Somerville's Julia Csekö: A weaver of art and words

Interview by Doug Holder

I am a poet, so I work with my words. My canvas is a computer screen or a blank piece of paper. So I was pleased to find an artist who incorporates words into her art. Cseko, through her murals and other works confronts racism, consumerism and other vital issues head on.

DH: You moved from Brazil to Somerville--quite a contrast.  As an artist-- how has your experience differed?

JC: It is a huge contrast indeed and even though I’ve lived in Somerville for almost 10 years, you never fully get used to it, although you adapt. 

I’m from Rio, so, for starters I didn’t grow up with seasons like we have here. The low temperatures are something I still struggle with every winter. Pretty early on I learned that the Brazilian sense of humor can be a little abrasive to New Englanders and to not kiss my friends on the cheek when I greet them (not that we’d be doing a lot of that now regardless!). I do miss the warmth of my Brazilian friends and family, as well as the general festive and beach-city vibe in Rio. The tropical chic fashion, the stunning views, the late nights and incredibly fun and indescribable experience of Carnaval in the streets. 

On the flip side, Rio is an astoundingly unequal and violent city, where you have to know the no-go zones, have to be informed about ongoing turf wars around the city and have to be very aware of your surroundings all the time. As a white Brazilian I many times was perceived as a gringa, or tourist, which was quite unnerving, and quickly solved by speaking the language in the local Rio slang (and accent). 

Either way the experience of growing up hearing intense firefights near my house and ducking for cover is still vivid in my memory, and I can recognize many different types of firearms by their sound to this day. 

I do love the sense of tranquility and safety I experience living in Somerville. The concentration of higher education organizations is really something, and I never take it for granted. I live right next to Tufts, where I did my MFA, and I love the diverse and fascinating people that are attracted to this area. 

It is much easier to make plans here, perhaps because of the cold? People honor their commitments and I cannot say the same about the cariocas (people from Rio). I love the fall colors, and the flowers in the spring, which “surprise me” each year, and a sense that this is a city with the benefits of a small town and big city all at once, such as museums, concert halls, galleries, public transportation, and an international population, still it is fairly quiet, traffic is bad but not unmanageable, and it is relatively clean. I also appreciate Boston’s skyline, which is beautiful, but not overwhelming. Rio can be overwhelmingly big sometimes, and just going from here to there can be an adventure in terms of traffic and the fast pace.

DH: You incorporate the written word in your art. How do you decide to weave this element in your work?

JC:This started early in my BFA at the Federal University of Rio, probably around 2004, when I was about to graduate. The course was very hands-on and the theory was not addressing the issues I was interested in, so I did my own readings. I was fascinated by Philosophy and Poetry, and was eager to share these ideas with my fellow art majors (and anyone really). How to do that without tapping someone on the shoulder and reading to them? I decided to make paintings that would share the work of these authors on a monumental scale. Using bright colors to lure people’s attention. My desire was to create murals from the very beginning, but making public art does not come easy, so I started making paintings hoping that they would lead to public spaces. I wanted to take literary works that might be too obscure/controversial, or perhaps too dissonant to mainstream consumerist culture to the most public settings possible. Another reason to use text is a desire to let the viewers’ imagination construct their own imagery. I provide ideas, and they can illustrate them and hopefully bring them to fruition within their own internal dialog.

DH: Your works often deal with racism. In fact a mural of yours at Emerson College--
incorporated the words of the late civil rights activist John Lewis. Why did you take the words of Lewis--as there are many other texts you could have used?

JC:Whenever I work in a public space or receive a commission, my work becomes a collaborative effort. In this particular case, the work was responding to a very specific event. Earlier this year (2020) the Emerson Administration found anti-semitic and white supremacist graffiti at the Piano Row campus. They were quick to engage their community in a conversation, asking the student body how they would like to respond to the incident. The idea emerged to create a piece of art in response to the event. The Emerson Contemporary Gallery curator Leonie Bradbury put together a student advisory board and a conversation began between myself and the group to decide what text would be a good response to the hateful graffiti found on campus. I originally proposed working with a woman Jewish author, and Hanna Arendt’s The Origins of Totalitarianism was close to being the selected text. However, on July 30th 2020, the very day we were to decide the author, Leonie sent me the essay written by John Lewis published that same morning on the NYT, on the occasion of his passing. We were both in awe, it was beautiful, it was uplifting, it was incredibly hopeful and it was a historical moment that we were witnessing. We took the essay to the student advisory board and after a brief discussion we all agreed that John Lewis was speaking loud and clear against white supremacy and all forms of bigotry as he did his whole life. It was a way to honor him and his memory, and to respond to the desire of the student body to use a text that showed hope and conveyed a message to guide us into a better future, more just, more equal, more peaceful. 

DH: The mural is titled " The Coney Island of the Mind." That's also the title of the great beat poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti's poetry collection. Were you influenced by Ferlinghetti?  Any other poets?

