The poem below was originally written for an artist and friend in response to a gallery showing of her work. Her paintings were dedicated to the feminine form. Her aesthetic use of color and form demonstrated both a sensual, yet vulnerable vision of female sexuality that was exciting and provocative. At least, that was my interpretation of her work. In response, my poem was an attempt to capture the sentiment that I experienced from her paintings.
Ironically, my friend hated this poem. I think she thought what I wrote was about her the artist, as opposed to the art itself. Besides, I suspect that my poem was a bit to close for comfort in that she could express her sexuality through art, but was not prepared to look at it from the perspective of another. It was then that I learned that even artists could be unaware of the complexity of their own work. More so, that even artists could not hold the definitive interpretation to their work. Interpretation is a de facto reality given any one's right to make an opinion, even if from the perspective of the artist, it is ill-informed.
This poem is still dedicated to the friend that hated it. She served as early inspiration for me in reclaiming my own creative sense of vision and purpose. I am grateful for the passion she ignited in me to capture the feminine form in my own art and poetry.
A Glimpse into the Soul of a Woman
@ copyright John Blair
As you allow me
to watch you
give birth
to the self
you discover
through the love you offer yourself
What joy do you awaken
as you touch yourself
into release
Evoking
calling forth
summoning
the ecstasy of sensation
Amidst the vulnerability
that you disclose
through the caressing
of the space between your legs
The delicate
if not fragile
way that you embrace
your self
Displays a tenderness
like two lovers
who cling to each other
when the physicality of their
passion has subsided
So there you stand
unashamed to be yourself
supported in the stance you assume
by the development of your
well proportion thighs
You hold your shapely breasts
like a secret you will never tell
massage away the insecurities
fondle pass the doubts
Reclaim your voice
your mind
and spirit
they all belong by right to you
No words I imagine
can give voice to the whispers of
your sighs and moans
so preciously uttered
in the sanctuary of your body
Even god
could not have conceived
the elegance and beauty
exuded by the multiplicity
of your orgasms
That just by your touch
the flesh and the spirit
are united
By soft
gentle weeping
does your body and soul
affect its climax
achieving its completion
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Still Writing Against The Advice of Many
WARNING: There is absolutely no rhyme or reason to the following blog. It is self-indulgent bordering on narcissistic that advances no contribution to the betterment of society as a whole.
It has been months since I have actively kept up this blog. Intended to be an outlet for my personal writings, I became ambivalent about what I was writing. Add to my ambivalence a touch of seasonal affective depression, along with the ending of a largely passionate relationship with a former girlfriend, and a plaguing sense of doubt that my artistic life had become redundant, I was running on empty. Rather than write, I chose the path of lease resistance opting to lose myself in bad television re-runs and stacks of books that went unread. I am the cliche epitome of the tortured writer and painter.
The advent of spring has re-invigorated me, even if a couple of days into it the new season, the weather is cold, damp and gray. I attribute my new surge in energy to the liberal use of Ginseng with which I lace my herbal tea, as well as the raw apple cider I drink three times a day. Then again, it could be months of associating with alternative treatment specialist like a chiropractor and an acupuncturist trying to stimulate my psycho-physical energy back breaks and needles. I am not sure if this is modern day quackery but I feel better just the same.
I have identified that my desire to create is usually connected to whatever particular woman is in my life and has 3/4ths of my attention. Women are my primary source of inspiration. I like everything about women. A woman's movement is like dance; her speech like poetry; her figure living artistry. Even when she is wrong, a woman is right. If perfection had a name, it would be woman. This exclusive focus on women may explain why I have so few male friends.
The range of a woman's emotional inner life leaves me perplexed and unbalanced. I make no claims to understand the women I have loved, but I have been intrigued and enamored by every one. I play my part in whatever role I am consigned to play in the unfolding, ritual drama that the woman I desire creates for us. That is written as a compliment to the imaginative play of the women in my life. In the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, the term for an enlightened woman is a dakini, a female yogini that literally translates to a sky dancer. It is an indication that a woman cannot be constrained by the bonds of this world.
