PoArtry is a collaborative project that is the brainchild of Rick Sanders, aka Willis the Poet and is a mash-up of visual art and poetry. The concept is a simple one; artists and poets are randomly paired together from names drawn from a hat. Each pair then has 3 months to work together to create new work inspired by each other’s existing portfolios. Dawn has been involved in the project for the last 4 iterations. www.poartry.co.uk
Hope is the thing with Feathers
The earth spins and we hope
The answer to the riddle is hope
I hope for hope where there is none
(Lines from Hope soundtrack including the first line quoted from Emily Dickinson.)
The Gleaner emerges from an underworld of words and sounds of nature from the Hope Project soundtrack. Through connecting with nature in a cyclical vision of time, she gives hope for a world where we re-attribute value to what has been decreed worthless.
The Gleaner gathers the discarded and the overlooked just as peasant women would gather left over grain and fruits from the harvest. In the tradition of still life painting, each object she has gleaned from the re-melted facial hair wax and wordless scrolled strips of newspaper to the green tree fruits, dried flowers and dessicating petals are symbols of the transcience of life communicating their own messages of hope.
This piece was inspired by West Midlands based writer Roger Noon’s poem ‘The Sideboard (After Edip Cansever)’ in which he uses the word ‘tranklements’, a dialect word for precious and familiar ornaments that you might display.
The Captain Said “Haven Light ahoy, boys”, the captain said waving our helmsman to starboard. We smelt fields, saw gannets shadow stars heard crashing rollers of betrayal. “Abandon ship”, the captain said, as he tapped his pipe on tilting rails. Wreckers scaled the broken bow lit by violent, smoking sunrise. We broke out cutlass and pistol but they were too well-armed. Hatch and cover splintered as blood foamed in the scuppers. “Help yourselves, boys”, the captain said patting his pockets, standing in conspiratorial greeting. Small boats came bobbing by, liberated our hard-sailed cargo. Sea boots crunched skullbone, slipped on our brains and guts as hands passed box and bag. “I’ll take my pay now”, the captain said. They gave it him in the guts with twisting rapier thrust then lead ball to his neck for luck. “I’m sorry, boys” the captain said when we greeted him on the other side, watched his black soul founder through ash, mast, spar and flame.
Randomly paired with poet Kezzabelle Amber I was inspired by her collection ‘Permission to Speak’ to create a response that captured the essence of her work; notions of female beauty and a particular poem about women and children in war torn areas across the world
Kezzabelle chose an old image of mine taken on a trip to Cyprus in the late ’90’s.