JC: Oh, Ferlinghetti definitely inspired the title of this series, I love his work. There is something about the beat generation poets that viscerally attracts me, a certain spontaneity, an ability to criticize openly, to think critically, look for alternatives and to perhaps search for ways to course correct, or just admit fault, admit fallibility and vulnerability. I love their call to be less rigid, more in touch with our needs, instincts and desires. We live in a time that is so conflicting. People in power are allowed to essentially behave like buffoons and criminals in the public sphere for anyone to see, while people who live paycheck to paychecks are expected to fall in line and behave. Wealth accumulation has never been so absurdly unequal globally. As a pacifist, I don’t condone looting or rioting, but I am surprised that it doesn’t happen all the time these days; people can only take so much abuse before snapping. 

Either we get to a point where we are all accountable for our actions and words, or we will get to a point when no one will be accountable. I believe that words have meaning and power, and that they should not be used lightly. We see so many words lose their meaning these days. We need to reclaim the power and meaning of words, and hold our leaders accountable to what they say. We need leaders that walk like they talk. We may be far from this right now, but I believe in course correction. It will be a long process and it starts with taking education way more seriously. We can’t form people to be a workforce, we need to form people to be citizens. We can’t expect people to vote or make good decisions when voting without having a good education. For that to happen we need social equality to sweep in simultaneously, since if you are living below the poverty line, survival becomes prioritized over education. This is a complex conversation, and we are just scratching the surface here. I hope that my work will contribute even if in the slightest way for course correction, to reclaim the power and meaning of words. I read and admire many poets, but ironically, I am back to the beats, and I am just starting to work with Diane Di Prima’s Revolutionary Letters. I realized I need more women authors in this series. After 16 years making these paintings in a non-linear way I want to be more intentional about representing a more diverse selection of authors, less Eurocentric and less patriarchal. I was shocked recently to look at my bookshelf and discover the much lower number of women/queer writers and artists on there. 

DH:Why should people view your work?

JC: I hope folks will become curious about the ideas and authors I share; I hope they will share my excitement in these ideas. As an artist I find that one of my roles is to educate myself continuously in hopes to be able to educate others. As an educator I believe that I learn from my students in the same measure that I teach them. I am hopeful that we will reach a point where the vision of Brazilian Philosopher and Educator Paulo Freire will be common sense, and that critical pedagogy will clear the way for an education and communication based in dialogue and diversity, freeing our minds and bodies from oppression.

Benefactors for the Ibbetson Street 48 Fundraiser

 

Thanks to all you poets and wonderful holy fools for supporting the Ibbetson Street Press:. Doug Holder/Ibbetson Street Press/Sept. 2020

Bill Falcetano

Tom Miller

Maureen McElroy

Rodger LeGrand

DeWitt Henry

Joy Martin

Gloria Mindock

Susan Tepper

Mike Steffen

Alexis Graudberg

Elizabeth Wolf

Ron Kalman

Barbara Brock

Karen Klein 

Ed Meek

Bridget Galway

Shelby Allen

Blaine Hebbel

Lee Varon

Steve Bodwell

Nina Alonso

David Miller

Phil Temples

Llyn Clague

Beautiful Music

David Donna

Wendell Smith

Rachel Cann

Small Poet at Large

Ruth Smullin

Helen O'Leary

Timothy Gager

Julia Carlson

Dennis Daly

Norlinda Conroe

Lee Varon

Phil Temples

Paul Steven Stone

Glen Bowie

Tomas O'Leary

Lawrence kessenich

Big Table Publishing

Steve Glines

Robert Miller

Michael C. Keith

Denise Provost

Harris Gardner

Zvi Sesling

Cynthia Duda

Rusty Barnes

Doug Holder to read for the Worcester County Poetry Association as part of their Frank O'Hara Award Celebration

 
**** Holder was the judge of the event in 2020.

Doug Holder Interviews movie critic, fiction writer, and journalist T...

Julia Emiliani: A Somerville Artist, Illustrator and Designer

 

"A Composition of Moments"   by Julia Emiliani

Somerville's Julia Emiliani earned a BFA in Illustration from Massachusetts College of Art and Design.While working full time as an illustrator at Wayfair, Julia also runs an Etsy shop of illustrated goods called Over it Studio. I decided to interview this talented artist,who resides in the "Paris of New England."

Where have you lived before, and how does Somerville compare?

I was born in Florida and raised in Connecticut, I’ve been living in the Boston area for the past nine years. I’ve lived all around Boston and have been in Somerville since 2017. I love how Somerville feels like a small town, but has all the perks of a city. There’s a sense of community and convenience coupled with beautiful neighborhoods and access to nature. Especially in these Covid times, I’ve been thankful for how accessible nature is in the city of Somerville. I’ve recently been drawing a lot of inspiration from it and have been enjoying long winding walks through Somerville’s many neighborhoods.

You have done a lot of commercial art, as well as your own. Can you tell us a bit how you manage both sides of your career?

It’s a tricky balance. My 9-5 takes up most of my time and energy, but I still try to take advantage of my free time to squeeze in personal work. Mornings are huge for me, and while not having an office to go to for my 9-5 can be a roadblock at times, I love having back all of the time I usually spend commuting. It’s when I feel most clear-headed and energetic, so usually use this time to paint before the rest of the world wakes up. I try to carve out peaceful moments like this for myself on evenings and weekends as well, but mornings are especially instrumental in striking a balance between 9-5 work and personal work.

