Raven's Nest - jenraven's Blog - Bakotopia

the light test

As we get closer to our move, our home has become increasingly full of cardboard boxes (and also increasingly disorganized, which drives me up a wall). Cardboard boxes dominate the landscape; piles of boxes; towers of boxes; one wall is stacked nearly to the ceiling with boxes.

So, you can all imagine my elation; when a friendly UPS driver knocks on our door and delivers --oh, joy!-- another box; a big one. Inside are Todd’s new backdrops, three of them, on order from Amvona.

Todd is like a giddy little kid on Christmas morning. He tears open the box, and pulls out one of the backdrops; painted muslin and wrapped in heavy plastic. He opens the bag and … oh, my God. They must ship these things as they are only just dry; the smell of paint is overwhelming, and I order Todd to take the pungent thing outside before we all pass out (you’d think I’d be more tolerant of paint aromas, given what I do; but not this time, folks!).

Todd hangs the backdrops outside, overnight, to air out … and when he brings them back in, they no longer reek of factory paint. Now that they aren’t knocking me backwards with the fumes, I’m able to admire them properly … they really are quite lovely; and, they’re perfect for this year’s Burn the Witch portraits.

Before we go shooting thirty or more different women against these backdrops, though; Todd’s got to do a light test. And that means --once again!-- I’ve got to play model. You all want to know how I got over my fear of cameras? Try living with a photographer! I spend a lot of time in front of that camera (“Honey, come stand for this while I try such-and-such a setting blah blah blah …” I have no idea what he’s talking about. I just know that in twenty minutes or so, there’s gonna be another hundred or so frames of me, floating around in our computer files).

Fortunately, I didn’t have to test alone, this time. Jaden Snow (of Bakersfield’s own Velvet Darkness), just happened to drop by on the evening of our test, and when we asked her to pose along, she turned what could have been a boring test into a really fun, full-blown photo shoot. Todd was happy for several reasons: Her coloring is different from mine, so he was able to test the light with someone who isn’t pale to the point of being transparent (that would be me). Also, she brought along a bunch of really fantastic costumes; so of course I had to get dressed up, too … and we got some really fun photos out of the whole thing. She is very playful in front of the camera … and Todd loves creative, fearless models. The two of them were having a blast, and I was dragged along with them.

I had an especially good time because I finally got to try my Goodwill wedding gown for the camera. Todd and I saw it in the window of the Goodwill, last month; for some reason it caught our attention. “That won’t fit me,” I mumbled, staring at it. “I bet it would,” Todd said, very casual. Since we’re both just big kids, of course I took his dare and we went inside.

I could almost get into it. It was a fully boned corset top, minus only the strings; there was a zipper instead. I poked my head out of the dressing room, “Todd, help me with this.” It became a challenge; to get me into that dress. I don’t know what came over me. We almost gave up, twice; but for some reason the harder it was, the more determined I became. After a lot of grunting and wheezing and other noises (which must have sounded suspect, because when we emerged, there were about a dozen people clustered around the door, outside), the gown gave in, and zipped up. And, for the first time in my life, I was struck by the whole look-at-me-I’m-a-fairy-princess-in-my-wedding-gown feeling. I was also having trouble breathing, but who cared? I felt beautiful.

A bunch of people applauded when we came out; one lady actually started crying and saying how beautiful I was (in Spanish); and another woman began humming a wedding march. An employee told us it had just been reduced, that day, to fifty bucks, because it had been out for a while and hadn’t sold. We returned to the dressing room, unzipped the dress, and I started breathing again. Then we bought it, of course. Eleven years married, and I finally owned my very own wedding gown (we didn‘t have a wedding; just went down to City Hall). I was giddy. I started making a list of places to wear it (downtown on a Friday night, for example, to go bar-hopping!); and Todd started making a list of fun photography projects.

The gown paired perfectly with one of Jaden Snow’s dresses; both had fancy beadwork, and they looked great against the “Urban Elegance” backdrop. We filled both of Todd’s memory cards with photos, that night, and wore out both camera batteries. The photos are terrific, and I’ve posted a few, here, so that the ladies of this year’s Burn the Witch can see the three backdrops, and what they each look like with different colors of fabric (and skin) in front of them. We’re going to let you ladies pick your own backdrop colors, for your photo shoots, so take a look at the photos, and start thinking about what you’d like to wear!

