“To be an artist means never to avert one’s eyes.”
~ Akira Kurosawa
Most of the visual artists I know are attuned to beauty. The innocence of childhood very deep inside will always be fascinated by a flower. The market has something to say about this. Tourists browsing Jackson Square do not come here for horror.
Most of the local poets I know write about their close experience. This is natural. The poet attempts to give shape to the thought behind perception, to make palpable what is behind the eyes, beyond color and shadow. As the artist reaches for the palette, the poet relied upon experience.
There are clear exceptions to these statements. I just read the book Hatch, a collection of poems by Jenny Irish about a metal womb which has replaced natural childbirth roaming dystopia, attempting to break free of it’s masters’ control clear comment on women’s rights in the US in 2024.
I have been reading about Palestine and Palestinian poets, and writing in response to events there. I think now it’s time to turn my attention inward to the failed United States of America.
Well Bottom Blues 
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