art Archives - Kymberlee della Luce

the radiance of darkness

Bricolage has been coming back to me as part of my creative process again. I randomly chose the word “radiance” and began choosing objects that brought forth what that word meant for me. Perhaps it’s because the nights are getting longer or perhaps it was because I had just viewed the painting below at the Flesh and Blood exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum but either way, I began collecting mostly dark objects. As I did this, I realized that I am currently (maybe have always been) drawn to the radiance of darkness. The first thing I noticed when I saw this painting was those sleeves. Look at them! They remind me of the dark beauty of crow feathers. So lux.

I’ve been In the book “Twenty Four Conversations with Borges Including a Selection of Poems I found this poem titled “Poem Written in a Copy of Beowulf”. It moved me the way watching a storm moves me and evokes that feeling of the radiance of darkness that, while ineffable, is something we know when we feel it:

At times I ask myself what are the reasons,
During my wandering night, that now impel
Me to begin (expecting no miracle
Of perfection) to study the tongue of the harsh Saxons.
Exhausted by the years my memory
Allows the futilely repeated words
To slip away, the way my life first girds
And then ungirds its tired history.
I tell myself it must be that the soul,
In a sufficient and a secret way,
Knows it is immortal, that its vast, grave
Circle takes in and can accomplish all.
Beyond this longing and beyond this verse,
Waiting for me, inexhaustible: the universe.

That just pulls me down into my rootedness. In the dark beauty of life. Have you been experiencing the stars this autumn? The way the Jupiter in Venus was all snuggled up to the moon for a bit? I have taken to sitting in my home alone in the dark and just watching the changing night sky. Wishing I could capture its beauty to share but knowing I can’t. That’s what I’ve come to realize about the radiance of darkness–it’s personal. Life grief. Like the moments when we first wake up in the morning and realize we’re still alive. Sublime.

Someone recently asked me what my name meant. I told them it means “of the Light”. They said, “That’s about right. You lead people into the light.” I said, “Well, that may be true but I do it through illuminating the shadows.

I’ve finally learned to be okay with that. It’s not always comfortable but it’s necessary. Too much light obliterates detail. Blinds us. We can’t really afford to be blinded at this time in our history. We also can’t afford to wallow in the dark, hurting ourselves and others.

May the radiance of darkness lead the way.

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an exploration of masculinity culture

I created this blackout poem painting a few years ago when I was still bleeding. I decided to mount it on canvas as a monument to the long stretch of biological fertility I had. To honor the passing of time and my journey of finding my voice as a womxn. Womxn are magical. Menstrual blood is magical. This piece, though, is about men. It’s an exploration of masculinity culture in this world that is so fraught with suffering. The poem reads:

| a poet |

males born
have died
suffering from the drain
of magic
in the village

Masculinity culture is an effect not a cause.

There are so many men hurting right now. And they hurting others. I watched the film Starred Up with my kids last week. It’s the story of a violent teenager who is sent from a juvenile facility to a high security adult prison. It’s based on real experiences that screenwriter Jonathan Asser witnessed during his time as a prison therapist. The story is heartbreaking and brutal but a beautiful piece of art that shows how violence is perpetuated and what it does to men. In media, we often see an exploration of masculinity culture but with more criticism than solutions. The words “toxic masculinity” get thrown around often on the internet and, I think, often get mistaken for “toxic men”. I don’t believe that men are inherently toxic. The system we’re in has many toxic elements that disrespect life. Dominance and aggression get rewarded and suffering becomes exponential.

But there is hope. I won’t give anything away about the film because I want you to watch it but I will say that it was interesting to watch what happens when people are given a voice and a chance to relate to each other in a way other than brutality.

I know that the film The Joker, which we also saw recently was criticized by some Feminists–some before they even saw it–but I don’t understand this. Most of my attention goes to womxn these days because I am a champion of what will connect and heal us and that is mostly coming from womxn right now. That said, men are still around 50% of the population. Their stories still matter. Their real stories, not the endless stream of nonsense that Hollywood tends to pump out but stories that help us understand. I have no idea what it’s like to be a man in this world. Art, at it’s best, can help us see what is happening so it can be addressed. We can’t heal what we won’t acknowledge. I sincerely want to be part of the healing.