A few tips for those who are new to photo-shoots: Wear something you look, and feel, fabulous in … if you are feeling happy, then your photos will come out happy. Make it a special occasion --this is not the time for old T-shirts-- honor yourself, and dress up! Also; wear a bit more makeup than you usually would … photography is a two-dimensional medium; you want to make your features pop for the camera! Another tip; don’t wear your hair in a pony-tail for your shoot, or you might look like you’ve got no hair, in the photos. Finally, have fun with your shoot! Don’t be afraid to be your wacky-artist self. It really is fun, to play model, so be prepared to have a good experience.

hear that fan whirling

I can hear that fan whirling; it's summer, after all. It's too hot to be doing anything ... or even thinking about anything ... nevertheless, life goes on, and I can't believe all the crazy things that are about to hit the fan, in my life ... and all at once ... this week!!

For starters, this Wednesday is my eleven-year wedding anniversary. How crazy is that? I know everyone says this; but I don't feel old enough to have been married for eleven years. Hell, I don't even feel old enough to be thirty-one.

(Just how old is "old enough?" Maybe it's just something I think I'm supposed to feel; "old enough." Maybe there really is no such thing as "old enough!" ... maybe it's just something we tell ourselves. Who's idea was that, anyway?)

Perhaps the eleven years has passed quickly, for me, because I'm having such a great time. I can't imagine a better life than the one I've got; I can't imagine a better guy than the one I've married. We've had all kinds of adventures together, and I'm looking forward to the next eleven years, and then some ... life is good!

This is also the week Todd and I are supposed to get our keys ... we finally bought a house! It's a fixer-upper; it's going to take a lot of work to get it up to scratch. But, we're no strangers to hard work, and we're looking forward to making it over, all our own. Of course, all of the house projects are going to take time and money ... and that's going to leave less time and money for us to dedicate to the arts, for a while. NOT that we're bailing on the scene, or anything ... but we are already thinking ahead, about how to carefully budget our resources, so we don't get overstretched.

Some of my main concerns, along this vein, include The Empty Space, and Burn the Witch. I've really enjoyed playing guest curator at TES, and I know I won't be able to curate any shows, anywhere, for a while. But, happily, our growing arts scene seems to have already provided a solution to this. Have you people SEEN the art show currently on display, there? "COMICS!" is absolutely fantastic, and guest curator Helen Acosta has outdone herself on this one. Kudos and more kudos, Helen! I'm so proud of you! I'm looking forward to more of Helen's shows (no pressure, Helen, but you rock!); and I'm also hoping to see more of our local artists continue to step up, and produce other group shows, at TES and elsewhere.

Burn the Witch is also going to be in good hands; this will be my last year as curator; I'm taking a break, and Nyoka Jamison is ready to take my place next year. Looking to the future isn't preventing us from plotting for the present, though! This year's BTW is shaping up to be a great event. We've already got over a dozen artists signed up, with more joining the ranks every day. I can't wait to see what artistic mischief all the ladies of Bakersfield have been up to, in the last year!

Speaking of the artistic ladies; the show doesn't go up until October, but the sign-up ENDS August 10th ... so if you haven't signed up yet, do so soon! It's easy; just email your contact information to ...

burninginbako@gmail.com

... that's our official BTW email address!

Don't be shy ... BTW is for beginners as well as for advanced artists. Every artist who fulfills the show requirements will get some space on the wall!

That's about all I've got time for right now ... I can hear that fan whirling ...

Those pickles could be lethal ...

Again!! It's happened AGAIN.

The Myspace Police deleted one of my paintings from my index because it could be traumatic to "children as young as fourteen" and stunt their growth or something. Come on, Eileen … there are worse things for them on television! Hell, there are worse things for them at fucking McDonald's. What is with our backward society … we feed our kids pure cholesterol for dinner with no thought to the health of their colons, but we shield them from anything that any pervert could construe as sexual because we're worried that, what; they're gonna go blind? Better not order pickles on that burger, Mom. Junior might see a pair of tits in that composition.

GET. REAL. PLEASE.

*sigh*

Painting is difficult enough for me, as it is, without all this harassment from the cyber-Nazis. I wish I could say I truly enjoyed painting; that it is relaxing and fulfilling for me … I'm surrounded by talented artists who love painting and I'm so jealous of all of them that I could just scream (and sometimes I do). They say they have a love affair with painting; they say that painting relaxes them, fulfils them, and makes them whole. Must be nice!