The artist Norman Rockwell was known for his Illustrations in magazines.  He was accused by critics of not being a real artist, but simply an illustrator. Have you run into this?

I haven’t personally run into this, but I wouldn’t necessarily echo this idea! To me, art is self expression. Even if commercial art ultimately ladders up to a client, brand, or company’s business goals, the illustrator still has to bring their own thoughts, expression, and sense of self into the final deliverable in order to make it work. Of course a fine artist may have more wiggle room in exploring how they want to express, but the artist is never removed from the process, even for commercial work.

In an article from the Boston Globe, it described your handmade work as “cute and cheeky.” Is this how you would describe it?

I would definitely describe my work in that way at the time that article came out! And I think a lot of the work in my etsy shop (www.etsy.com/shop/OveritStudio) also can be described like this. Currently, the rest of my personal work draws a lot of inspiration from my experiences observing nature with my experience as a commercial artist. I find myself contrasting visual qualities of nature with that of digital art, and more frequently painting using analog materials as a way of slowing down and meditating on a single moment, especially in these hectic times. Now I would describe my work more as bold, graphic, and observational -- or something along those lines.

You developed a line of prints with people riding the MBTA. Tell us a bit about this?

At the time I was spending a lot of my time commuting and drawing on the T, so this series was very reflective of my experiences and surroundings in the Boston area, as well as my personal preferences in color and fashion.

How has the pandemic affected your career?

The pandemic puts everything in perspective. It makes me thankful to still have a day job and makes me think more intentionally about my personal work. It forces me to adjust how to market and sell work in a time where live events like craft fairs and gallery openings, that often bring in engagement and sales, aren’t what they used to be. It also forces me to think more critically about what I’m making and why, relative to these times. Whether it’s making work that brings delight and comfort, protest or activist art, producing work in an environmentally-friendly way, or regularly donating sales to causes that need support. All of these practices are now of higher priority in my work as I adjust to the changing marketplace.

What can we expect to see from you in the near future?

I have a lot of ideas! You’ll definitely see more painting from me, both small and large works. I also have some new printed goods dropping in my Etsy shop Fall/Winter 2020. Beyond that, I’ve been dabbling with different ideas - maybe a line of greeting cards, maybe surface design on fabric, maybe something with ceramics? We’ll see where my explorations take me.

Doug Holder interviews Boston Playwright Debra Wiess

Sprawled Asleep By David P. Miller

 

Sprawled Asleep

By David P. Miller

Nixes Mate Books

Nixesmate.pub/books

Allston, Massachusetts

ISBN: 978-1-949279-21-4

70 Pages

Review by Dennis Daly

Too often contemporary poetry dwells on the versifier rather than the verse. The confessional reigns and the uniqueness and self-importance of the poet drives both the narrative and the music. In the worst and most extreme examples of this navel-gazing art the poet and his readers develop an unhealthy bond of elitism, which separates them from any objective world view and renounces the joy of detail shared by soulful creation. David Miller’s first full length book, Sprawled Asleep, does not do this. Its meditations are directed by an exactness of observation that deemphasizes the poet-observer to the point of irrelevance. As this poet-observer fades, his objects achieve a singular, eye-opening clarity that leaves one somewhat stunned. The motif in which this observer delineates his objects is often mass transportation. Alienation, counter intuitive as usual, finds a niche here.

In his poem Look at the Sky Miller seeks word precision in his atmospheric scan. He does identify the observer’s position as in a bus, his intellectual preparation (it doesn’t take), and his sensory limitations. The piece opens with directness,

Pinned and plunging beneath the flat

of a thunderhead, a thick purple-

bruised ceiling more threatening

than night’s translucent black.

The bus scrambled out

from beneath that dark table,

toward the blue shelf

opened at the horizon.

I can write thunderhead. Or write

these: horsetails, lenticular,

buttermilk sky. What I want:

to exhale ah! Altostratocumulus.

To know the mundane sky

direct as knowing the breath.

No study or action of mind.

Gaze, or Don’t, Miller’s poem of humorous denial or, perhaps, faux resurrection, triumphs with deadly accurate observations and deductions. The poet considers the life or death evidence pertaining to an unmoving sedentary elderly man attracting some attention from his fellow travelers on the subway. A determination is made in the heart of the poem,

Men in shirts of Egyptian cotton,

suede shoes of charcoal grey,

slumped at the railings in end seats,

chins at their chests, wide woven hats

upside down at their feet,

are: asleep.

Asleep at the end

of the line and asleep

when the train switches back.

Sleeping for us who gaze, or don’t

at scaly red arms, the flushed crown

of a head, smart slim-fit jeans.

See his fingers are twitching.

Miller zeroes in on the mass of humanity in his poem Landscape with Hilton. He opens with the portrait of an elderly female beggar holding a paper cup in a wash of playgoers exiting a theatre. His action then moves to his well-drawn sketch of a waitress in a Faux-Fifties restaurant and past door men ushering a wealthy man to a taxi. This stratified jumble of society mixes in just the right way to elicit the connective Aha of memetic recognition. Next the poet surprises by etching historical contexts into the denouement of his urban landscape. The poem concludes this way,

Slide one block to the Tenderloin—

pale block letters against brick

remember Elegantly Furnished Rooms

Private phones Steam Heat

Hot Water Elevator Service

Private Baths $20 Month.

