From my first Dick and Jane, I was spellbound by the magic window that reading opened onto another world. Reading inflamed my curiosity, and curiosity fueled my reading. It helped me become a good student and continued to expand my worldview as an adult. Writing didn’t hold the same fascination for me, so when my efforts yielded surprising acclaim from my teachers and parents, I accepted it unassumingly. It wasn’t until years later that I was able to convert my gift as a wordsmith into a marketable skill in business communications. Creative writing was an antidote to the tedious work of translating legal jargon into plain English.
I started by writing verse and creating my own greeting cards, jotting down a catchy phrase, or a poetic reflection now and then, but to call myself a poet at first, was a bit of a stretch I thought. Retirement changed my whole perspective. In 2003 we made a radical lifestyle change by moving from Michigan to Las Vegas, where I experienced a totally unexpected spiritual awakening. The unfamiliar beauty of the desert/mountain landscape was emotionally and physically liberating.
Bill, my artist husband, wasted no time in taking advantage of the opportunity to resume sculpture and ceramics. I was free at last to attack my backlog of reading and indulge my own creative impulses.
Artistic collaboration, though quite accidental, was probably inevitable. Our lives have been intertwined for 60+ years. At times we even seem to think in tandem. Putting words to his visual art became a revelatory process that gave a life and identity to his spontaneous creations… as I saw them. In the words of Thoreau: “Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant?” A joint exhibition of sculpture and poetry called Optical Fusion was created with the intention of eliciting a similar effect in the show’s viewers.
The fine arts have always been a manifestation of the best and highest achievements of humanity. Absent art, architecture, music, drama, and literary contributions, the archeological evidence of our very existence would be little more than a question mark in ancient history.
As with all art, I believe that poetry/prose should stir us somehow, touch a nerve, spark a frisson, or raise our consciousness to a higher awareness. Words have a powerful impact on our lives. They can inform, inflame or inspire; harm, heal or honor. Whatever their intent or effect, there is no denying their importance. 'I write in the hope that a part of me will live on in immortality.'