Muse Times Two

Cactus Flower

Changing Colors

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Here are two of Genece’s digital paintings that I framed in stained glass.   Kerry

Valkyrie’s Prayer

A web of weird is cast –

Three sisters weave the wick:

Clothos, who spins the thread of human life,

Lachesis, who determines the length,

And Atropos, who cuts the thread of the quick.

Twisting raw fibers,

They form a cocoon,

Over and under, around and through:

They proclaim my fate and raise an alarm:

A mortal soul is born!

Mine is a cloth torn from the loom

As the spirits whirl and dance,

Chortling with glee.

Random misery is my lot –

I cannot escape the gods’ own curse.

I dwell in a cloud of blackness,

My innocence plucked from my youth.

Cancer of sorrow sprouts like a fungus

In the dank undergrowth of my mind.

Tangled, ensnared, choked by the ropes,

I claw at the garrote and pray,

“Great Norns, transform me!

Let me become uroboros,

Declaring, like the Scots queen,

‘In my end is my beginning.’”

 

Kerry Vincent © 1992

i remember…

* * * * * * *

      Only a name.  Only a name and a piece of cloth.  Only a name and a piece of cloth to remember someone who lived and loved, someone who died of HIV-AIDS.

            This is the second time I will view a Names Project AIDS Memorial Quilt exhibit.  I take a deep breath and begin the slow walk around the huge gymnasium.  Bright panels of leather and lame’, denim and sequins, hand-blocked letters remind me that persons with AIDS are more than Center for Disease Control statistics:  each one has a name and a personality and someone who will miss them.

            I recognize Ryan White’s name, but the panel that strikes me most displays simple yellow letters on black felt.  It says, “My name is Duane.  I was born in 1964.  I was diagnosed with AIDS in 1987.  By the time you read this, I will be dead.”

            A square of canvas and markers are provided so viewers can sign a quilt panel.  I see the name of someone I knew, Helena Henry Hatch, a fellow volunteer.  I went to her funeral.  Always dedicated to education and prevention, Helena requested that condoms be distributed for free after her funeral service. 

I write, “You teach me to honor the present.”

          Someone else has written, “Love is never wrong,” and “Love is not in vain.”

            My friend Jerry says hello and shows me the panel he sewed for his buddy Larry.  I give Jerry a hug and tell him I love him.  Jerry is caring, creative, talented, intelligent, he knew Janis Joplin during the original Summer of Love, and he is HIV +.  I don’t want to lose Jerry, too.  Ever the caregiver, he hands me a tissue.

            I tell Jerry, “You will always be more than just a number, just a name on a piece of cloth.”

            He kisses my forehead and thanks me for coming to honor his friends.

 

* * * * * * * *

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

I wrote this piece about 15 years ago.  Jerry died in 1999.  I made his panel for the Names memorial quilt.

Kerry

When I Turn 40

By Kerry Vincent © 1992

 

When I turn 40,

You’d better duck!

I won’t waste time

And I won’t give a fuck!

When I turn 40,

Get out of my way.

I won’t be pleasant

And I’ll have my say.

If you don’t like it

I won’t really care.

If you don’t believe me,

Just test my dare.

Mid-life is half-life,

I’ve got no time to lose!

No more pleasing others:

It’s MY time to choose!

“Life begins at 40” –

Or so I’ve heard say.

Why wait till then?

I’ll start living today!

Kaleidoscope

The cylinder spins;

The pattern changes.

Myriad bits of broken glass,

Fragile shattered dreams,

Colors bright and dark,

Opaque and clear,

Ever-shifting pieces,

Ever-changing connections.

Lovely, like rose windows,

Or surreal, like Man Ray’s nightmares.

But then, when you least expect it,

Some unseen hand twists the cap,

And the cylinder spins again.

 

By Kerry Vincent © 1990

An Embroidered Tale

 

“Gramma, how can you just sit there and embroider all the time?” asked 7-year-old Ainsley.

            “It’s relaxing,” answered Irma, aged 73.

            “Don’t you get bored, just sitting still for so long?” Ainsley’s little brother Drummond wanted to know.

            “Why, no, dears, I’m not bored at all!  I just let my mind wander, and I follow it wherever it goes.  I have so many memories to choose from!”

            “You mean you’re not just thinking about sewing?”

            “No, this is just my cover!” whispered Irma, winking.  “What I’m really thinking about is the time I saw the fairies!”

            “You saw real live fairies?” asked Ainsley, her eyes wide with wonder.

            “Mom says not to fib,” Drummond challenged.

            “Oh, but I did see fairies, down by the barn!  They were dancing in a ring in the meadow, to wonderful music, tinkly bells, tiny harps, and little flutes!  The lady fairies had wings just like butterflies, and they had tiny pointed ears, flowing hair, shiny, shimmering gowns, and they were only 6 inches tall!”

            “Could they fly?”

            “Of course they could fly!  A boy fairy flew right up to me and asked me to dance, but I was afraid I might crush them underfoot, so I said I just wanted to watch.”

            “How many fairies did you see, Gramma?”

