My Retreat Into Art ~ 2001 & Counting
by Nicole D. Myers
January 2002
by Nicole D. Myers
January 2002
"To come in contact with a truly wonderful ‘work of art’ causes a tremendous revolution to occur in you."The Beat Is On ~ Gregory Corso died this year, the last of the Beat poets. Ciao, Captain Poetry, so long and thank you for leaving your poetry behind so that we may have an education before us (Oh, how I wish you were here). Gregory Corso, the last of the Beat poets, but not the last beat of a defined rhythm. Gregory Corso and Co. woke me up, shook me down, made me scream "I am Icarus!" into the wands of the wind, letting my craziness carry me high and then low into the basement of poetry. Gregory Corso, last of the Beat poets, if you can hear me, be well fair Prince and your words will dance.
- from The Art Spirit
(as remembered) R. Henri
My Retreat Into Art ~ This is "my" retreat into art (thanks JT). The retreat for me and my big sexy brain to gallop along the frosted path of life lined by art, by poetry and tuned with music "ambrosia for an artist" by definition. This is "How Nicole Got Her Groove Back" (thanks BJ) or how I conquered writer’s block and courted my fears and defeated the dust bugs wiggling around in my mind.
Cosmic Cougar ~ I rubbed a big hunk of rose quartz in my sleep for a time and without notice found myself in the company of Eros American. He, with his Diablo T-Shirt and squeeze joy, caused a great upheaval in my heart. There we were running down the sunset, barefoot and laughing, not a care in the world. He introduced me to a whole new perspective, opened me up to my passions and my desires. In return, I immortalized him in verse. I doubt this creative soul with his big dreams and crazy hair ponders one moment about the size of his contribution to my vivacity, and since he is deaf and blind he just may never know.
2001 & Counting ~ Vincent Van Gogh strolled into my town this year, stopping to set up shop at the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia with a few of his Impressionist friends (let’s hear it for October!). To stand before a masterpiece, a famous piece of art - with such legend, such history is breathtaking. Seeing the brush strokes of Van Gogh or that of Monet leads me into other artistic fantasies like what it might be like to gaze upon an original Basquiat work or Keith Haring. It might be as regal as seeing the five original members of Duran Duran on the same stage once again or attending a poetry reading by Jim Carroll. I fear that any one of these examples might hurl me back into the clutches of writer’s block because of their brilliance - send my Muse into hiding (not that he isn’t already hiding and seeking what he cannot obtain). Ah, the retreat into art! Pure inspiration! (aka. music, art, writing, running ponies, good tea, great sex.......hence the ellipsis rule)
Climb On Top of Your Summer ~ I spent all summer filling up from the "Warm Water" poems. I am a hopeless romantic, fear me for that is all that I am! What it is to immortalize someone in verse, or in a song, a sketch or design. When love comes to town you want to buy it dinner and take it dancing. You want to celebrate it in style, celebrate it in your own special voice. I have a friend who fell madly in love with a writer and professed her love for him in a mural on a museum wall. I had another friend who fell in love with a filmmaker and wept pages of script so that he might see her heart. I fell in love as well, though not by choice but by accident, the best kind of love and kept it to myself, for fear of one day writing the heartbreak down with my pen. Instead, I smiled and protected my heart in a shelter of doom and penned verses of longing. I wish he had been listening.
Famous Blue Raincoat Revisited ~ Leonard Cohen has released new work this year. Music poetry. It is fall and it is just in time for paisley scarves and a blustery wind. (please read Stranger Music for further inspiration). "Ten New Songs" from everyone’s favorite lady’s man. If ever I was in awe of a poet and prophet, I am in awe of Leonard. Our beloved miserablist, ambassador of artistic eccentricities and the ultimate sense of self sacrifice and betrayal is back to enkindle the little pieces of literary heaven within us all. Leonard led me by the hand to understand the pastiche of multicolored crayon shavings and the impotent fury of a Mexican five string. I slept on his couch once or twice and we ate noodles and recited common prayers, you get what I am trying to say? For this world, the death of a lady’s man will never truly be because true art does not die.
The Keith Haring Journals & Picasso’s Ass ~ In Keith Haring’s journal there is a quote that I quietly carried over into my writing book. Quote: "Nothing is an end because it always can be used for something new and different." What in art has an ending? What work cannot be extended either by imagination or by love? Think of those songs that we love, the ones that we never want to end. Think of those characters with whom we tag along and get to know in movies and books and theatre productions. There is potential to extend our favorite art items into something new and different. We can blend the lines so that a poem becomes a short story, plug a guitar into an amp and turn a novel into a song. There is no end to art, no boundaries to sudden possibilities or restrictions of imagination. This I learned from rock and roll.
Slim Margins of Obese Culture ~ On reading Complete (the complete lyrics, notes and reflections of...) by Patti Smith I traded my fountain pen and delicate paper for combat boots and flat hair. On reading Forced Entries by Jim Carroll I was dazed by the physical existence of the full circle that lives within art. Grab your tools from the outside world when doing inner construction. Borrow and identify the disciplined breakdowns of new beginnings and old familiar driveways and round table comrades. I saw one of those Behind The Music specials on 1977. The year that music was exploding into a million different pieces. The Ramones went to London, Studio 54 hosted disco party darlings, CBGB’s was the era’s brick shithouse of cool. All of the things that paint the eyes and weave through songs and films are all friends and related in some way. I am attracted to the six degrees of separation of my heroes. All running the same race, all disciples of the same disciplines, all guilty of the same sins and all brilliant by the same right. Art, be it of the audio or visual or literary kind are all inter-connected. As a propinquitious member of such a blended belief I shimmy my way through the slim margins of an obese culture to find my place in the mix.
Moral ~ Never let anyone serve you roast beef when all you really wanted was a little pea soup.
I divorced a Carpet Knight
and moved to Hinterland
restricted the environs of
my craven asylum to banish
fault-finding confidence man
so that every other day I might
be able to build a cheerful sculpture
of myself
Nicole D. Myers