BK

thanks to Statia Grossman for airbrushing these 3 photos.

a portion ~

~ of a watercolor by Arhia Kohlmoos ~

lady-roars, 10

!!! welcome to lady-roars, 10 ~ !!!
i initiated freeform conversation with fellow women creators about art, identity, and whatever else.

Heather Harney was one of my first friends. born just weeks before me in late June, we have pictures to prove our babyhood through womanhood times together. i had the pleasure of seeing Heather just about a year ago on my favorite farm in Iowa. she loves to travel, works hard for the money, and is truly very beautiful. i would like to thank her for responding to my Iowa-themed email about growing up amongst corn, pigs, and gravel. below is what Heather has to say ...

What makes me an Iowan girl ~ ~ ~

Child activities/lessons:

Rolling down green grass hills, thinking everyone in the world also had an enormous yard and cows in their backyard, screaming at the top of my lungs just to see if anyone else could hear me, learning it is okay to just be by yourself, sometimes the quiet is all you need, everything lives and at one point will die, going through an enormous amount of pets (having them live for over a year was a rarity, not the norm), being content with what you have, there are few friends in the countryside but the ones you do have are your salvation and escape and you love them all the more for it, waving at people ... they will always wave back in Iowa, you have no control over mother nature ~ accept her, hay bales are amazing to lean on and jump off of ...

Adult observations/lessons:

Life is filled with unexpecteds ... roll with the punches and embrace it, being open-minded makes life much easier to enjoy, be considerate and empathetic, small rural towns are a treasure, your family is actually a source of strength, the scenic route takes longer but it is a more fulfilling journey, love the smell of the country air, life does not always have to be hectic ... slow down ... solitude does not equal loneliness, be confident in yourself, other places in the world are wonderful, but Iowa is actually an amazing place!

lady-roars, 9

Ms. Andrea is the moon-girl on the right

baby Andrea and Dad

!!! welcome to lady-roars, 9 !!!
i initiated freeform conversation with fellow women creators about art, identity, and whatever else.

Ms. Andrea (Lauterwasser) Prymek is a lovely gal from Iowa. i had the pleasure of meeting her in middle school, and totally enjoyed singing with her during our high school career. immensely sweet, very very darling, and a wonderful storyteller, this Iowa-gal unfolds below her feelings about being cornfed.

* * *

I grew up in Blairstown, Iowa, which is a small farming community in Benton County. I remember as a child being able to run a lemonade stand on Main Street, selling to neighbors and the postman for a quarter. I remember Sauerkraut Days where as a kid you could run the town and ride bikes with your friends to different activities, such as the cakewalk— pretty much every kid walked home with two homemade cakes. I also remember walking by the park and watching our most popular game, cow chip bingo— for those who don’t know, there is a grid with numbers painted on the street, and a cow in a pen … and basically, whatever number the cow poops on is the winning number.

My father worked in farm stocks and had his office right off of Main Street, and my mother owned a second hand (& craft) store in the next building over called, Country Charms. My parents walked to work and walked home. Like most Iowa parents, mine were extremely active in our lives— school functions, fairs, science projects, dances, birthdays: everything was a big deal and everything was celebrated.

Morel mushroom hunting: I remember walking through the woods out near Amana with my dad. He would find me a brush stick (a longer stick used to push away leaves and debris to make it easier to spot a morel) and we would spend hours looking and usually come home with a potato net full. Morels are a celebration to we Iowans, as they only come once a year.

I lived in Carolina for a year after graduating high school; it was a very different place. I understand southern hospitality, but I have still never met friendlier people than those from Iowa. … I remember my boss in Carolina, a new Yorker named, Kris Constantine, who used to own a strip club in Brooklyn … and now for some reason is a manager at a steak house. I remember him always telling me how remarkable I was. He said to me, “Iowa, you are exactly what I would picture a cornfed girl to look like.” I understood that comment because as an Iowa girl our bodies look a little different than those on the east or west coast. Most of us are a little thicker, with larger arms and a firm stance. Most of us are blonded by the summer sun and tan. … Carolina was fine, just not for me. Every day I missed Iowa more and more. It is my home, my roots, my heaven.

lady-roars, 8

Kirk & Abby

!!! welcome to lady-roars, 8 ~ !!!

i initiated freeform conversation with fellow women creators about art, identity, and whatever else.

kelly shaw willman here with another lady-roars installation that features an Iowa-girl! below is an introduction to Mrs. Abby, who is hella sweet.

