else.”
– Niloufar Behrooz
Do you have a piece whose heart belongs to WAVES?
Our open invitation to submit and receive is free.