Talking with the Author of 'HER HANDS'

Looking through the window of HER HANDS exhibit

      After reading and rereading the poem, Her Hands, I first thought about publishing it on my blog and asked for permission to do so, but after reflecting on it some more, I realized I didn't want to publish it without knowing more about the person who wrote it.   I knew nothing about her except her name and the words that she wrote and that the exhibit coordinator knew her.   I started writing this blog attempting to share my creative journey and I had vague thoughts about someday writing about other people's creative process.   I found I wanted to know more about Suzanna Merritt and you would think that contacting her would have been my first response, but it took me awhile to get to that point.
     Remember, if you have read my past posts, I am an introvert, and while I enjoy meeting new people, talking to people I don't know on a telephone can turn me into a quivering mess because I can't always formulate my thoughts quickly enough or follow visual cues.   I don't like phones, so unless I know you well or I have a specific message to convey I will avoid talking on the phone. But this year has been about facing fears and each one I face teaches me more about my overactive imagination and how it gets in my way.  So  when I called Suzanna Merritt (after formulating questions) I found a wonderful surprise at the other end of the phone line.
      Suzanna was asked to write the poem during the 1990's when she was working at the University of Maryland in the provost's office and in the Women's Center.  It was during women's history month that an art exhibit called 'Her Hands' was taking place showcasing the handcrafts of women and their contribution to the world.   She wanted her poem to reflect the life of women.
       Suzanna's voice has the sound of England in it and I found out she moved to the states in 1964.  She lived in Buffalo and currently she resides in Maryland.   When I questioned her about her writing and her writing process I found out that she had lived through World War II as a child and when she was about 38 disturbing and unhappy memories from the wartime bothered her so she started writing as a way of dealing with those memories.  At first she wrote in rhyme because she thought that was what poetry was but she took some classes in writing; poetry and short stories, continuing to develop her writing style.
       " I write about things that move me." is what she told me.  Her poetry is a way of expressing and understanding her feelings.   She also writes poems for people that they request which have many subjects, even football games.   Traditional publishing didn't work for her so after taking a class based on the book, 'The Artist's Way'  by Julie Cameron http://juliacameronlive.com/she came to decision to give her poetry away.   In the process she has found that her poems go places and reach people in ways she never imagined they would.
     A poem she wrote about 9/11 ended up being read at a church in London,England on the tenth anniversary when there was a ceremony commemorating the victims of the tragedy.   She happened to be visiting at the time and was asked to read it.
      Her family was a family of artists and she has found ways to embrace creativity in her life.   She does photography, calligraphy, sewing , and knitting and she loves scenery and nature .   She also loves to garden and has found creative ways to do that as she gets older and traditional ways are too difficult.   Her definition of creativity is that there are many different ways to do a simple task  and if you can't do it the old way then you can find a new way.  She says she has changed and her writing has changed over the years.   I got the impression that she is satisfied with the changes and that her act of creativity and enriched and healed her in many ways. 

    In my conversation with Suzanna I once again was reminded of how much creativity and the use of creativity can increase our understanding of others.   When we do something creative we are building something of value for others.   A work of art, poetry, music, dance, drama, can touch another person and remind them that they have something good to live for .   A work of art can help us work through an ugly event in our life or remind us of a special time and a work of art that is shared can help someone else that we may never meet in their life's journey.

Preparing for an Art Exhibit: The Poem

Window wall in process

More pieces in process of hanging

Art is waiting for it's place

work's to be placed in gallery

The Gallery Show of Women Artist's in Hamilton NY (May and June)  was inspired by a beautiful poem that was written by Suzanna Merritt.  Each artist received a copy of the poem below and designed their work around it.   This poem was very beautiful and made me wonder about the author so in the next post, you will learn about her too!

Her Hands

They began as tiny hands, perfect in form

Emerging from the womb

Knowing only how to cling.

Growing and learning, they travel life's path

Progressing toward their maturity:

Searching hands at the potter's wheel,

Muddied by wet clay, earnestly shaping

The vessel to hold their essence.

Dancing hands,delighting our senses,

Imaging our thoughts,

Gracefully conveying their subtle messages.

Musical hands, singing their songs,

Playing our dreams

On the keyboard of life.

Creative hands, knitting and sewing,

Patching together

The torn fabric of rented community.

Wedded hands, wearing the gold band of commitment,

Complementing his two hands:

A unity greater than the sum of its parts.

Researching hands, fingers tapping keys,

Recording thoughts, explaining the mysteries;

Her words alongside his words.

Mother's hands, training little fingers

In tying bows, fastening buttons,

And how to sip from the cup of life.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Weary, work-worn hands,

Wearing the sales tag of cheap labor

Yet priceless in their necessity.