The truth is; I have the same visceral, gut reaction to painting that I have towards theatre. I NEED IT. It's a fix; a compulsion. It's something that I have to do, but it doesn't necessarily bring me peace or relax me. It does, however, infuriate me, stress me out, make me cry, and give me plenty of opportunity to hone my skills at swearing like a trooper.

I can go months without painting (ditto, theatre). On a few rare occasions, I've even gone a year or more. But I always come back … jittery and babbling and begging for a dime bag. Art is a cruel master, and I'm it's bitch. Abuse me, Muses! Stomp on my pride, mangle my self-esteem, and drain my bank account. Bleed me dry!

But I digress.

My relationship with painting is complicated. There is a thin line, you know, between love and hate. There is a fierce joy, on some level, when a piece is completed, but I feel more like I've just fought a war, when I'm through, than anything else.

My relationship with color, on the other hand, is intense in a more positive way; especially with Cobalt Blue. Mmmm … Cobalt. Blue. I buy tubes of it compulsively. Cobalt Blue has been my faithful lover since I was seventeen. If I don't have it on hand at all times, the world may come to a screaming halt. Colors speak to me; tubes of paint sing to me like tiny, shining Sirens from the shelves; where they sit, seemingly innocent, and silent to the other passers-by: "Take me home! Let me out! Feed me after midnight! I LOVE YOU!!" "I love you back!" I shout (scaring my fellow shoppers who quickly move away from the crazy lady), and I start filling my shopping basket with them … such lovely, soulful colors! All of them singing, together, of possibilities: Whisper the word with me … *possibilities* … sweet, sweet possibilities.

These colors are the gateway, you see, through which the demons inside my head may escape. Having extras on hand is like stockpiling weapons against some future war … you never know when the demons will come calling … at three in the morning … when the stores are closed … it's better to be armed at all times.

But I digress, again. What I'm trying to get to is the act of painting, itself. It's necessary but must be forced; it's violent and hedged in shame (if you think this sounds like a fundamentalist Christian approach to sex, you're right! I was raised to believe that Sex and Art -and anything else spiritually fulfilling- were Sinful … little wonder I get them confused. Sex was only for Making Babies, and Art was only for painting "Jesus Loves You!" on rocks in Sunday School).

Painting is violence. (Did someone more famous than me already say that?) Painting is ripping the emotions by force from my insides and putting them on canvas, to get them out of my way. I know my paintings probably don't look that way … I've been told they're pretty warm and fuzzy (that irritates me to no end, but what can I do?). But there's a passionate back-story behind every one of them, and layers and layers of irritation and anxiety in the colors on the surface. I paint in layers … and layers … and layers … sometimes even writing poetry on the canvas and then painting over it … and then painting over that … and swearing a lot, of course, in all the spaces in between. It's therapeutic, in a way, I guess.

But there's nothing relaxing, or peaceful, about this process. You know what relaxes me? Sock monkeys. Quilting. Crafting. Boring. The second time, in my life, when I "walked away from Art forever!" I took up teaching arts and crafts to kids, as a way to staunch the wound. It was a great four years, working with the kids, but I almost went crazy inside my soul. I felt like I'd been put in a cage. When I finally did start painting again, I actually spent more time ranting and raving at an empty canvas, and hating it intensely, than I did in putting any paint on it.

Do I sound nuts to you? Good! Let this be a warning to all aspiring painters everywhere. Put the brush down, and back away slowly.

I recently had a painter-friend tell me that painting for her was freeing … like flying. I could feel my skin turning green with envy as she spoke. That has never happened to me with paint …and I wish it would. I feel like I'm playing an endless emotional Salieri to a world of Amadeus characters … all happily going on their way, creating, laughing, acting, painting, … flying …