I know this blog post is an incomplete exploration of masculinity culture. I do know that I need to write about it and create about it. As I watch my son go through puberty and endeavor to be the best midwife for his soul I can possibly be, I see how important it is to focus on bringing forth the Conscious, positive aspect of the Masculine. When I saw this art that I made and when I look around the world right now, I realized how much the focus needs to shift away from the pain and towards restoring and honoring the indwelling magic inside of everyone. The question is how?

Playfulness is an antidote to masculinity culture.

A surefire way to heal and restore magic is through playfulness. I was once at a poetry slam when someone in the audience became very aggressive and verbally abusive and left. The MC said, “Okay, everyone let’s shake off the Patriarchy!” after which we proceeded to get up and shake for about a minute. It worked! We all started laughing and breathing more gently. I’ve used this technique many times since then with my kids and myself. It was a wonderfully embodied experience and certainly more effective than going online and saying “men are trash!”. In fact, let’s rewrite that:

Men humans are trash complicated.

Its’ the system we need to change. Love the people. Change the system. Playfully. Respectfully. Joyfully. I’m working on an online class right now that will be exploring just that. Click here if you want to learn more.

After all of this writing about playfulness, I’m going to go play now. Join me!

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finding meaning in 2019

We’re nearly done with another year and another decade. Since getting hit by a car while biking a few months ago, I’ve been doing some soul-searching and working on finding meaning in 2019. I see and experience so much suffering right now and have been asking myself how I can “be the change”. Allow me to start with sharing why I recently decided to permanently deleted my personal Facebook account.

It seems like it should have been harder to leave but it really wasn’t. It was a nice experiment but the world is very different than it was when I joined Facebook in 2008. I am very different and most certainly the platform itself is different in pretty terrible ways. I would say, “It’s me, not you,” but that’s not sincere. It’s all of it. Existence is transpersonal after all.

Here’s an incomplete list of things I found increasingly problematic on Facebook:

I realized recently how bad it was for my mental health. Maybe it’s the notoriously horrible and ever-shifting algorithms or maybe it’s my level of investment in outcome (probably) but either way, Facebook just wasn’t feeling good. I’ve learned to stop doing things when they don’t feel good.
I noticed that people would “like” that I was going to an event but I wouldn’t see them there. They wouldn’t ask to join me. So weird.
Speaking of events, with one exception, my ~~friends~~ acquaintances invited me to their theater shows but not to their home. Not out to coffee. Not even a text message saying “hello”. I’ve heard people say, “Oh, it’s just that everyone is busy.” I want to say, “Busy doing what? Checking Facebook?”
Back when I did spend actual time with people, I would start to tell them something and they would interrupt me to say, “Oh yeah, I saw you talk about that on Facebook.” Of course I had no way of knowing that because they weren’t engaging in the FB conversation, they were just peeping. Lurking. Like people do.
When my father died earlier this year, a family member announced it on Facebook before I had heard. My brother was kind enough to call me but I didn’t know for hours because I was outside. On my bike.
You can’t opt-out of Facebook Messenger. I’ve experienced people sending me DMs on Facebook Messenger in a very uninvited and sometimes demanding way. It’s mostly men that do that although I once had a womxn say, “I’ve noticed you’re an early riser too. How are you?” I don’t want or need people to be tracking me that closely unless we share a home together. In this case, we’re not even sharing a meal together.
Social connections aside, I don’t trust Facebook. Their ridiculous messages like, “Good morning, Kymberlee! We care about you and hope you have a great day!” feel like manipulation. Like grooming behavior. I’m wary of people trying to make me feel good who are known to be doing nefarious things. I can’t support that anymore.
Facebook feels like a dumpster fire. A fire that I don’t have the energy for and have no interest in feeding.

Society has allowed Facebook to be woven into every aspect of life. They make it hard to leave. Like the mafia. But we get to choose where and how we spend our life force.

The thing is, I remember a time before Social Media and before the internet.

I remember a time before cell phones and answering machines (or text messages). I remember having to wait for things. I remember having to adjust the antenna on the TV to get a good signal. I remember eye contact and hearing a person’s laughter, not seeing a laughter emoji on a screen. I don’t see our culture becoming happier as we become more “connected”.

Or maybe it’s just me.