Unhappy hands, bowing in obedience,

Endeavoring to protect

Smaller more fragile hands.

Loyal hands, continuing to serve, 

Honoring their purpose

In the face of betrayal.

Bound hands, in bandages of restraint,

Stifled into submission;

the world denied their caged potential.

Angry hands, forming into fists,

Hammering frustration, chiseling out change

On the wooden face of the status quo.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Healing hands, dressing the wounds, 

Easing the sick pain with the balm of Gilead;

Desperately needed, yet ever dwindling.

Calm hands, palms pressed together in prayer,

Claiming the warm power

To gently unfold the blanket of peace.

Still hands, laying crossed over the heart, 

Their purpose sustained

In the fullness of time.

Lifeless hands, relasing their ongoing spirit

To merge in mystical union with many hands,

Attached to arms that embrace the world,

Creating, serving, teaching, praying,

HER HANDS

Choosing to Imagine

"When the first baby laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies. And now when every new baby is born its first laugh becomes a fairy. So there ought to be"

Author: James Matthew Barrie quotes (the creator of Peter Pan)

When I was a child I looked forward every year to the broadcasting of the musical Peter Pan with Mary Martin as Peter.  The role is traditionally played by a petite woman and Martin was iconic.  She brought Peter to life for me in that musical, which I only saw in black and white on our TV.   I could feel the wind in my hair as I flew through the air with Peter.   I cried when Tinkerbell was dying and I faithfully said, " I believe in fairies" for her.   Peter Pan was the person who did not want to leave childhood, who did not want to grow up.   I understand that.   Being an adult is hard with hard choices and unclear paths.   It would be easier not to grow up and to be a child forever.
However, one can always maintain the important qualities of childhood.   Wonder, curiosity, questions, imagination, creativity, and belief in magical possibilities.   Believing that we can help the fairy live, that we can change the world.    Changing the world does not have to a big thing, it's the little things that count.   Smiling at the grumpy clerk, maybe complimenting them on what they are doing, visiting an aging neighbor, picking up trash on a dirty street, collecting coats for cold children, serving food at a food kitchen, giving socks and blankets to the homeless on the street.....there are a thousand little things that will change the world and if everyone did just one.......
I was also a teenager in the late 60s early 70s.  There was a belief in the air at that time that we could change the world.   We grew up and became adults with all that entails and I think many of us lost the childlike wonder and belief in fabulous possibilities.  
Faith is renewed  when a child that is born  and we get a glimpse of the marvelous paths this little one could travel.  If we are patient enough to pay attention to a child, we can grasp belief in the impossible again.   Little children find everything amazing because they see with new eyes and we can borrow those eyes to see things new ourselves.  Their minds are verdant valleys of imagination and wonderful ridiculous ideas.   My oldest grandchild imagined for quite a time that he had a "roar car" and his imaginary car could do amazing things.  He also had an alter ego that he called super-Braeden who had great abilities.   There was no doubt in his mind of the power of these imagined beings.  
There are those who believe there is something wrong with this kind of imagination, but I don't .  I think wrong imagination is the kind that causes us to believe the wrong things about other people.  It causes us to think that others think negatively about us or that we, ourselves, are worthless.   The kind of imagination that makes us think we are better than someone else because we have more money, or a better job, or more degrees, or better clothes.   I don't think the glorious, whimsical, fantastical, imagination of a child is anything but wonderful.  Einstein said and I think he should have a good grasp on the subject,

“Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand.”

So I am no longer a child and I may not believe in super powered cars or have my own personal altar ego superhero (although I could really use a few powers at times) but I try my best to always look at the world around me through the lens of imagination, what could be.   I try to look at people that way also.  I try to see who they could be.   I know the world is full of so much pain, sickness, and just plain evil, but I also know that it was never meant to be that way and if I can manage to look at it with the eyes of possibility, maybe I can still change it, even a little bit.

'She Birthed a Laughing Child'  each section 18" by 24" Available for viewing or purchase at "Her Hands" exhibit, Hamilton NY   at the Old Parry Hardware store across from the bookstore.

 

 

When I wrote about the mosaic that I just finished I realized I never told you, dear reader, the title of the piece.  I was searching for a name, (which is often the hardest part), thinking of the poem that is the guideline for the exhibit, (I promise to publish that also) and the week of our newest grandchild's arrival when the Peter Pan quote came to my attention, twice.  I happened to come across it when I was searching for quotes about childbirth, and then later my husband just happened to be watching "Finding Neverland" and I just happened to walk in when they were quoting it in the movie.   So I named the piece "She Birthed a Laughing Child".