… the only time in my life I've ever felt as though I were flying, creatively, was the year I earned my pointe shoes. I still remember the emotions so strongly, that I have kept two pair of my old shoes hanging, by their ribbons, in my closet. Every time I see them, I'm reminded; how it felt, to fly … this memory is always followed by the bitter pang of remorse that I'm sure every dancer carries with her (or him), once she becomes too old/too injured, to fly any more. It's a familiar pain! I felt it the year I had to give up tech theatre (for the pain). I felt it the year I really had to give up painting (couldn't hold the brush for the pain). I felt it the year I stopped working shows (could no longer drive … again, the pain). I feel it every time I take up the brush that I can once again hold, with confidence … the pain is still there, where it's always been, in my heart. I remember what it felt like to paint, when I was six; seven; eight. And I remember how it felt when I stopped painting, at nine. And I remember how it hurt, to paint again, at fourteen … and that's how it's been ever since. Pain and frustration and endless, endless anger. Hating the canvas as it mocks me from the easel. Fuck you! Fuck you back, it smirks; unsympathetic and unyielding as a slab of granite.

Painting doesn't fulfill me. It doesn't make me whole. It doesn't make me better, somehow. But it satiates the demons now and again. It helps me to cleanse the heavy emotion from my soul-palette; it eases the strain at the seams, and it helps keep things looking warm and fuzzy on my surface.

Underneath all these layers, of course, lies something entirely different …

~Raven

January One

it’s oddly freeing and

subtly ironic

in a way I hadn’t

quite expected;

to break off from

the group at large with

this particular fork and

continue my trek

alone;

upward,

to that point past the tree-line;

where the air grows thinner and

my mind grows clearer and

the path ends sooner

than I had anticipated;

here; a spot to

stop a moment,

feel the thin air tug my lungs and

unburden myself

of this irksome parachute

and heavy jacket -- the one I never,

really,

cared for in the first place.

upward,

the air

un-hindered

perceptions

un-cluttered

with weary,

wearing,

wanderings of the mind

below the tree-line;

for here the thoughts

are set to rest

in steady left-right

of determined ascent

upward,

deep-breathing

steady keening

(clothing falling)

high winds calling

me home.

now on the end

of a high precipice

I stand poised

no need

to shut these eyes tight

or take a steadying last breath

I simply jump

~Raven 1-08

When Causes (and Controversy) Collide

by Jen Raven

Back in June I experienced Art censorship, personally, for the first time. One of my paintings was yanked from a website because it “contained offensive material.” The offensive material in question was a mermaid’s bare breasts. The whole notion of a woman’s breasts (specifically, her nipples) being “offensive” has always made me angry … after all; a man’s nipples aren’t considered offensive. Men aren’t arrested for showing their nipples in public. Artwork detailing a man’s nipples wouldn’t be yanked from a website. So, why are MY nipples offensive, because they happen to be female? (Let’s just use that word a few more times to get someone’s panties in a twist, shall we? Nipples! Nipples, nipples, nipples!!)

I’m beyond sick of our culture’s vilification of my anatomy. My nipple isn’t any more offensive than my elbow; or my ear, or my toenail. It’s a part of my body, and my body is not evil or wicked or “offensive.” What’s offensive is the suggestion that I should have to adhere to unfair social standards simply because our society has a nipple fetish. I have to keep my shirt on because otherwise some people might have to learn how to control themselves? Not to make too deliberate a pun here, but; God forbid!

And, there sure as hell isn’t anything wrong with the bare breasts on my mermaid. There is nothing suggestive or lewd about my painting. I was absolutely livid. Already disgusted on a regular basis over this issue, the censorship of my beautiful painting pushed me into action. I’m the curator of an annual art show, for crying out loud … and I’ve got it within my power to make a statement about this, I said to myself. So, when I began recruiting for my show, I let the artists know that I was seriously interested in hanging any and all artwork with BREASTS in it, and I told them why. And guess what? I’ve yet to have one single person say to me, “you’re disgusting!” or “you should be ashamed of yourself!” Surprise, surprise: I’m not the only chick who thinks this double standard sucks.

The fact that our show is on display for the entire month of October (at The Empty Space) only makes the whole bare breast theme more perfect … October being National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. This is one instance where causes collide, and everybody wins. It’s going to be all about the boobies, folks. We’ve got over thirty beautiful artists participating in this all-chick show; and we aim to make a little noise. There’s going to be an entire room dedicated to bare breast artwork in all mediums. We plan to have Awareness literature, goodies, and experts on hand; this in addition to the fantastic food, wine, live entertainment, and art, that all come standard with every Burn the Witch.

