Click here to see new Aerial Dreams site!

I've started a second site for my Aerial Dream series. New Roundlings and other undefinable works will continue here at Runaway Moon.

in the wind of a sneeze
mixed media collage

in the wind of a sneeze

i wanted to build a house
the way ants do
hauling tiny crumbs
four times their own size
its brick walls would stack neatly

i wanted people inside
but didn't plan on a naked man
and a girl floating
as if to escape

my scissors took over
irregular rectangles fell
bricks sailed
into dizzying alignments
and windows flew away
on the wings of black birds


collage and poem first printed in Mannequin Envy

Mosaic in Time
The mosaic technique was inspired by a book of children's art.
mixed media collage: magazines, gold and silver papers, 4" x 6"

Open Weave
This collage looks like a weaving but it's all actually glued. The thin strips are composed with magazine text that is mostly illegible, but there is some readable text for those who look hard enough. Framed, the collage is raised above an off-white mat so that it is partially see-through and there is a lovely shadow effect. The other materials are embossed paper, magazine images, gold and silver watercolor, joss paper. Serves Four (another collage, see below) is made the same way and shows more of the detail. 14" x 12 3/4".

Flora the Poet
mixed media collage, 6" x 4"

first published in Mannequin Envy

summer evening raining green
mixed media collage: fabric, paper, faux grass, beads, lady bug, magazine, paper doilies, ink, colored pencil, poem is beneath glass pebbles

5" x 8"

detail

Making this collage, I had in mind a dear friend who has recently died. Accepting the spectrum of genders within himself, he preferred to wear dresses – encouraging me to do the same. This poem is under the glass baubles:

summer evening raining green

looking for step down to the door
the home that disappeared
the bed still hides
under the clover


Collage and poem first printed in Houston Literary Review

Serves Four
mixed media collage: magazines, joss paper, metallic paint
4 1/2" x 5 1/2". First printed in Houston Literary Review.

metallic moon face

upside down in a spoon
servant to one tongue



gripped by hand 

plunged into icy orange dresses


I am not that servant anymore

I am rooted in earth cakes
sprinkled with gold dust


First printed in Houston Literary Review

Prayer
(sold)

Prayer

You were bubbles
of wonder when we met
that went pop, pop,
with each blow from life,
each electric shock
making you forget.

You came to my studio
for a drawing class that day,
when out of nowhere,
you changed.

Your mouth matted down
with just enough shape
to blow a single hope,
"Do you pray? Will you
pray for me?"

I said yes, to calm you,
not knowing how,
until I saw your face
in my collage.

For your hair, I can grow
a grass topiary halo, dotted
with a band of pansies,
marigolds and lettuce leaves.

And I can stitch you a dress
of periwinkles, blue cartwheels
to pollinate sky and earth
where snails, the size
of fingernails curl up
and roll over your past.

That day, I said softly,
"Don't be afraid of sadness."

Wearing your purse around
your neck, you sunk into
the soft bed, my couch, where
a young male Daoist once
dreamt of nothingness.


collage and poem first printed in Mannequin Envy

Cut Crosswise
mixed media collage

first published in qarrtsiluni

My Mouth is a Hollowed Apple

I've swallowed the seeds and the core

I've been wondering if strawberry men feel vulnerable

wearing their seeds on the outside

I remember sweeping the playground with a tree branch

When the boys chased me, I fell and skinned my knees

At snack time we had graham crackers and milk

then took a nap

I wore a tight shirt to flatten the symbols growing on my chest

The first boy who grabbed at them forgot I was his friend

Blood oranges have blemishes

other changes no one warned me about

I've been hoping the blood would stop

first published in Soundzine

Separate Wheys
mixed media collage

Foodscape

Allergic to common fare,
she tries to derive sustenance
from square boxes

Prowling the grocery aisles
her hunger shakes packaged granules

She craves a small plate of friendship
a beckoning hand or caress
gently curved around her middle

Empty as a spoon
that might be filled
with strawberries and cream

Last Stage of Crystallization
I meant to express gentle humor about phallic imagery and also explore cubism. The title comes from a recipe for candy.

mixed-media collage: magazines, joss paper, metallic paint, 4 1/2" x 5 1/2". First printed in Houston Literary Review.

Feeding Tenderness

Feeding Tenderness
Many of the collages here explore the motif of roundness; I call them roundlings.
mized-media collage: magazines, fabric, paper, glass pebbles, pansies, paint and colored pencil, 8" x 8" x 1/2"

The Meaning of Roundling

With the edges of our eyes, we catch glimpses
of roundlings peeking through windows.
Gentle creatures, ready to bolt, so fragile
with dark traumas passed onto them.

Best not to talk the language of x,y,z.
A whisper of "why didn't you" or "you should"
is an attack of syntax, a barbed construction
that shatters them. They will run away
with the thought, "It is not safe here."

Once they flee, the void aches
with absence of oval tenderness.

Sometimes they can be enticed
with soft fruits and scents
of fresh lemon, orange and tangerine.
Round stones will please.

Feed them colors, speak in fluted ragas
and offer acceptance.


First printed in Mannequin Envy

Oval Tenderness
An experiment in minimalism, the original is only 1 1/4" x 1". While the original collage is sold, there are prints. These are 12" x 10" on white watercolor paper without the black border. First exhibited online at Woman Made Gallery.

Recipe for Healing


1/2 cantaloupe
(seeds removed)
1 tsp sweet tears

Weep and catch
the tears in a spoon,
gently sprinkle melon

Inhale my ripe-dew flesh
then serve on a bed
of wilted lettuce

In a china bowl
with a few deft
lines of blue

Whispers like
I love you
just as you are


First printed in Houston Literary Review

Terra Heart
mixed media collage

first published in Houston Literary Review