Speaking of Buddhism, or Christianity or Hinduism for that matter, I am clearly agnostic in its original usage and meaning. I don't know but I am ever searching for the Truth. As part of my deliberations over the last several weeks, I am still committed to the whole spiritual thang. I pray and meditate, but am not sure why. I have no interest in sectarian dogmas, doctrine or creeds. I'm not bright enough to follow most of the metaphysical arguments expounded about either this or that. Like ripples in a pond, I believe the boundaries between most religious traditions are more fluid than rigid. I'm not sure I identify with any one tradition any more, so much as I can see the point most of the groups are making.
In closing, I hope to focus more on my blog, and make contributions worth reading for only the marginal few. Without a preference for any particular political, religious, or societal posture of the day, there is not much of a stance I can make. I lean towards an all inclusive general stance that all people have a right to food, shelter, medical resources. Other than that, I don't know if President Obama's health care plan is feasible. I trust that the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are no less feasible from a fiscal budgeting perspective, but the conflict is still being engaged. Why not devote a third of those resources to making sure people are healthy.
Anyway, the point of it all...I'm still here, still unfocused, still rambling without any ability to make a meaningful contribution towards anything worthwhile or serious.
It has been months since I have actively kept up this blog. Intended to be an outlet for my personal writings, I became ambivalent about what I was writing. Add to my ambivalence a touch of seasonal affective depression, along with the ending of a largely passionate relationship with a former girlfriend, and a plaguing sense of doubt that my artistic life had become redundant, I was running on empty. Rather than write, I chose the path of lease resistance opting to lose myself in bad television re-runs and stacks of books that went unread. I am the cliche epitome of the tortured writer and painter.
The advent of spring has re-invigorated me, even if a couple of days into it the new season, the weather is cold, damp and gray. I attribute my new surge in energy to the liberal use of Ginseng with which I lace my herbal tea, as well as the raw apple cider I drink three times a day. Then again, it could be months of associating with alternative treatment specialist like a chiropractor and an acupuncturist trying to stimulate my psycho-physical energy back breaks and needles. I am not sure if this is modern day quackery but I feel better just the same.
I have identified that my desire to create is usually connected to whatever particular woman is in my life and has 3/4ths of my attention. Women are my primary source of inspiration. I like everything about women. A woman's movement is like dance; her speech like poetry; her figure living artistry. Even when she is wrong, a woman is right. If perfection had a name, it would be woman. This exclusive focus on women may explain why I have so few male friends.
The range of a woman's emotional inner life leaves me perplexed and unbalanced. I make no claims to understand the women I have loved, but I have been intrigued and enamored by every one. I play my part in whatever role I am consigned to play in the unfolding, ritual drama that the woman I desire creates for us. That is written as a compliment to the imaginative play of the women in my life. In the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, the term for an enlightened woman is a dakini, a female yogini that literally translates to a sky dancer. It is an indication that a woman cannot be constrained by the bonds of this world.
Speaking of Buddhism, or Christianity or Hinduism for that matter, I am clearly agnostic in its original usage and meaning. I don't know but I am ever searching for the Truth. As part of my deliberations over the last several weeks, I am still committed to the whole spiritual thang. I pray and meditate, but am not sure why. I have no interest in sectarian dogmas, doctrine or creeds. I'm not bright enough to follow most of the metaphysical arguments expounded about either this or that. Like ripples in a pond, I believe the boundaries between most religious traditions are more fluid than rigid. I'm not sure I identify with any one tradition any more, so much as I can see the point most of the groups are making.
In closing, I hope to focus more on my blog, and make contributions worth reading for only the marginal few. Without a preference for any particular political, religious, or societal posture of the day, there is not much of a stance I can make. I lean towards an all inclusive general stance that all people have a right to food, shelter, medical resources. Other than that, I don't know if President Obama's health care plan is feasible. I trust that the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are no less feasible from a fiscal budgeting perspective, but the conflict is still being engaged. Why not devote a third of those resources to making sure people are healthy.
Anyway, the point of it all...I'm still here, still unfocused, still rambling without any ability to make a meaningful contribution towards anything worthwhile or serious.
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