Of course, there’s already been some controversy. Nano Rubio, our flyer artist, has pulled together the most beautiful flyer artwork I have ever beheld (his artwork last year was stunning; this year it’s even more amazing!!). There happens to be a bare nipple on it, I note with satisfaction. I know some people aren’t going to like it. I know some other people aren’t going to post it, or allow it to be posted. I know some people are going to complain (in fact, a few already have!). Well, let them. I’m not asking Nano to censor his beautiful artwork; first of all because I wouldn’t ask any artist to censor himself (or herself!) and second because THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH NIPPLES so get over it, people. I’m absolutely not changing our flyer to make the control-freaks happy, any more than I’m going to paint stupid seashells on the breasts of my mermaid. We’re trying to make a point, here.

If anything, this (lame) controversy over the flyer artwork will only bring more attention to the issue at hand; Nano has included a pink breast cancer awareness ribbon, in a very strategic spot, in his fine bit of artwork. And more attention is sorely needed, when it comes to this issue. Breast cancer is real, folks. We shouldn’t pretend it doesn’t exist just because our polite society likes to pretend women’s nipples don’t exist.

And while we’re on the subject, YES, that’s right, Nano is a guy and this is an all-chick art show. I have to say I was surprised to get static over this issue, but there it is! I’ve already dealt with a few grumbles over a guy (gasp) providing our (all-chick art show) flyer. Guess what else? Most of this year’s portrait photos were taken by a GUY photographer. And, some of the graphic manipulation is being supported by a GUY artist! Get over it, all of you. Burn the Witch is about the celebration of chick art and creative chick energy (and boobies!). It’s NOT about the total exclusion of dudes, or about male-bashing, or any of that crap. I won’t put up with it; so leave your bad vibes at home!

In conclusion, I encourage all of you to cut-and-paste, or print out, a copy of our beautiful show flyer, and put it up in a place where a lot of people will see it (and maybe get irritated by it!). I also encourage you all to come see our show. It’s going to be on display the ENTIRE month of October so you really have no excuse, to miss the great artwork (and BOOBS!) in this year’s Burn the Witch. Our Opening is October 13^th from three to seven pm. Our Open House is October 20^th from five to seven pm. There’s a measly five buck cover at the door … and for that you get food, wine, live entertainment, fantastic artwork, and the company of over thirty lovely and talented ladies. If you miss the openings, you can still see the artwork (at no charge!) available for viewing thirty minutes prior to regularly scheduled show times, and also by appointment; just call 327-PLAY.

Everybody say it with me: NIPPLES!!

Burn The Witch Returns!

It doesn’t seem like it's been a year.

But it has; it's been a year now, since we four sat around my table together, having a drink; playing with the idea of an all-chick art show that would kick some serious ass: Jenn Williams; Nyoka; Amber Saunders; and myself. We knew what we didn’t want, and we had a notion of what we did; but we had no idea, then, what we were actually about to accomplish, together.

It's hard to believe that it's twelve months now, since those six short weeks after we first got the green light; that was all we had, six weeks! but the project was fated to be more amazing than any of us had planned, or even hoped, for. Eighteen artists. Over one-hundred works of art. Nearly two hundred guests. Thirty-eight sales. That’s what happens when chicks come together with a purpose, baby.

It doesn’t seem like it's been a year, since Burn the Witch became bigger than all of us.

Another trip around the sun; and now here it is again, September; and we’re gearing up for the second incarnation of Burn The Witch, in October. This year we’ve got over thirty artists. And, we’re taking it up a notch. October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and once again, we chicks are coming together, with a purpose. Remember the room of all nudes last year? This year it’s all breasts! We’re on a mission to promote awareness about this very important issue; as well as to toss a very awesome party!

It doesn’t feel like it’s been a year … but Burn The Witch II is upon us … so join us on October 13^th from three to seven pm; and on October 20^th from five to seven pm … or you’ll have to wait …

… until next year!

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This year’s Burn The Witch will feature performance poetry; live music; awesome food and drinks; amazing artwork; terrific company; and the promotion of a very important cause. And, your $5.00 at the door will benefit The Empty Space Theatre and Gallery, a 100% non-profit organization that promotes the Arts in Bakersfield, all year long. The Empty Space is located at 706 Oak Street in Bakersfield … Setting Theatre Free!

