And So I Write...: A Poem (4/8/2019)

Music, painting, sculpture – these forms of art can reach a person and have an intense emotional effect, yet they leave room for the person listening, viewing or touching to interpret and project their own needs onto the art.    

When I paint or create, a piece of me is no doubt infused into the end result.  Creating is a need that I feel, an endeavor to express something with color and form.  It is something very real and formidable within me and needs to come out.  After I am done creating, I feel the drain and empty space that is left in me, just as I feel the connection to the creation that is a result of my efforts.  

  I struggle knowing that once a piece of art has been created, it is open to interpretation in the public eye.  I often explain to people that I have anxiety in presenting my art because I feel a vulnerability in how others interpret my art.  It is like they are judging me.  The expression I’ve laid bare has a meaning and a feeling and I want that to clearly come through to those who view my art.  My vulnerability lies in not wanting to accept a different interpretation of my expression just because someone sees something that I did not intend.  This is contextualism at its finest. 

But, isolationism vs. contextualism is a whole other conversation in and of itself, but I digress…

When I think about the art of expression and the many forms that it can take, I feel most powerful and certain of my expression when it comes in the form of writing.  Without doubt, it is the most intimate and it may even leave me the most vulnerable, but in a way that I can somehow cope with.  It can be a means of therapy, serious or foolhardy, but regardless, writing is a pure expression of me.  In writing I am present – I am undoubtedly me.  My spirit is laid bare.  My words need not be interpreted.  They are what they are – plain and simple in black and white.  Of course some may still interpret them as they wish, but the proof of my expression is in black and white, and I am confident in that expression.      



And So I Write…
               By Autumn Boyet-Stinton 4/8/2019

 I do not feel intimidation in the blank, white page so vast
               It beckons to me and pulls from me future, present, past.


The eyes that will dine upon my words need not to be defined
               For from my very soul and spirit the words are but entwined. 


 The pen is an extension of my unbound and untethered heart
              A clear window into who I am, this expression is my art. 


The words they stack upon themselves, and muddy up my mind
               To give them life on paper is a welcome release I find.


 The ink is but the life-force dripping words as if I bleed
                A blood-letting of emotion that cures my carnal need.          


By means of words I am present in that in which I write
               Beliefs, limitations, strengths and obsessions all unite.


 Peer upon my intimate words and know my purest form
               Emotions, thoughts and ideas that in my head do swarm.


 Feast upon my words and feel my passion swell so true
Like or hate them, whilst reading them, you’ll know and feel me too.


 You need not interpret what I’ve said or cast your own belief
               The truth of my expression is clear and in that I find relief. 


 And so in written word I shall have a voice beyond the grave
               For I have lain bare my soul in written form myself to save.


Pencil drawing by Autumn Boyet - circa 1987

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