Above the sidewalk, a voided sign

for a vanished café, shaft rising

toward Corinthian columns and satellite dish,

overpainted entirely in white.

Taking one step beyond his usual ruminations, Miller’s deadpan tone of “just the facts, Ma’am” becomes almost Kafkaesque in his piece entitled Someone Else’s Daughter. Time in this strangely enclosed dimension intertwines with movement and thus with breath. The mode of transportation becomes more real than the travelers, who are reduced to mere passersby status. Instinct drives knowledge. Consider these lines,

The same train on the same rail

enters the same tunnel. Two faithful

train-on-track tones: the upper

thickens as tunnel walls resound

overtones against the body. Remember

how your dog always sat up when the Rambler

slowed, two turns before the house?

The train returns to open air and you rise,

Open eyes, the dog coming home.

My favorite piece in this extraordinary collection Miller entitles Another Poem About Fireflies. But this is not your generic firefly poem straining to connect the microcosm with the macrocosm. Instead Miller’s delightful meditation happens after he is drawn onto his porch by a misconception. He thinks he hears a soft rainfall or drizzle, but the basis of his sensory perception is rather the sound of leaves caught in an air draft. Nature sometimes surprises and this confused state can illuminate other mysteries. The poet notices how his objects assume a fuller reality as his perception withdraws. They dominate this shared world, and, to some extent, dispossess mankind. The poet describes his irrelevance,

I don’t remember when I last saw

fireflies, and I don’t know if I will ever

see them again. So stark, their white-yellow signals

pull from deep in the yard across the street,

and down the street. Each its own light-

point cycle, so many aerial lighthouses.

Flash cycle nebula densing the more

the more I abandon eye focus. This erratic

point cloud beneath tides of treetops,

and me in the fade to black…

The abnegation of self becomes an exquisite meditation and more in the collection’s concluding poem, Half the Day is Night. On the surface an ode to autumn’s equinox, the piece delves into eternal stillness. The poet outdoes himself in these lines,

I sit outside this dark September night.

The hand of dusk across my heart, my spine

caressed by stillness. The listening to come

to what there is to hear when nothing is to hear.

Miller’s remarkable poems lead us beyond his uncommon, well-wrought observations. They verge on the ethereal and visionary. Sprawled Asleep deserves serious artistic acclamation.

From the Mosh Pit of Punk Rock: To Somerville City Councilor

                                                                      

From the Mosh Pit of Punk Rock: To Somerville City Councilor

I met Kristen Strezo at The Somerville Times Annual Dinner some years back. At our table were columnists Jimmy Del Ponte, and Bill Shelton. Among these folks with the gift of gab, Strezo impressed me as an articulate and dynamic presence. So a couple of years later we finally got a chance to talk, not in person but virtually. 

Tell us about your experience in Somerville. It was once described as the "Paris of New England."  Does that ring true for you? 

Somerville is truly one of a kind. I am inspired serving Somerville surrounded by so much creativity. My goal is lift up our artists, musicians and creative class of residents, to do all I can to help us all thrive, including support during the pandemic shutdown. 

You became a Somerville City Councilor at Large during the pandemic.  How do you conduct business now?

I never imagined I’d be sworn-in during a pandemic! Of course, now, some aspects of the job are different than how they are traditionally done. For one thing, I have not had a chance to sit at my desk during City Council meetings and committee meetings are also now held over Zoom. 

During a pandemic with so many diverse needs, City Council has had to respond to a wide array of pressing issues as quickly and effectively as possible. Some of the changes I hoped to make as a City Councilor—like climate change issues—have been slightly  sidetracked in the face of the new pandemic-related challenges. My priority is the health and safety of my constituents. Other priorities—like addressing food insecurity—have been fast tracked through this crisis. 

But, safety protocol is paramount and keeping our COVID numbers down is vitally important, so we cannot for a moment let our guard down yet. I know I will eventually be able to sit at my desk during meetings and see my colleagues in person. Like many of my

constituents, I’m impatient to get back to regular life. However, for now we need to remain cautious. 

What do you attribute to the low rates of infection in our city? 

We’re a city filled with a lot of intelligent people who get it. We prioritize public health, understanding that it’s key to everyone’s best shot at successfully navigating this new normal. I feel like in Somerville, we’ve truly accomplished this COVID response as a team. I’m happy to hear so many people take their roles seriously from mask wearing to looking out for our neighbors. I’m proud of us as a community. I believe in us. 

We hear that folks, including many artists are being forced to move from the city because of gentrification. Artists have really given Somerville its cache. How do you plan to address this issue?

If we lose our artists and creative residents and some of the people that make Somerville so captivating, we lose a part of our soul. I worry about our small artist businesses making it through. I worry about our creative residents being able to stay in their homes and studios. I have heard from some artists that they cannot get to their studios. Some can’t afford to keep their studios. Through close contact with the artist community, I have been listening intently and tailoring my advocacy to reflect those conversations. 

