Art Journals

A few years ago, I created a series of art journals for one of my classes. They were inspired by some rambling poetry which I had written; the idea was to force  myself into a more design-based approach when I constructed useful things (as opposed to just making without any forethought.) Ironically, although they were created for a class dedicated to learning how to market and sell your work, I became attached to them and never let them go. . . but the blue one has the most meaning for me, so I wanted to share the poem that accompanies it.

Mind you: I wrote this in pen three years ago, with limited editing, and no intention of showing it to anyone (although I did eventually display one verse alongside the journal.) This is the verse for my rain journal (which I have finally determined that I will allow myself to use!)

Poem Journals
Btw, that black panel in the front of the yellow one contains a golden dollar sandwiched between black mesh, which slides around when you hold it. It’s very satisfying.


Under the raindrops, shadows creep

Upon the silence, dark and deep

Where soon the shadowfall will sleep

And in the darkness cast their lot

Where once in cheery light of day

The lost and lonely found their way

Yet in confusion were betrayed

And in their ignorance forgot

Pulled from the recess of despair

The rains disperse to seek the air

And greet their only mortal care

The torrid flames which seek their soul

And still upon the gusts they arch

As coats of honor, bravely march

Till with their final, trembling parts

Allow another take their role

–Connie Alice 03/15/12

Alright, so I lied about being unedited. I cut two whole verses because well, I hated them. And they were unnecessary. But I’m fond of the wordplay and imagery here, and that was the whole point, and it gave me just the tiniest bit of focus – which I channeled into a journal.

Also, I tend to write very cryptic and wordily, which I was self-conscious about until recently when I bought myself a book of Emily Dickinson’s poetry and letters. Talk about vague! Anyway, I’m no Dickinson, but reading her work gave me a morale boost for some reason. I think I’ve found a kindred spirit.


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