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For Public Notice:

Let it be made Known to the Upright and Law-Abiding Citizens of this Towne that These Most Reprehensible and Fearful Witches will be Burned in the Towne Square on the Thirteenth Day of October, in This the Year of Our Lord, Two-Thousand and Seven, Amen:

Jen Raven

Susan Roussel

Fred

Holly Gomez

Katie Campbell

Nyoka

Alexis Nelson

Amber Saunders

Dawn Fox

Kat Brinkley

Ashley Martinez

Lysa Luna

Ricky Berger

Audrey Polanco

Lisa Small

Kaitlin Hulsy

Anneliese Livesey

Ali Padgett

Audrey Jarvis

Andrea Gonzalez

Cady Queen

Ginn Williams

Julie Jordan-Scott

Theresa Tate

Trish Corrigan

Julia Heatherwick

Helen Acosta

Myryah Zanchi

Christina Martinez

Cheyenne Hernandez

Darla Kendrick

Stephanie Ann Darling

Amber Wilson

Guinevere Park-Hall Dethlefson

The Burning will take Place at Three O’Clock p.m. of the Evening. If enough Rope cannot be Procured to Sufficiently Bind These Witches to the Stake, We will have to Toss one Hellacious Party instead.

Pitchforks optional.

Betrayal!

Coming to The Empty Space September 15th; the group art show, "Betrayal" will feature the artwork of Jen Raven, Amber Saunders, and Lisa Small.

As the name of this group show suggests, the theme of all the artwork on display is 'betrayal' in it's many forms. There will be live music, performance poetry, food, wine, art, and artists ... so come by and hang out with us at The Empty Space on Saturday, starting at five p.m!

Something That Terrifies

Once upon a time, this Raven was terrified of cameras. Nothing could make me disappear faster than the glint of a camera lens. My heart-rate would go up, my palms would sweat; “Say Cheese!” … and there’s another picture of me, looking like a deer in the headlights.

When my husband, Todd, decided to start taking his photography seriously, he thought it would be a great idea to use me, endlessly, as his subject. And it got worse when he bought his ‘real’ camera; he was aiming it at me every five minutes. “Hold still a minute; I need to test this setting.” “I want to see how you look in this light.” “I want to try out my new lens … come outside and pose for me for a few minutes.” Aarrgghh!! It drove me nuts.

And then; I had to see the dozens and dozens of digital shots of myself, on the computer, as he sorted through them. I looked stiff and awkward and miserable. I hated looking at them.

Those dozens of lousy poses were teaching me something, though, without my realizing it; I began to figure out what looked good on camera, and what didn’t. Slowly, but surely, my photos started improving. We made friends with a few people who knew photography, about this time; they gave both Todd and I pointers. And then, the photos started getting really good. My blood-pressure no longer went through the roof every time I saw a camera pointed my way. I learned to quit dropping my chin and making bug eyes. I stopped being afraid.

Gone are my days of being camera-shy. Now that I know what to do in front of a camera, I’m all over this! It really is true; the best way to get over being terrified of something is to just do it. I have all kinds of new confidence lately; and not just in front of the camera … though I know, facing my personal demons regarding the camera has had a lot to do with it.

There are other bonuses, as well: Being an artist and costumer, it’s so awesome to have a photographer handy! My portfolio is starting to look killer. I have all these professional shots of my artwork, now; and I love them. Best of all, I get to make jokes about ‘sleeping with the photographer,’ when people ask me where I got my pro shots done.

As if all of this wasn’t good enough, Todd and I are having a blast, together, on all the photo-shoots he plans (we always have a good time together; but it’s really great to mix it up, and try new things!). Whether we go out on a shoot just the two of us, or shoot with a group, we invariably wind up having a fantastic time. Each shoot is an adventure; we both learn something new every time we go out. It’s just the kind of work/play that artistic types crave, and it’s very satisfying.

Lately, Todd has been playing with the theme of Chicks With Swords; I’ve been playing with the idea of wrap tops (I just got back from a Costumer’s Guild West convention, where I learned all kinds of new fun things to do with yardage!). We’ve been putting both of these ideas together in the last few shoots, and the results have been pretty awesome. Check out Todd’s latest photos and see for yourself! And, after that; go out and do something that terrifies you. You may just wind up having more fun than you thought possible.

-Jen Raven

ONE NIGHT ONLY!

Join us at Russo's Books in the Marketplace TONIGHT, July 25, from seven to nine pm for a very special Poetry Circle! Guest poet Brandon Cesmat will be joining us for a night of poetry, music, and lively discussion!