            “Oh, lots and lots, children!  They flew all around, up and down, chasing each other, playing tag and hide-n-seek!”

            “Did the girl fairies look like little princesses?” Ainsley asked.

            “Oh, yes, and the lads were small, but very handsome.”

            “Were they good fairies or bad fairies?”

            “They were tricksey, but I knew how to stay out of trouble!  They asked me to eat fairy cake and drink nectar, but I didn’t.  I knew better, because I had read all the fairy tales.  If I had eaten fairy food, I would have been lost to the land of fairies forever…I would never have met your grandfather, and or had your mother, and you would have never been born…”

            “Really?” asked Ainsley and Drummond.

            “Really.  But we’re all here together now, so we can be a happy family,” Irma said, and went back to her sewing.  She jabbed the needle in the cloth and pricked her index finger.  Bright red blood started to flow.

“We’ll get you a Band-Aid, Gramma,” the children said, and ran off.

“Thank you, my dears,” said Irma.  She was glad to be alone for a few moments…She didn’t want them to see the tears in her eyes, as she remembered what really happened down by the barn, when she was small.  She had been whipped until red welts rose on her legs, and whipped some more, until she repeated after her father, “Fairies aren’t real.” 

Irma preferred her version, where she saw the fairies and they played happily together.  She hoped her grandchildren believed in fairies.  Imagination, like bright embroidery floss, adds so much color to life!

  

By Kerry Vincent © 1994

When I Am An Old Cat…

When I am an old cat…

I shall eat only salmon mousse

And cough up hairballs in front of guests.

I shall bathe before the company

And lick between my toes while they watch.

I shall run when they try to pet me

And miss the litter box on purpose

When my human comes home late.

I shall refuse to eat dry kibbles

And hold out for canned fish

So I can whisker-kiss with tuna breath.

I shall look offended when pushed off

Of paperwork or my favorite chair,

And I will ignore being scolded

For leaving tongue grooves in the butter.

 

But for now I must not dig in house plants

And knock down knick-knacks too often.

I must not nip the children too hard

Or growl too much at the vet.

I must be purr-fect and pretty

And always adorable.

 

Still every now and then

I must hiss at the dog

And hide when I am called

And spit out my medicine

And act bored with my kitty toys

So my human will not be too surprised

When I become an old and finicky cat.

 

By Kerry Vincent © 2003

April 30 - Last Glass Class

Yeah, I admit it, I am indeed a pyromaniac at play, a blow torch babe, a flame dame - nothing relieves work day stress like firing up my HotHead blow torch and burning some glass, making lampworked beads, twisting rods, rolling hot glass in frit, applying millifiori slices, adding stripes and dots and my strange designs…

Or maybe laying down some slick stained glass, scoring it to cut it, making the glass cry, breaking it apart, grinding it down, foiling it, fluxing it, soldering the seams, cleaning & polishing it off…I’ve even blown a little glass, I’d like to try fusing dichroic glass next, and I’d love to work in a hot shop like Chihully’s Pilchuk Studio someday…

For now, I enjoy this medium of opposites, cold and hot, fluid and solid, clear and opalescent, flat and 3-D, streaky and textured, this mysterious miracle that lets the light shine through, takes the heat, but survives like a Phoenix!

Despite the occupational hazards, the cuts, the burns, the breakages, I am proud to be a Glass Geek/Glass Goddess!

 

Glass Class - April 29

JAZZ GLASS

 

this glass, this green glass, this blue glass,

this teal glass, even this pale purple glass,

this glass looks so cool, so calm, so serene,

but that is only because it is jazz glass:

it hides its past oh so well

so all you see is the cool.

 

this glass was not always cool and flat -

once it was burning hot, fluid, streaming,

molten like lava spilling from a volcano,

this glass is sand and ash that has paid its dues.

It has survived the fiery furnace,

But like a phoenix,

It has risen from the ashes to be reborn.

 

This glass is jazz glass –

It has paid the price,

It has counted the cost,

But it chooses to be transformed,

To groove on forevermore:

Behold the birth of cool!

 

By Kerry Vincent © 2008

http://www.kog.com/Hot/Rondel.html

Tagged with: cool, glass, hot, jazz, phoenix, rebirth

April 28 - Glass Class

Again - art saves the day!

See something you like at a gallery?  If you can afford it - buy it - you never regret purchasing art!

I found the card that is framed in glass above at the Jacoby Arts Center last fall.  I didn’t know what I’d do with it - I just liked it, and, honestly, it was a bit of a “guilt purchase” - I try to support the arts locally when I can, I had just seen a free gallery show - and a card was all I could afford that day.

These several months later, one of my co-workers announced she is leaving to pursue her dream of a career in nursing.  I remembered the card - and thought it would be perfect for someone going into the “helping hands” profession.  So I made a stained glass frame for it - and I have a one-of-a-kind gift ready to share.

Often I don’t buy paintings I like because “I have no place to put it” - my walls are already crowded.    But being able to give it away, or merge it with another art form (like my stained glass frames) - gives me an excuse to listen to my heart & artist’s spirit - and support a local gallery/artist - and give something memorable - all rolled into one!  Again, art saves the day!