I also worry about the emotional health of our creative residents during our COVID shutdown. Many musicians rely on the energy of the audience while they perform. But, how do you do that in 2020? We have so much more work to do to support our creative community in Somerville. 

Thinking forward, I’d like it to be standard and implied that all future developments that establish in Somerville choose Somerville artists for design work on their offices and properties. That way, we maintain our Somerville character while supporting our community as the city continues to grow. 

In your bio you said you were a singer in a punk rock band.  Tell us about that. Did you bring any of the things you learned during this time to your role as a politician?  I imagine stage presence is one.

My message of social justice remains the same—my voice is just expressed through a different medium of public office! When I told some of my former bandmates that I was running for office, they said that they were not surprised and that they were proud of me. As a performer I was always focused on singing about how we can fix our world. So, I take that energy with me as a public servant. 

You got a degree in journalism from Harvard University Extension. Tell us about your forays into the world of writing. 

I’ve always felt that our personal stories guide us to learn from each other and heal as a society. After writing lyrics and singing my messages to audiences, I wanted to write them down to connect with my audience on another level. 

I love to write and I always thought journalists were the best writers. So, I studied journalism to become a better writer and in the hope that it was contributing to healing the world through the stories I focused on.

I had a great time in school but I wasn’t your typical grad student. In addition to my full-time class schedule and Harvard magazine internship, I was a mom of two kids while caring for my elderly grandmother. I leaned into the experience, writing about the struggles of it all and focusing on wanting graduation bad enough to make it through the tears and adversity. 

My perspective resonated with my professors and I was honored to be chosen to give the commencement speech to my graduating class. I carry that moment with me, because it helped me understand that there is power in vulnerability. That lived experience has value and can help others who are living through something similar. It’s something I think about constantly as I work with my constituents—we are all trying to do our best with what we have. 

Do you consider yourself an artist in any way?

Being a performer and singer is in my blood. I spent over a decade in bands as a lead singer in a feminist punk band. We toured and performed all over the country. I still sing on stage when I can. In Somerville, I’ve sung at Porchfest and at the City’s menorah lighting several years in a row. And I never miss a Honk! festival.

AMANDA HILL: AN ARTIST WHO WANTS HER WORK OUT IN PUBLIC

 

AMANDA HILL: AN ARTIST WHO WANTS HER WORK OUT IN PUBLIC

Interview with Doug Holder

I talked with Amanda Hill—the artist who created the wonderful mural at the Cambridge Health Alliance site in Somerville. A lot has been written about the mural—but I wanted to get a little more about the artist --in her own words.

From her website:



“Amanda Hill is a multimedia artist and muralist living and working in Greater Boston.



Hill's work is rooted in the deep exploration of objects. Hill elevates the status of her subject matter, heightening what many considered to be commonplace. Her paintings demonstrate an interest in color theory, color relationships, and structural tension.

​

Hill takes a special interest in a community's ability to make and experience art, as such she regularly designs, consults, and coordinates mural and placemaking/public art projects.

​

Hill received a BA from Smith College (Northampton, MA), and an MS in Nonprofit Management from The New School, Milano School of International Affairs, Management, and Urban Policy (New York, NY).

DH: Although you don't live in Somerville now--do you still feel a strong connection to it?

AH: I lived in Somerville for about two years before I moved to Malden. I do still feel a strong connection to Somerville. I have fabulous memories from my time there, living with my partner for the first time, backyard bbqs, pottery classes Mudville the list goes on… I still frequent a number of restaurants and cafes in the area. I also have a good number of friends who are still in the Somerville area. I grew up on the South Shore, and went to college in Western, MA so I definitely feel a strong connection to Massachusetts and the Boston area as a whole.

DH: Do you come from an artistic family?

AH: Yes and no—a good deal of my family was drawn to music rather than the visual arts. My maternal grandmother was a concert pianist and played with the Boston Pops. She was incredible for her time. She was a professor of Music at Wheaton College, graduated from New England Conservatory of Music and attended the Fontainebleau School. She also traveled with the USO giving concerts. In terms of a career and the gig-economy, I would say her career was most closely related to mine. My maternal grandfather was a structural engineer who toyed with painting as an adult. My mom also has a natural talent for the visual arts and is quite adept at the piano. My twin brother has always had a natural talent for the piano as well, but he went into accounting and finance. One thing that my mother, brother, grandfather, and I have all had in common is a love for manipulating space—we love to be outside and often take on large building/gardening projects.

DH: You seem to have extensive experience with public art. In some ways is public art more vital than art in museums? Do you think it sparks interest in people who never really thought about art?

AH: I have been around/practicing public art since a sophomore in High School. My first foray into public art was with the organization Tape Art that is based out of Providence, RI. In reference to museums vs public art, I wouldn’t say that one is more vital than the other—each are equally vital. However, I do believe that museums can lack accessibility. Museums tend to carry a certain stigma (and often a large admission fee) that can make them inaccessible or even uncomfortable for some to visit. This is one reason why I went in to public art! Public art is one of the most accessible art forms out there. I do truly believe that it can spark interest in people who have never really thought about art or have had minimal exposure to art.