* * *

Abby Rush was born in Wisconsin, but felt called to travel with her love to his hometown in Iowa City, Iowa ~ After a winter of creative hibernation, it was here that she found herself again ... In the beauty of the calm Iowa fields, she learned to appreciate her softness, her spirit, and to truly value her own voice. This poem encompasses that journey:

* * *

wisdom from the stalks ~ ~
self discovery as an Iowa girl

my field-grown sisters
taught me to hear freedom
in the wind

taught me to see possibility
in the water

and taught me to hear my own
voice - - quiet and true

know your heart, they said ~
trust your gut
and above all know your own
truth

only then shall you know peace

battleless belle

ascendance, transportation

this is a story-poem i wrote many years ago-- i believe in 2007; it is based on a super-vivid dream i experienced.

^ ^ ^ ascendance, transportation : : :

~ ~ ~

all breaths, i could hear none, but we were never tired, we always pushed, always ran, we ran across a pool deck (indoor) and you were (then) ahead, rigging a boat, turning objects (mostly cloth materials) inside out, and i wore black rain boots and waited (now, then) against the concrete wall, lightly.

the swimmers with their swim-capped heads stopped swimming their laps, and the coach stood next to me, nonchalant, gossipy, talked about your body, how lean it was, how you worked to be in good shape so that you could search and dive — she and no one ever spoke suspiciously of what you were doing, though you were eccentric, evidently quite different, adventuresome in an other-worldly fashion.

. . . admittedly, no one quite understood why you did what you did, but no one disbelieved your knowledge, your systems of non-convention, your magic, and i had never met you before, so i watched you create this boat, and to myself i thought, “this boat is made of cloth, of tarp. i will surely get wet, and whatever will we find beneath chlorine waves, and why you, who?”

. . . as though invested in my inner monologue, the swim coach said,

“loch ness. he searches and dives. loch ness.”

i didn’t care if i got wet.

~ ~ ~

by a rope, you led the boat to depths, and i did not get wet — i rested, i waited, fully. when anchored, you climbed into the boat, you were not wet, we rested side by side, our bodies liquid like the surface on which we were buoyed, and you spoke of your death, you knew you were nearly over, and i watched your face become a face i had not seen before, a flat face, a melted face, your eyes flat, the bones beneath your eyes

like disks, like bones, like shells, like bones, like hollow bones.

your face (now, then) also was tattooed; you were of a tribe, a tribe and time and place that was not of here, of now. you were dying, but you were alive, and i trusted you, and somehow i believed that we were together so that i could memorize you, preserve you.

i had never met you before, and we were bodiless, made of liquid, and we gazed at the sky through binoculars, and when you stood to pull the boat to shore, your face was no longer melted, your body not of liquid, you were alive, i trusted you, and somehow i believed that we were together so that i could memorize you, preserve you.

~ ~ ~

. . . no one quite understood why we always pushed, always ran, but no one cautioned us either. we were credible, runners, bodiless searchers and divers, and i had never met you before, but i recognized you, your paleness, your fire.

“loch ness. he searches and dives. loch ness.”

i didn’t care if i got wet.

you were not wet.

~ ~ ~

Marissa's poem 4 me

keeper of the flame
wounded warrior
sparkling priestess
you shift between worlds
spread truth across realms
as everything you touch
changes
blooms
is healed
bestowing dreams
messages
blessings
upon the universe
you
a bright blessing
wrapped in ink
a powerful message
old and wise
as a tree
deeply rooted
in the sacred
a rainbow being
as you walk forward
the earth is different.

(copyright Marissa Arterberry: 2011-forever)

belle-baby

Lil Belle ~ by Ann

sweet spring mama ~ by Arhia

self-portrait ~ city bun

this article is in honor of my darling friend, Belle-Bun ~
((i've seen her playing and nibbling in my dreams since she passed away)) ~
Belle has lived in Wisconsin, Iowa,
New York, and Maine ~
she ate like a queen,
loved like a sweetheart,
caused trouble like a bison,
and will be missed by many.
xoooooooooooo to you, sweet baby.
thank you for teaching me kindness and butterfly kisses.

thanks to Ann Causey for the
Lil Belle creation!!

lady-roars, 7

^ Arhia Kohlmoos ~ ~ ~

!!! welcome to lady-roars, 7 !!! 
i initiated freeform conversation with fellow women creators about art, identity, and whatever else.

~ ~ ~

I believe personal transformation can result from the interaction between an individual and an art object. Within each of my paintings, I strive to create an arena for the occurrence of such a metamorphosis. ◉ Symbolism and narrative are important devices in my pictures; through their use, I try to build a personal mythology with which the viewer can connect. ◉ My art arises from the conviction that visual beauty is a positive force in our world. Rich color, intricate pattern, high-quality materials, and time-consuming details are the tools I employ to communicate this belief.

