poetry

Four Months: Thursday

| Sheree

We leave our Eco-house early driving into Reykjavik for coffee and breakfast at Braun’s, a delicious bakery selling fresh bread, cinnamon swirls and croissants.

From here we have the length and breadth of the city centre to play with.

We become the Flaneuses, the walking women that we are. Armed with our cameras and pens and journals we begin our adventure.

We walk up the hill to the iconic church, Hallgrímskirkja. We take inspiration from the exterior, designed to resemble the Icelandic landscape with its rocks, mountains and glaciers. This a sharp contrast to it’s clean, understated and simple interior of grey and padded pews. We take the lift to the top of the tower and see the streets of Reykjavík below us as well as the sea and surrounding snow-capped mountains. We are Queens, women unto ourselves up here. We take this sense of power and awe back down as we sit and take time to capture our thoughts and feelings of being here, now. Being present.

Let me take you into a hidden garden of sculptures just by the church. Einar Jonsson Museum. Many walk by and miss this moment of beauty. But we don’t as you have a frequent visitor to Iceland as your guide. Me.  We stop and write here too soaking up the quiet and peace right in the middle of the city.

Down the hill we walk in the direction of the museums and art galleries. We have a few to choose from and it all depends on what they’re exhibiting. The Photograhy Museum is a favourite of mine. The criteria for selection is women, nature and beauty.

We enjoy a workshop within the gallery, stopping for lunch and sharing our creations. Then the afternoon we have the time and space to shop, walk, explore alone or together but really experience the feel and buzz of this compact but vibrant city centre.

As the days are long, we can stay as long as we wish in the city, grabbing dinner, catching a concert at Harpa, experiencing the nightlife. We play it by ear as the adventure just keeps enfolding just beyond our next step.

Four Months – Monday

| Sheree

Miss Ella loves crispy chicken. She leaves it on her plate till last to eat. My mum used to do the same with beef. I don’t understand it me. I take meat or leave it. But, I’m all for the pleasure, satisfaction. Straight away. No delayed gratification.

This explains why, on this retreat, after your self-made breakfast, we start in with the paints preparing backgrounds in our special visual journals. I like to use Pink Pig Pads, because the paper is extra thick, is robust and takes many a coat of paint, ink and glue. So I’ve got an A4 or even a square version of this journal. You bring along your own special journal. One that you’ve been stashing away for a special time or reason. Well this is that special time. Just make sure the pages can take all your creations.

We begin with paints, thick juicy colourful paints, and throughout this session we add images and text, intuitively. Working around the theme ‘Light’, we fill up our pages, working with specially prepared prompts and words for the occasion.

After lunch, we’re out and about. And remember the habit of saving the best till last! Not on this trip. We drive south, towards Vik and the black sand beaches. We stand within the roar of the Atlantic Ocean and feel the chill of the water upon our toes. We’re brave on this retreat, so we strip off, down to our cossies and our full bodies are on. Can you feel the power? Can you feel the thrill? We walk around the rocks to the sea stacks and the caves, soaking up the energy of this magical place.

On the way back we stop off at a number of waterfalls along the route. We walk the cliffs to the top, to the source. We walk behind the falls and feel the fresh spray of water. We are happy to be alive.

There will be free time and down time before dinner, prepared with locally sourced foods by Sarah Spaeth. Come and find out more about Sarah here. After we have time to share our a-ha moments of the day. What are our takeaways?

Still light in the day? Yes of course. This is the time of the midnight sun. Time to walk through the village, down to the shore and watch the sunset.

Botanic Gardens, Belfast

| Sheree

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Day 3 – Pain as Logic and Metaphor #eatmystardust

Botanic Gardens, Belfast

The pain that lives in my body
intensifies confined under
the dome of the Palm House.

Livid burgundy blooms burst
upon ochre and gold stripes
knocking along flat sharp leaves.

How deep it roots depends
upon the heat striking the panes
of glass reaching for the sky.

Process – Part 2

| Sheree

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Sometimes when I sit down to write, I can use the journal of my everyday, my visual journal.  Other times, I need a blank sheet of lined paper with no other distractions. No image, no colour just a clean slate.