DH You did the mural at the Cambridge Health Alliance building in Somerville. What has the feedback been like so far?

AH: The feedback has been great so far. I had a number of visitors while I was putting up the piece who comment on how much color and levity the mural brought to the space. I haven’t heard any complaints as of yet J

DH: I see that you have a strong business background—and studied Business at Harvard, etc... So many talented artists complain that they don’t have a business sense. This has probably helped your career as an artist—am I right?

AH: I have what I consider a very weird career trajectory. I drifted to the administrative side of the art world for about five years. I went to grad school, co-founded a nonprofit, and worked in operations and philanthropy before switching to working freelance and concentrating on my own artistic practice. Overall, my business/non-profit background has been helpful to my work as an artist, but I would also say that sometimes that business sense does get in the way of my work. I have definitely struggled with the lack of structure my artistic practice can sometimes take whereas the business side is relatively structured and constrained. Striking a balance can be difficult.

DH: You often use unused spaces for your work. What do you look for when you pick a site?

I don’t often pick my own sites. I love working on all types of walls and structures. Most of the time, squarish, flat, untextured, unobstructed walls are some of the best canvases. With that said, walls that are irregularly shaped or textured can be very interesting to work on too. Mainly, I think is visibility is key—can the viewer take in a piece and see the work as a whole?

DH: Tell us about upcoming projects?

Right now, I don’t have any public solo projects that I am working on. As it goes, projects that I had lined up a month ago have changed course and either been postponed or cancelled. I am in the process of finishing up some work for the City of Chelsea. Since June, I have been working as one of two lead artist/coordinators. Together with the City, we have organized a number of artist calls and hosted virtual artist-mentoring groups. We will be putting up a variety of painted murals and wheat-paste pieces by local artists in mid-September along Division and Cherry Street in Chelsea, MA.

I am always looking for gigs, so feel free to get in touch if you or your community is looking to install a mural or public art piece.

Born With By Michael Daley

 
                                              

Born With

By Michael Daley

Dos Madres Press

www.dosmadres.com

Loveland, Ohio

ISBN: 978-1-948017-85—5

85 Pages

 

Review by Dennis Daly

 

The art of narrative indirection requires not only a studied callousness, but also an abundance of fervor and a willingness to change course on a dime. Many of Michael Daley’s poems initially spit mulled anger and resentment through and out of his earthy stanzas before metamorphosizing into the most hopefully dressed, delicate winged lyrics (or vise versa). Daley manages this by strategically interrupting his story-line or ending it abruptly, then dwelling on the word power that got him to that point.

 

Among School Children opens Daley’s poetic collection with a delightful tale about the utilitarian use of a student’s ugly suspenders by a frantic schoolteacher. The poet, himself brags that “I’ve lifted hundreds out of sorrow with my story. / If I’ve known you a week, I’ve told it three times.” The story ends predictably enough with the protagonist child lashed to his chair with said suspenders as the fire alarm rings. But the piece doesn’t end there. Employing a metaphor of life altering implication, Daley comments on the rest of his artistic career with his fearful ending,

 

After a lifetime, I understand her calm, her need

to reassure us—we were babies—but I knew then—

her eyes on me—my best friends giggling as they filed

to safety, some looking back—her eyes on me,

that silent glare from my first cherished Muse—

I knew she would leave me to burn.

 

Another poem set early in his collection, Daley entitles Awakening in Five Irish Towns. In this eight-stanza piece the poet takes his own measurement foretelling the general bent of his future from the lifelines on the palms of his hands and the posture of other hands. His narrative documentation devolves into an historic dreamtime and back again. In one stanza, set in the legendary city of Cobh, Daley confronts the statue of a rebel ancestor, Eamon O’Dalaigh (Ned Daly), a leader of the 1916 Irish Rebellion. O’Dalaigh was later shot by a British firing squad for his troubles. The poet laments the loss of focus as the stubborn courage of his contemporary Bobby Sands and other Irish hunger strikers are barely remembered,

 

Later I awoke, my clothes still drenched,

in a train car next to a man and a woman

who knew him as Ned Daly,

citizens who barely could recall the Maze hunger-

strikers wiped out of history as if a tornado

scoured prayer beads from their hands.

 

In Daley’s poem, Children of the Storm, his persona encounters hurricane refugees from New Orleans, flush with cash. The man, who has a patch over one eye, hopelessly in love. The woman on a mission. They buy an oversized desk to take with them to Montana in their van. There is mystery here. Possibly alcoholism and violence. They also own a dog and a gun rack.  But the rest of the story is not forthcoming. Instead, the poem becomes an internal conversation and a judgment of good character. The poem concludes with that judgment,

 

Wish I’d shown some sympathy for the eye.

Or his Homeric allusions. She’s loved him at least

the dog’s whole life. She hunted this desk, after all.

 

She and Polyphemus will lug it bovver twelve steps.

Is that how they me?

Sobered up and blasted out of New Orleans?

 

It swells their estate of antiques.

A gun rack great-grandfather milled,

a thing he’ll never pawn.

 

Gentle people, small talk.

