when Kali comes . . .

darkcrow wings

Black wolf called me out

       from under my warm white sheets

             into my naked darkness.

                   Her beady eyes glaring down on me

 

my judge, jury and executioner.

      Lonely night of death dripping

           fear gripping my body

                  both longing and afraid.

 

Teeth snarling, spitting, ferocious

       and hungry for the remnants of my sorrow

             lurking behind Pleiades

                  squatting in the heavens

 

pacing,  and waiting.

     Then she lunges

            Gnashing, Growling, Snarling, Tearing

                   Shaking me free of the bindings

 

Of my sorrow.

     Flesh ripping.

           Tendons snapping.

                  Bones cracking.

 

All that remains

      Is Hemmingway’s honest and true

             bare bones, naked night, no excess, no fluff

                    Just the boney truth, the pure and the true.

 

Humbled by her ferocious hunger

       shaky gratitude moistens my face

             at the feet of my

                   beady-eyed liberator.

  dark sky 2

 

I actually wrote this poem months ago in Santa Fe after being awoken by some force and pulled outside to sit under the stars during the Pleiades and two beady stars above kept piercing through me. I grabbed my journal and wrote this poem pretty close to what it is today. 

Tonight, I decided I was tired of waiting for it to be better and I just wanted to get it out there. The Universe appreciates speed or so they say, so create and share! I want to start posting more often, I miss it. 

Thanks for reading and let me know if it resonates. 

Big Love, 
Katariina

 

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my book of scraps . . .

book made from scraps

I made this book for collage class. I love the layered edges where all the different papers & cardboard show. The cover was a failed collage that I cut up, see so it really is made from scraps. I love this idea. It sort of feels like all my art is made from scraps of my memories. I can’t say it was my life, not the reality of my life, who knows really what that was, all I have are my memories & the meanings I gave to these events.

So within the pages I wrote snippets of thoughts like scraps of memories, songs, words, inspirations, they may make no sense but it would be incredible if anyone who read them just pieced the scraps of words together between the flipping of textured paper & scribbles & allowed these words to make a personal meaning of their own.

last page

For years, I have dreamed of piecing together a book of images, words, etc from my experience in Iraq in this sort of way, that wasn’t linear or even very clear, more like sifting through scraps of images, poems, memories, bits of stories perhaps unfinished. The reader/viewer would be a bit of a voyeur who found a box of scraps & pieced them together to give them meaning, personal meaning.

Let me know if you think this would be interesting. I think it is organically coming together as I progress in my creativity.

The image above is one of my photos from Iraq transferred onto a brown paper bag using matte medium, letting it dry and then rubbing off the paper with water & my fingers. The bottom one is on cardboard that I gessoed first. I love the gritty feel it creates. It’s as if a photo has been found from a century ago, hidden in a dusty, damp attic. I love imperfection.

peony transfer with added tissue

on my easel . . .

back to basics

This is a painting that sat & sat & sat on my easel while I tried different sketches but nothing seemed right. Then I painted over it with a slate oops paint & suddenly the possibilities blossomed into a monochromatic, chalk-boardy sort of image. It was different to highlight rather than shade on the nude – a completely different perspective.

Well anyways, here it is for your viewing.I called it Back to Basics (not sure why). I’m sure I’ll keep working on it because I always do, but wow, how different this is than my other paintings. I like that about it. If I keep creating everyday like this, I can’t imagine what my paintings will look like in five years – on my 50th birthday!!!! Woooo Hoooo!!!!

a closer shot

there’s nothing serious going on here

naked in costa rica

I’m not sure where I got this saying from but I find myself using it often lately. It just somehow seems so appropriate when things are going awry and our best laid plans are unravelling. I mean no one has a severed limb, no sucking chest wounds, the house is still standing and we have pay checks coming in every month, so nothing can be that dire, to lose our joy over.

I’m not sure what should be considered serious, or when this statement may not fit for us, but for now even though our pool contractor screwed us out of thousands of dollars, the IRS informed us of an impending audit, we have an ongoing, never-ending lawsuit filed for custody issues, we have nearly a million dollars in debt, I struggle weekly with PTSD and depression symptoms, my father has dementia . . . even though all of that exists there is so much joy, so many giggles, so many possibilities & opportunities, so much creativity, music, dancing, and LOVE going on here that all of that stuff mentioned earlier is not so serious.

This is why I find myself repeating, “there’s nothing serious going on here.” So I ask my family that we tread softly on each other’s toes when dancing with one another,  remember to give hugs and plenty of kisses, be each other’s biggest fan. Oh and validate each other with adoration and acceptance. These are powerful tools for transformation.

Finnegan Nash

birthday tulips