~ ~ ~

I am absolutely certain that I want to continue painting throughout my life. I know this because of how I feel when I don't paint; when I don't paint, I begin to lose substance... as if I were turning into a ghost, becoming indistinct, dissolving, melting away like snow. When I do not paint, I begin to wonder what makes my presence in this world matter. I feel that my place could be filled just as sufficiently by anyone at all, and that I contribute nothing of unique worth to the lives of my fellow beings. These intuitions terrify me ... and the terror returns me to my paints.

~ ~ ~

For reasons that I do not yet fully understand, I have always shied away from calling myself as an "artist." Possibly this has to do with a general perception in modern Western culture of "the artist" as both insane and magical; as someone who is defined by otherness. I have never felt alright about this perception, because: a) in my experience everyone is the same amount of crazy ... and, b) there is nothing less magical about crunching numbers or serving food for a living than there is about making paintings. I find myself drawn to the Medieval view of the painter as just another craftsman--- just another necessary yet perfectly normal part of society. So in the end ... I suppose I do identify as a creator/artist, but I shun the ream of connotations that come with claiming that identity.

~ ~ ~

Concerning "where I am now" and "where I am headed," honestly, I have no clue! I do know that graduate school has been a good thing for me. When I can observe progress (aka deeper concepts more skillfully communicated) from one painting to the next, I feel I am on the right path. I am fond of daydreaming about a life in which I earn $ for just painting ... but I am aware of the rarity of such a life. In the end, I simply wish to always be painting; therefore I must find a way of bringing in cash (I guess one could say, a "job!") that leaves me lots of free time.

~ ~ ~

The people in my life have almost always, across the board, been supportive of my chosen "career" (I use that word with lots of hope!!!). The way I grew up, with an entire family of makers and no school to distract me from drawing, basically guaranteed an existence enveloped in support. I know that is not always the case for those who wish to "do art"; I've been extremely fortunate. I think the environment I grew up in has something to do with my previously expressed hesitations to identify as "an artist." In the place I come from, everyone made things. There was nothing insane or magical about it.

FOR MY 1st FULL LENGTH ARTIST'S INTERVIEW WITH PAINTER, ARHIA KOHLMOOS, 
CLICK HERE

ARHIA'S SITE

lady-roars, 6

^ Beth Breese ~ ~ ~

!!! welcome to lady-roars, 6 ~ !!!
i initiated freeform conversation with fellow women creators about art, identity, and whatever else.

I am from Wisconsin, though I currently live in Columbus, Ohio. I have a chapbook just out from Kent State University Press called "The Lonely-wilds." I'm always surprised at how difficult it is to describe my own art (poetry) and my life as an artist. Yet, if it were easy, maybe it would mean I was missing some really interesting nuggets or some essential nuance? Then again, just because it is tremendously difficult (don’t you find?), I don’t ever feel if I’m representing my work and my life with total accuracy. I try though:

I won't go all chronological on you, but I don't know if I'd be calling myself a poet if I hadn’t registered on a whim for a literature class at Lawrence. English 250 was Major American Writers and the syllabus did include major writers—Emerson, Thoreau, Dickenson—but who’s a/what’s a Lorine Niedecker? Not only did I feel moved by her spare and lyrical poems (read, read, read), but the fact that she was a Wisconsin girl, too (I think we would have been friends), really touched me. Before Lorine, I didn’t know the Wisconsin landscape was worth writing about, even though it was my landscape. So, that’s Lorine. And that’s Professor Faith Barrett who taught the class and who eventually taught my first poetry workshop at Lawrence. And who encouraged me to consider an MFA program. And that’s Professor Kathy Fagan, poet-lady-extraordinaire, my mentor through the MFA program at The Ohio State University. She’s a life-changer. I really do feel I owe my poet-life to these three women.

I wrote before college, but I wasn't calling myself a writer until just a couple years ago, and now I can’t imagine doing anything else; I shudder to think what would have happened if I hadn’t registered for that class (Yiker’s Island!). It’s not likely that I’ll be able to support myself as a poet, so I envision balancing teaching and writing. At the moment I am adjuncting at a couple local colleges, but I find this arrangement exhausting (I just began work on two poems for the first time in months!). So, my ultimate goal is to teach writing and creative writing at a less harried pace and with more reliable income. For me that means getting a full-length book out and getting on the job market. This is a multi-year plan and, at the moment, I’m okay with that.

check out my full-length artist's interview with Beth ~ HERE ~