 

Perhaps more than any other piece, Daley’s title poem, Born With, delivers both his pragmatic narrative pull and extraordinary lyrical power that works in another dimension, a more ethereal plane. The two angles of perception almost compete in the arena of Daley’s page.  Yet, strangely, the entire tableau is painted within a phone call from the old man to his poet-son. Hurricane weather had burst into the old man’s home and chaos ensues. A 911 call is made and fireman arrive to tend to the old man and plug up the holes in his dilapidated house. After the fact, the actions of these brave interlopers invigorate the man and transport him outside himself. He becomes amazed at the goodness of the external world. Listen to Daley’s exquisite language,

 

They came through the howler—winter a curse off ocean-

       driven snows,

sea wall crushed on, hour by iced hour, wave on top of wave.

A spray on the porch so nonchalant was ironically gentle.

In strobe light emergency they bustled in,

Burley friendly guys, meaty fists lugged soot-pocked helmets,

one of them bandy-legged with a worried smile—and up

he said, right up the steps to the bedroom,

the old marriage bed emptied—

he wouldn’t have mentioned to them

much less to me—thirty years ago,

the room itself draped in dust and salt rot,

or that he slept in a room even noisier—

howl of ghost winters gurgled

sea rash, wave toss, rock crack—

a gaggle in the old man’s dream…

 

First the poet details the procedure, then fury sets in, then numbness spreads in his piece entitled The Last Master—about the euthanasia of a dog. I like this poem a lot, but it is a little too close to home. Glossing past the tendency to anthropomorphize and the obvious emotionality of the moment, the poet turns sadness into acrimony. We are talking about love and the death of consciousness, aren’t we? Here is how the piece concludes,

 

We’re past the sniff of bush, piss on tree,

black eye rolled back to the master, last wag,

past the killing praise, softly voiced, Good Boy,

that soothes an old man’s rage and stops my heart.

 

Some poets are born with an internalized muse, a muse who has a will of her own and a set of contrary aesthetics. Daley is one of these hosts. The lucky bastard.

"The Essential Doug Holder: New and Selected Poems" review by Ravi Teja Yelamanchili

 

THE ESSENTIAL DOUG HOLDER New & Selected Works  $15 Big Table Publishing  http://bigtablepublishing.com 

Review by Ravi Teja Yelamanchili

                               

 

Doug Holder’s poetry is an examination of people and things, but more importantly their patinas. In many of the poems there is a gentle awareness conveyed to the reader—an acknowledgement that everything will eventually deteriorate. Holder’s poetry is subtle, deeply empathetic, and captures moments of vulnerability with unmatched elegance and fragility. In the poem “On the Ward: Stuffed Animals”, Holder writes

“At night
as you
check the rooms
the flashlight discovers
these animals
attached to grown
women—
like suckling babes
held tightly
against the darkness—
memories of morning
abandonment—.
the deep chasms
that were never
bridged.
On these lonely
nights
any union
will do” (Holder 48)

 

                On the cover of THE ESSENTIAL DOUG HOLDER New & Selected Works,  Doug Holder, the poet of the collection, stands modestly in the bottom right hand corner of his own book, his hands are placed defensively in his pockets, and under his arms he carries a newspaper. It is hard to tell if his weary eyes are gazing at you, at the ground, or if he lost in his own thoughts. Bold white text is superpositioned on the page, pushing the poet to the back of his own cover. The cover seems off balanced, as though the subject (Doug Holder) is about to leave the reader any minute. The background is composed mostly of silhouettes of trees and buildings, while the foreground is composed of shadows. The sun is either rising or setting, and a ray of sunlight falls on Holder. On the bottom of the page, a quote from Boston’s first Poet Laureate Sam Cornish reads “Holder is a poet of the street... an observer of the everyday… he sees the world not for what it is, but on his own terms”. At first, I thought that the picture was a strange choice for the cover of a book—surely, Holder had a centered picture of himself he could have used instead.  But, after reading Holder’s collection this cover art was in fact the perfect choice.

In the poem “Life of the Party” Holder writes:

“After all,
you were
the center […]

the approving smiles
from the women
the perfect opiate
delightful
but never enough

And for this moment
you were a man
among men
above—
[…]

And then
in the bathroom mirror
who was this imposter
short and bald
struggling with
his fly […]” (Holder 76)

 

 (Insert drumroll here) While you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, or so we are told, in the case of this book, the cover art perfectly captures the essence of Holder’s style. Similar, to how Holder doesn’t stand in the center of his cover, his poetry employs innovative stylistic techniques that invite the reader into the poem without ever directly breaking the fourth wall. This is achieved by both the tone of the poems, and how vulnerable and honest the speaker of the poems makes himself. There is a “Confessional” quality to the poetry, yet unlike Confessional poetry the poetry is not as emotionally forceful. This often catches the reader off-guard, but the poems themselves are so well balanced—either thematically, or in their emotional content that the reader can easily regain their footing.

Holder uses ellipses, like no one else. Ellipses are normally used to exclude less relevant text from passages. You will often find Holder using ellipses to cut his own conclusions short, as though to indicate to the reader that his conclusions are not that important, or perhaps that he has not formed any. These unresolved conclusions become almost a rhetorical question that can significantly alter the meaning and tone of the poem. Take for instance the poem “A Dream of Minnie Baum”:

“She exchanges Yiddish for English with mother
tit for tat.

