April 7, 2024 Playing with Words and Colors

Since last summer, I have been reading about color at the same time I have been working on a new quilt. It is important for me, as a literary artist, to have something engaging that is mostly non-verbal. Gardening, quilting, knitting, cooking, and especially the instant gratification of photography offer resting places when I feel myself growing overly heady and wordy. Nonetheless, words inform my understanding of all of these other fields and help to sharpen my visual perceptions.

Last December, my friend, poet Barbara Geary Truan, introduced me to the work of painter, teacher, and color theorist Josef Albers. She had recently seen an exhibition of his work, a slice of his famous “Homage to the Square,” which challenges what the viewer knows about color with startling and subtle juxtapositions. Recently, she and I had a conversation that made us realize that we had both been pondering an idea from color theory–that colors aren’t stable, that they shift depending upon what other tones, hues, tints, colors to which they are adjacent–and applying it to language. Words, too, shift. Meanings shade and nuances, as well as connotations, bloom and change depending upon context.

This book not only has intriguing content, it is wonderfully designed, and it includes a “Glossary of other interesting colors.” (Yes, I have inked in even more color names!)

For me, the shuttling back and forth between visual beauty and verbal art weaves through the texture of my days, gives my life more depth and delight. I suspect that this is the same for you, too. (Add in scent and sound and motion and there is never a moment not to be engaged by the offerings of the world and the thoughts of how one might engage with life and art.) For me, this is the fountain head of Poetry-with-a-capital-P, not only the words arranged on the page in an individual poem to summon the inner and outer worlds, but everything that makes the kalidascopic page possible.

Enough words for today! Below are a few more images.

Wishing you all the joy of your senses today, and all the reverberations it brings to your thoughts,

LESLIE

Inspiration for the Christmas Quilt–a card we sent years ago from the Metropolitan Museum of Art
Center block of the quilt under construction
American Swedish Institute, Exterior, 2016
American Swedish Institute Exhibit, 2026

“Nocebo” for April 14, 2019

Nocebo
  
I am the dark flip of the diagnostic coin,
treatment titrated into trauma.
 
Inert as chalk, yet I circle in the mind
summoning dark outcomes,
 
torquing healing powers
against themselves, imagination
 
metastasizing as fear. No matter
where you look, “Hey! Over here!”
 
precise warnings serve as spores
fruited by a lively brain
 
threading unravelling and pain.
I do harm. I fall like rain.
  
Leslie Schultz

Last night, I wondered idly if today’s title might be “Narwhale” or “Notorious” or “Negotiate.” But….no.

I have long thought that fretting is an abuse of the imagination, so when I catch myself at it, I seek ways to short-circuit that. Recently, I learned that the term “placebo” has an antonym, and this poem sprang from that.

Some of the images here come from two past exhibitions of the American Swedish Institute: “Mansion in Mourning” (October 1-November 1, 2016) and “Quilting Art Today and The Nordic Quilts” (June 18-October 30, 2016)

“Compass” for April 3, 2019

Compass
 
My cherished friend (a sonic artist,
a mother, a teacher) and I were
streaming north, last month,
toward a favorite museum to celebrate
the creativity of all that is northern,
Scandinavian, both in the old world
and here, in Minnesota.
 
We were flying out
of our tiny town, laughing
because the back of winter
seemed to be finally broken, the ice
and injuries that had kept us
cooped up far too long
had migrated at last.
 
Ahead, (though we didn’t suspect)
we’d encounter—I kid you not—
a gigantic solar egg—gleaming,
golden—perched on a nest
of iron-brown sticks, magic and witchy,
with a ladder inviting us
to peer inside the padlocked
 
glass door forbidding entry.
Here, saunic heat could hatch
for humans lighted on cedar wood
if they could just catch the right
moment at sunset. But then and there,
in late morning’s blue thaw,
we watched in awe as a pair
 
of sandhill cranes elegantly soared
across our highway, light
and strong, clearly aligned
with the Minnesota River.
Their long necks reached, outstretched,
toward their future, their making
of eggs born to be broken, from the inside.
 
They seemed to know that the fire of life
would soon be poking fierce, new sooty
beaks into this burnt-out season, would
demand to be fed, demand to sing
and try the air. They seemed sure
that parental care could renew the year,
help each unfold our inborn direction.
 
Leslie Schultz

Like the first two poems for this April, “Compass” recounts a true story. (I am not sure whether a theme is arising or not. If so, it is an unconscious one. )

This poem, which turned out to have a fairy tale quality, is based on an excursion to the American Swedish Institute with Bonnie Jean Flom. We love the human scale of this place, its mix of old and new, in its architecture and exhibitions.

We also like its stimulating exhibitions, and the rare dining experience of the award-winning in-house restaurant, Fika. We are both photographers, with Scandinavian roots, and, on this trip, we were keen to see the work of eco-Photo Shop artist and former farmer Erik Johansson, called “Imagine” (which is up until April 28, 2019.)

“Demand and Supply”

En route to seeing “Imagine,” however, we glanced into the inner courtyard of the museum and were amazed by….what? A space pod? A Christmas pear? No, an out-sized solar egg sculpture called “Reflect” by artistic duo Bigert and Bergstrom that turned out to be also a functioning sauna, visiting Minneapolis until April 28, 2019.

Photo by Bonnie Jean Flom

Then it was back inside to savor first the masterful surreal photography, then enjoy a lunch worthy of portraiture and with flavors redolent of northern forests.

(Note the pine-flavored home-made soda, the bright surprise of the egg in the center of mushrooms and rye bread, and the golden glow of the shared pear cake dessert.)

Does time with a friend get any better than this? Well, maybe.

At the end of this enchanted day, that began with cranes flying high, there was more enchantment. We crossed to Saint Paul to visit the Goldstein Gallery on the University of Minnesota campus to see the collection of ceramics by our mutual friend, Ruth Crane.

Despite the handmade porcelains that I use every day in my kitchen, this exhibition made me understand ceramics in a whole new way. It is open until May 19, 2019.

Just before leaving the campus, Bonnie Jean and I took this double selfie!

Guess what? I have booked a Solar Egg sauna later this month. I hope I am not too relaxed to drive back home!

Until tomorrow, LESLIE