Susie Monday

Artist, maker, teacher, author, head cook and bottlewasher.

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The art I make is the result of a life-long love of pattern, texture and color. How I teach is a skill honed by experience (I started teaching creative arts to younger kids when I was 12). After earning a B.A. in Studio Arts from Trinity University, I helped lead an internationally recognized educational foundation, designed curriculum exhibits for schools and other institutions, wrote and edited for a major daily newspaper, opened the San Antonio Children's Museum and then, a dozen years ago, took the scary but essential (for me) leap to become a fulltime artist and art teacher.

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This weblog is about the maker's life. The teacher's path. The stitching and dyeing and printing of the craft of art cloth and art quilt. The stumbling around and the soaring, the way the words and the pictures come together. Poetry on the page and in the piecing of bright scraps together. The inner work and the outer journeys to and from. Practicalities and flights of fancy and fearful grandeur, trivial pursuits and tactile amusements. Expect new postings two or three times a week, unless you hear otherwise. 

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    « TEXT Projected, Jenny Holzer | Main | Traveling with Text »
    Monday
    Apr022012

    POETRY!

    From my friend Jim LaVilla-Havelin

    SLAM THE TOWN!!! National Poetry Month in San Antonio 2012 - March 10-May 13,2012

    Wherever you are, on April 1 (and because April 1 is a Sunday, April 2, as well): Use this sheet  to type, hand-write, print – a poem you like (your own, someone else’s, famous, unknown). Make copies and get them out to everyone you know, and folks you don’t know, too.

    Under windshield wipers, in work mailboxes, at restaurants, on chairs, on buses, to your email list. SLAM THE TOWN with poems, poems as gifts, poems as a way of letting everyone know how important poetry is in all of our lives.  (If you use a poem that is copyrighted, in a book, please note where the poem can be found, cite the source.)

    Hold Everything Dear

    as the brick of the afternoon stores the rose heat of the journey

    as the rose buds a green room to breathe

    and blossoms like the wind

    as the thinning birches whisper their silver stories of the wind to the urgent

    in the trucks

    as the leaves of the hedge store the light

    that the moment thought it had lost

    as the nest of her wrist beats like the chest of a wren in the morning air

    as the chorus of the earth find their eyes in the sky

    and unwrap them to each other in the teeming dark

    hold everything dear

    the calligraphy of birds across the morning

    the million hands of the axe, the soft hand of the earth

    one step ahead of time

    the broken teeth of tribes and their long place

    steppe-scattered and together

    clay’s small, surviving handle, the near ghost of a jug

    carrying itself towards us through the soil

    the pledge of offered arms, the single sheet that is our common walking

    the map of the palm held

    in a knot

    but given as a torch

    hold everything dear

    the paths they make towards us and how far we open towards them

    the justice of a grass than unravels palaces but shelters the songs of the searching

    the vessel that names the waves, the jug of this life, as it fills with the days

    as it sinks to become what it loves

    memory that grows into a shape the tree always knew as a seed

    the words

    the bread

    the child who reaches for the truths beyond the door

    the yearning to begin again together

    animals keen inside the parliament of the world

    the people in the room the people in the street the people

    hold everything dear

    –Gareth Evans

    I found the poem on this wonderful art blog by painter Deborah Barlow, http://slowmuse.wordpress.com/. She (and many others) have picked it up from painter, essayist, political activist, writer and Marxist John Berger's book of the same title. (The poem was written for Mr. Berger and before you slink away from the term Marxist, read his comments in Orion magazine here.)

    I have not been able to exactly trace Mr. Evans, but he might also be a producer. Anyone who knows if there are more poems of his out there, let me know, as I would like to read them!

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