I am trapped…
my stomach leaden with chicken fat.
Bronx cheers from the pavement below” (Holder 80)

                In the poem above, the word ‘trapped’ is followed by an ellipsis. This leads the reader to wonder if the speaker is trying to escape. Depending on the answer, yes or no, the meaning of the poem can greatly change. The charm of Holder’s poetry is that it does not impose its views on the reader. It does not try to force a way of thinking on the reader. It draws a clear distinction between the ‘real world’, and the poet’s interpretation of the world. There are fantastical moments in Holder’s poetry, but the reader is rarely left wondering where the line between reality, and Holder’s interpretations of reality falls. At times they don’t align, and this is often where we see ellipses—omissions of conclusions, or pseudo-questions, where Holder seems to be asking himself and the reader how to negotiate “everyday observations with his own terms”.

 

                Confessional poetry is often extremely assertive. The emotions are so raw, that the reader is often overwhelmed and consumed by them—they impose their will on the reader. This can be a very powerful artistic choice, but ultimately limits the reader’s interpretive freedom. Holder’s poetry often includes very intimate details, but the raw emotions are toned down. Holder’s emotions do not convolute reality, and not force the reader to interpret events one way or another. Even though the poems are written from Holder’s point of view, the poems are not just about him. This allows the reader to explore Holder’s world with him—not just be passive listeners. For example on page 146, “ I don’t know why”, Holder writes:

“i don’t know why
i have visions of elevated tracks
subways defiantly roaring
at the dark
damaged men pawing costume
jewelry[…]” (Holder 146)

The first two lines of the poem start with “i”, yet they are both lowercase, which draws less attention to the repetition. This is followed by the powerful image of a “subway defiantly roaring at the dark”, followed by another powerful image. When Holder uses the word “i” in this poetry it is simply to provide the reader with context. 

 

The entire collection opens with the poem “Daddy, Is He a Monster?”

“A child caught sight of me on a bus
propped up on his seat
safe within his father’s fold
he said
“Is he a monster?”

My head
poking out of a protective shell of newspaper
a suspicious crab
peering at a threatening predator” (Holder 23)


Holder’s poetry shares very intimate details. Initially, this can throw the reader off a bit, because we just aren’t used to people sharing such personal thoughts. Thoughts that are so personal, we may even feel uncomfortable hearing them if some of our closest family or friends shared this information with us. But, Holder does not withhold much from his reader, but quickly the reader realizes that this honesty is what makes his work so captivating. At certain points you almost wonder if you are even supposed to be reading these extremely personal reflections. The poem “Unknown in a Crowd”, to some degree expresses this sentiment:

“And that’s when
you felt most at peace—
lost in the cornucopia.
Feeling
like the multi-eyed
fly on the wall
away from the claustrophobic intimacy.
Observing
not observed
owner of you own dialogue…” (Holder 37)

 

                But, the reader despite being thrown off by the unguarded nature of the poems, can easily regain their footing, because of how Holder brilliantly balances everything. Opposing themes, and tones act as counterbalances to each other. The poem “At the Reading: Young Poet”, is a brilliant example of how Holder uses a poetry reading to explore the question of what is and isn’t worthy of art, and more importantly gives us insight into his own aesthetic philosophy.

“She talked of making love
as if a new discovery[…]
of old Cambridge Victorians
cigarette smoke
lipstick traces
romantic places
half-empty glasses
the lingering scent
remembered words…
phrases […]

From the corner
an old woman
lifted her head
from the rim of her shot glass
and cackled
breaking the spell:
“What’s the big deal, kid, and two dogs could do that.” (Holder 31)

This poem is particularly interesting because of its many layers. The young woman, and the old woman represent two opposite sides of the same coin. Both are in ways equally cliché. Yet, Holder finds them both to be equally important subjects, and he is simultaneously interested and critical of both. Using themes to counterbalance each other, is one-way Holder’s work keeps the reader constantly engaged. In another poem Holder writes, “The bridge/to the Bronx/a spurt of connective tissue./ Bridging a new limb to an old” (Holder 51).

                In addition to using themes as counterbalances, Holder also uses dramatic and comedic elements to create balance in his poems.  In the poem “First Night on the Job on the Psychiatric Ward”, Holder starts the poem off by painting a very dramatic scene. But the mythical elements are quickly pushed aside and replaced with humor. These sharp turns in poems, are particularly interesting because of how they change the pace of the poems without using any grammar or white space.

“The night seemed perfectly cast…
stormy, thunder and rain
the patient was biblical
long hair and a beard
with his staff at his command.

He put a paternal hand on me
and called me his finest creation
what could I do but thank him?
He smiled with divine patronization” (Holder 33)

Ravi Teja Yelamanchili currently works at Boston University as a Functional Analyst. His writing has previously been published in Ibbetson Street, The Muddy River Poetry Review, Somerville Times, Sahitya Akademi’s Indian Literature, Muse India, and several other journals. He also won the Boston Mayor’s Poetry Program Contest.