RandomwordbyRuth... Rental Approved
RandomwordbyRuth…
Rental Approved

What does it mean to you?

‘Oh, I don’t know…maybe it’s about a woman who lost her mother in a house fire or…a young teen confused over their sexual identity…’

What does it mean to you?

‘It could be anything. It could be a good day at the beach. It could have been the way I felt when my partner attempted to take her life…guess I’m not sure. It means a lot to me…though. I know that with certainty! I suppose it has too many meanings to me! That’s why I can’t stop looking. Stop wondering and imagining…how things could have been.’

What does it mean to you?

‘It means anything you want it to. It means that I feel free. It means I feel hot….like how one feels lying on a dry desert like beach. Watching the gray waves over take the world. At least, the world that surrounds the beholder. I suppose it feels like that…and when I think of having to live somewhere like…Montana!’

What does it say? At least…to you?

‘My partner told me the poem is about Mother Nature. I think the poet had been thinking about growing up poor. How a set of stairs in one house may seem like they are built of diamonds…but where the writer lived…the stairs were more akin to fraying shag carpeting. The kind of rug you find in apartment buildings that were built-in the 1960’s. To me the poem speaks to the way it felt to be one my own. And, that very first apartment I lived in. It smelled of cat piss and there had been wall to wall shag carpeting in the bathroom. The bathroom with the kind of shower stall you find in campground restrooms. So, I guess, it takes me back to a time where there had been a feeling of being vulnerable it a good scary way…’

What of art? Where has it taken us? What has it done for us? And, more importantly, where does it take us from here?

Diane_Arbus_patriotic
Diane Arbus…the patriot

To me, quite simply…it takes me back to a memory. I had seen my very first Diane Arbus photo. There had been an exhibit at the Met or Boston Museum or some little movie or something like that. Immediately…I felt I had found home. I had come face to face with what I had been meant to do. Which of course…had been writing.

Diane Arbus hadn’t been a poet or novelist. She took photos of Freaks. For she felt a bit of freak herself. Sitting behind the shadow of her husband’s art. She found comfort with those who society had brushed under the rug. Her pictures were so heart-felt. So telling. Telling of someone’s struggles and rebirth. Their heartaches and scars. A large group of individuals whose story had been told by a housewife. Therefore, by proxy, Diane had been distracting-ly abnormal herself.

It was then that I found meaning to art and to artists themselves. They are the forever searchers of things, thoughts, feelings that can be painted or put into a sentence…but come out the other side with no meaning what so ever…Other than what it means to the audience.

art 2
RandomwordbyRuth…Room 4 4

Night falls us all

nothing but collective souls

at a broken bar…

nothing but pure wickedness

dashed about like a shoe-less car.

Since the dark ages we’ve been coming here.

Only one solution ever…

it is art…I fear.

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