I'm falling in love with my process again, the less I try to fill every minute. I time travel when I read the past. I see into my then skin, compare it with now. I learn about where my brain was and where it is. I've learned that the practice of writing takes time. A long time. That having patience and cultivating love for the act of writing is the thing that leads to authentic depth and realization of voice that can't be forced. I've learned there is deep value in waiting. There is no one way to tell a story, to structure a play. The act of writing daily helps me know how to move my hand through a story, an idea, a play or a thought much more than if I wait between projects. I've learned I have something to say. I am an adventure. I work hard. I can miss things, skip things and the world carries on. I can fail in big and small ways, that's how I learn. For me, writing is not about seeking expertise but discovery, opening, humanity. Vulnerability is the gateway to connection. Everyone has a creative voice to unlock. Listening is a difficult art that requires great patience and ability to resist interrupting, speaking, offering advice. I've learned that I love to use giant weather-based catastrophes in my work, often representing some big world or personal event. I've learned that the personal is political. That my tendency to assume factors about people and situations is a habit that I must continue to break. That as a white person I have extreme advantage that is unfair, but I can use that agency to open up space for the targeted. I've learned that we can make something beautiful together through art, and that I love collaborations even though they are difficult. I've learned that writing is hard and I will always do it.
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Heart is a blubbery mess of whole skin
An aching, frustrated chord on the ukulele And also piano, guitar, bass Or a long minor key on cello Heart wants connection Shakes for bravery Sound of a single coin rattling tin cup Heart sees every color under sky And over In the vast universe beyond We are small Heart contained in my fist And massive, oceans deep Vast, interstellar dreams run million miles Arrows point in every direction Hot chocolate kisses spill out wrappers Heart brushes eyelashes Sticky hands stuck faces Watching out windows, radiate sunshine Reflect back at me the rain off clouds the sugar glass panes Heart walks grounds where Dad lies Waiting His wife still here, beating A-Thump-A-Thump-A-Thump Heart's ears capturing news Remember feasting lunchtime sandwiches running acres wide Backside damp from marshland lawns Blue string knotted tight round finger Falling forward into forever yeses A ball of wax slipping through fingers Blots away cheek tears Heart is a feverish night A journey into great beyond Side-by-side by fire knees buzz
hummingbirds inside freshly hatched stir up from eggs million wing-beats per minute permeate TV snow washes away to bring clarity underneath heat in legs/heels/ankles belly, too echoes way down deep in gut a glowing magma spills out from cracks below ocean at the edge of earth's crust itching out this volcanic self this blaze thundering dinosaur late night retro-Japanese horror mouth large and looming ghost haunting phantom contains breath from my belly to beyond I blubbery salamander
working way through creek transform as I go. Extend hands reaching out, form body against algae. Thank you, bits of green under toes, soft and wet your coat of mud between webbed fingers. I duckweed up above shine like granny smith. Cover the density of me against water surface like blanket. A spidery silken scarf drapes overhead amphibious mess. Beneath my rubber leaves --that look slimy but are not-- watch frog/tad beauties and salamander friends --that are slimy but look slick like rainbows. Wrap ourselves inside ourselves. Forever protection. Watch friend salamander coax down grey rock. I myself have faster swim. Spend time in stillness zip along racing through creeks. Bend legs and arms quick switchblades. Swish tail, turn bulbous head burrowing in lacing mass. One day will emerge. Spend days on stone on pad. Rapid plops in/out water, flash tongue shooting, six-legged bite will make up for now slow underneath. heavy gust of rain
tongue tied nerves blustery clouds in spring fallout days in summer a pair of dry lips lost puppy eyes suck leeches from my knees watch glacier bits fall from sugar white pastures those ways are thawing melting watch the drip let out ragged bleats this morning I rise with full eyes in bloom a thick loaf of sourdough a scrunched up forehead long legs wide hips bloated right now bear fruit out my eyes giant worms on fish hooks all we ever seem to do is wake our names in our chests that room of stiff bodied people
and wild green outside flick of lips when she opened her mouth and a squeak came out the charged nature of everything here/now back bent at screen blue flowers grew up on either side with little saplings bombastic voices surrounding park bench her throat clearing broad skies and clouds skinny wisps of white the building bricks like Marlboro Reds smoked packs a day those years something she was good at Art shows me the world I want to see, reveals how I want to live. The process of making art teaches me to live better. Putting creations into the world helps me express what's going on inside me, in my life, what I observe in this world, my beliefs when I find it impossible to do so face to face. By sharing the work I make, I can make myself vulnerable in a way that opens me up to connect with others through empathy, and them to each other. When I see art that inspires me, I am reminded of our condition, our world, the irrevocable sense of beauty and truth in each moment. pay attention to how skin lays over bones
laugh at jokes let the desert sand tension that's accumulated into rhino's tough hide dissolve to feathery gossamer what animal am I now? dream more daydream night dream look people in the eye when we talk listen with whole body there is time for planning and there is time for presence do all literary images taste like paper? chuck out those bones those compost roots make garbage sandwiches out of banana peels
when i
woke up i felt barbaric this epic spring journey's been homeric submarine swimming to the bottom of the ocean how bout I nap for a while with calypso |
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$1, $10, $100, whatevs :) Heidi KraayProcess notes on a work in progress (me). This mostly contains raw rough content pulled out of practice notebooks. Occasional posts also invite you into the way I work, with intermittent notes on the hows and whys on the whats I make. Less often you may also find prompts and processes I've brought to workshops, as well as surveys that help me gather material for projects. Similar earlier posts from years ago can be found on: Archives
March 2024
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