Here I might start with the impression I was left with after my walk. Burgundy. Burgundy what? Wall, poster, leaf? I would try to describe the colour for someone who hasn’t seen it. Is it a flat colour? Dull or sharp? No this burgundy was vivid because it was so shocking to the eye around so much green. There I’m starting to bring in comparisons. I’m starting to bring in feelings.

I could worry this line for ages but the aim is to keep going. Just like walking. Keep one foot moving in front of the other and so the writing of lines is the same. Keep moving the pen over the page, keep the words flowing. This is just the first draft. Things are bound to be wrong, messy, cliched. But only when you’ve words on the page are you able to start the pruning and beautifying process. You have to have something on the page to work with before you can create the masterpiece. The poem.

There are many drafts of the poem, of the same line even. Adding in words. Taking others out. Switching of verbs for more specific ones,  verbs that are really working it within this line or that.

At all times the purpose is to leave the reader with an impression. To get them to connect to the words not with their head but with their heart. To move them in some way. Create a shift.

Process – Part 1

| Sheree

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I had the urge to write a poem. My hand was itching but not quite ready to lift up my pen. So I went for a walk. Walking helps the process. Helps me think but in a very freeing way. Thoughts of my life or work flit through my mind. But they don’t stay because something in the rhythm of putting one foot in front of another allows the thoughts to enter and leave without making an impression. This is good as my aim is to get to the point where I leave myself and my troubles behind. That I get to the point of being free, unburdened and open. Open to receive.

Once I become open to the environment around me, my senses kick in. I see things,   but more importantly I start to feel things. Feel the air on my cheeks. Feel the concrete shudder through my legs. And then smell. Diesel, cut grass, midget gems.

And so it goes on the more I walk. There further I walk away from me and the closer I walk to inspiration.  And an impression is made upon me from the outside world that I carry back with me inside to my pen and paper. And usually the impression is a colour. Burgundy today.

New Month

| Sheree

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I’m glad January is out of the way. We enter the new year with such high hopes and expectations that we, well me then, weigh the month down with it all.
It’s a dark time of the year in more ways than one. And I’m not sure when it became the norm but me and January fell out. I’ve been trying to heal the rift through time away, meeting friends, setting goals. But I have to be honest, I lost it there mid month. Maybe it was coming down after my Iceland trip. Or maybe it was post-Christmas fatigue. But I am glad to see the back of January.
February has already got a different feel to it. But correct me if I’m wrong but it is lighter, in more ways than one.
So as I stand at the threshold of this month, I set my intentions, take on new challenges and commitments for my creativity and soul.
I’ve returned to the body and my self-portraiture practice. Projects are started and will continue leading me where, I haven’t got a clue. Feeling my way through the process and practice and enjoying the journey.

Longing for Rest

| Sheree

Those who in youth and childhood wander alone in woods and wild places,
ever after carry in their hearts a secret well of quietness and …
they always long for rest and to get away from the noise and rumour of the world.

W. B. Yeats, Letters

#sheofthewildwrites – hair

| Sheree

Day 7 – my hair feels like

:: A black woman’s body was never hers alone::
Fannie Lou Hamer

Is your hair real? she asks. I sit next to her on the stationary bikes.
Sweating.

I’ve seen them doing that kind of thing along the beach in Jamaica.
I say nothing.

Not to people like you but tourists. You know they pay for it.
I stare forward peddle faster.

Obviously, she’s an older woman who likes to talk. Maybe
the gym is a social occasion for her. I try not to judge.

Did it take a while for you to get it done?
I want to tell her that this is my hair. All my own hair.

Do you wash it?
Really, lady? You’re asking me if I wash my hair?

I want to ask her would she ask
the same questions to a white woman?

I focus on my reflection, and then catch her moving in.
Oh can I touch it?

No! You can’t. I find my voice.
She looks outraged and confused. But why?

Seriously?
I want to say

because I’m not an animal in a zoo
because I’m not your property
because this is my body.

But I say nothing. I move away and if anyone’s
watching it looks like I’m being rude.

#dreadscapes #blackwomensbodies #canitouchit #selflove