The Russo's Poetry Circle is FREE and free to all ... we are very informal and I promise, we don't bite (hard). Come out and see us tonight at Russo's!

Pure Joy

I was up late, working, as usual. All was quiet but for the sound of the fan droning endlessly on, to itself, and the iron in my hand, hissing softly as steam curled up around the pattern I was pressing. It had been plenty loud ealier; Kayleigh, the little girl who lives in the apartment next door (she's about nine, now) had two friends from school staying the night, and the air had been ringing with the sounds of three giggly little girls as they clomped up and down the steps to our shared porch. The steps were silent now. A little moonlight shone weakly through the window to my left as I worked.

Late, late in the night, the door to the apartment next to mine suddenly slammed, there were angry shouts, and then there were three little girls, clad in nightgowns, racing across the porch between our two apartments, right past my window, straight for my door, and they didn't even knock, but just came right in. They were terrified ... Kayleigh's parents had been fighting. They were all wide eyed and crying ... I was comforting them as best I could, thinking in my head how I was glad for them, if this was the worst thing they ever encountered as children; and I was trying not to remember my own childhood, when little Kayleigh turned to me, with a very adult sneer, and said to me, in a very contemptuous adult voice, "I know what it means to grow up."

I was shocked. I started to get very angry, and argue with her, but something made me look out the window, and that's when I saw that dozens of large red toadstools, complete with white spots, had sprouted on the lawn below. They were everywhere, growing larger in the moonlight. "What are they?" The girls surrounded me, squealing with delight and fear. I ran out onto the porch ... they followed me. "It's a fairie ring!" I barely breathed. The girls were wide eyed. "What do we do?" They were begging me, clinging to me. "We have to dance in it!" I shouted. "Come on. We have to run; now!"

I grabbed their hands and we all ran, bare-foot and pell-mell, down the stairs; in our nightgowns, hair flying, toward the lawn, at full speed. An enormous full moon was sprawling on the horizon. The apartments seemed to recede into the distance, the lawn spread out, rolling and green, the grass grew wilder, and the toadstools were growing larger (or was I getting smaller?). We were laughing and shouting and running, running, running, in crazy eights through the forrest of toadstools around us, more springing up every minute, wherever the moon touched the grass. A weird and wonderful music was all around us in the air; it was like Tori Amos meets Sarah McLachlan meets Evanescence ... wild and dangerous and heartbreaking all at once. There were unbelievable flowers sprouting, growing, blooming; everywhere our feet touched ground, they sprang up joyfully behind us.

And there were such people! They seemd to grow right up out of the grass as we ran past; wild and weird, they were laughing and singing and cheering us on, strange beautiful people. I looked to my right, as the first rays of a giant pink sun shot out over the hill; there, on a little rise, with sunlight streaming through it's wild leaves, was a wild and twisted red and pink fernlike plant with spreading tendrils and curlicues and leaves and streamers; growing, growing ... I fell to my knees before it and wept, laughing; it was so lovely.

The girls all surrounded me. "Why are you crying?" "Look, girls, it's a Red Fern," I told them. Their jaws dropped in awe, though I'm not sure they fully understood ... but then they were off dancing and shouting again, for there were wild flowers shooting into the air and falling all around us from somewhere ... and they had to dance in the storm of flowers and petals.

The flower storm seemed to have been created by a man who was walking toward us; he was dressed like a farmer, and laughing like crazy in the early morning light. He pointed to a spot in the grass right in front of where I was kneeling, and yet another plant sprang forcefully up out of the ground, leaves already formed by the time they had shaken off the dirt. It grew larger and wilder, fruit forming on it's curling vines as I watched open-mouthed, wiping the tears from my face with my left hand. I stretched out my right, and a red, ripe tomato the size of a grapefruit fell into my open palm amid a shower of flowers and a burst of pink-yellow sunrays spreading all around the fruit and the vines in front of me.

And that's where I was; kneeling in the grass before this giant tomato plant, surrounded by laughing, singing people, giant flowers, and running children, in a forrest of bright red toadstools ... my heart was swelling fit to burst with pure joy. I opened my mouth to laugh with them; and that's when I woke up, in my bed, still laughing out loud, and with the tears still still streaming down my face.

-Raven 7-07