Either way, Facebook just became both invasive and isolating to me. It’s like being in a room filled with hundreds of people who think they know you but nobody is actually talking with you or each other. As part of my journey to finding meaning in 2019, I’ve made a choice to fill up my life with experiences that I savor, not that I instantly share somewhere. I’ve also made a decision to keep a paper address book with the names, addresses, and phone numbers of people that I cherish and who gift me with their presence.

It’s been a couple of weeks and already, the world is brighter. I spend time really noticing when I’m happy or sad. Just feeling it without distraction. I do still spend time on the internet because I’m not a luddite. I know that Mark Zuckerburg got (somewhat hilariously) interrogated by Congress. I know that Twitter will no longer run paid political ads like Facebook does. I know that there are anti-government protests all over the world. But it’s different outside of that space. I’m not witnessing so much arguing and grandstanding, so much misplaced rage and disrespect. Frankly, so much polarized nonsense.

Finding meaning in 2019 means care not caretaking.

I had a fear that perhaps people might think I didn’t care about them when I left but then I realized that I have demonstrated how much I care for folx repeatedly. Caring for myself hasn’t always been a high priority in my life and that has cause me suffering. It’s paradoxically because I care so much that I need to stay away from a space that feels really toxic. My care for myself and others needs a more embodied outlet.

I ran into this quote that has been attributed to Frederick Nietzsche (but for which I could find no citation) today:

To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.

How do we find meaning in a world that seems to be traveling at breakneck speed on a permanently loud setting?

I see such intolerance for taking time to explore and listen right now. I did a lot of exploring meaning on Facebook as I went back to school post-divorce and got two degrees. I’m grateful for that time and for the people with whom I shared ideas. I used to have these beautifully chromatic conversations filled with complexity and ambiguity that helped me deepen my perspective, not unlike a college seminar. (I downloaded all of those conversations before I left.). Sadly, that hasn’t happened in a long time. It’s as though complexity retreated when 45 was elected along with respect and graciousness. I like what President Obama recently said which is very similar to what I’ve been saying for years:

Life is messy. Play anyway. That’s something I’ve said (and lived) for years. That’s how we I find meaning: through playing, exploring, questioning, challenging, talking, creating, loving, constructing and deconstructing. And also through listening, softening, deepening, and remaining open to possibility and pleasure.

I’m doing a lot more of that and really digging it. Writing and creativity are what drew me to the internet to begin with. I’ll be blogging more often because I still need an outlet for what comes up for me. I’ve had a lot of folx tell me that they enjoy what I share. If that’s you, consider signing up for my newsletter. There’s a lot of content there and a free gift each week because another way I’m finding meaning in 2019 is giving stuff away.

If you’ve stayed to then end, thank you! May the road ahead treat you kindly. xo ~Kymberlee

Have you signed up for my newsletter yet? Every Tuesday, I put forth interestingness and a free gift. It’s the best way to stay connected to my work in these digitally shifting times.

I happily accept and invite donations to support my work if you are so moved. 💖

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purple is

Purple is the in-between
Between twilight and the deep dark
In between left and right
(Right is not straight despite its etymology).⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
And purple isn’t just red and blue,
It’s also the absence of yellow.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Purple is the perfectly ripe plum
And the darkest bruise that takes a month to fade
(from the skin).⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
In England, the Purple Emperor butterfly was once captured with rotting flesh.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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Purple can be the color of mourning
And the color of the irises that I once planted in my mother’s garden.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
(Are butterflies meant to be captured?)⠀

***

I wrote this poem in celebration of “National Arts and Humanities Month” using a prompt. The image is from my sketchbook.

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Ghazal: Calcified Naivete

Living inside the braided folds just for today.
Tangled roots whisper; I can’t hear what they say.

Memories are a splinter in the eye.
Promises broken become calcified naivete.

Black Swan, slippery like Mercury—haunting.
(A life lived well is not a parley.)

Water ceasing to hydrate what is crumbling.
Silt becomes an urn for ashes someday.

Days are shorter as darkness encroaches.
Mornings sweeter with precious days.

As civilization collapses under its own weight,
we desperately need you to disobey.

***

While I am a huge fan of both Rumi and Hafiz, this is my first attempt at writing a Ghazal. I rarely use any form at all with writing, other than haiku.

I enjoyed the constraint. I think I’ll keep going with this.

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