Walking around a gallery full of Picasso’s work on Jacqueline made me realize how dedicated and incredible the artist was throughout his life. What particularly stuck out to me, however, was his linoleum cuts. In the process of this particular art-making, Picasso gouged out the image in a piece of linoleum against a block of wood. Traditionally, artists make separate linoleum cuts for each color used in the art. Picasso was innovative, in printing one color from his linocut, then going back to the same piece of linoleum and carving deeper for the next color. There was no room for error, which again proved to me how sensational Picasso was.
Since the image is cut out into linoleum, there’s potential to play with different color schemes. One of my favorite linoleum cuts from Picasso is called “Life Under the Lamp.” This painting may seem fairly simple on the surface, but looking at what went into each and every color is astonishing to me. I first saw the image upstairs in the Pace Gallery, up the spiral staircase in a room set off to the side. “Life Under the Lamp” was one of the only images in the gallery not of Jacqueline, so it was also refreshing to see an image that was not an abstract representation of Picasso’s love.
To see the full process of making “Life Under the Lamp,” the British Museum outlines it here.
A full gallery of Picasso’s work showed me (someone who doubted that he was an incredibly special artist apart from his name) that art definitely is a lifestyle. For example, Picasso created his linocut “Life Under the Lamp” when he was 80 years old. His name is known everywhere you go, and this gallery allowed me to have a greater respect for an image I grew up seeing in my home, shown below
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In a lot of ways, I think it’s very easy to disconnect a writer from their work. When you read a book, for instance, you’re generally not dedicating a whole lot of thought to the person behind those words. No one reads Dracula and wonders what Bram Stoker was feeling when he wrote Lucy’s death. No one stops to consider how Mark Twain’s childhood affected the way he described Huckleberry Finn’s adventures.
This is one of the primary differences between novels and poems. When reading a poem, you are forced to take a walk in the writer’s shoes- or ‘slip into their skin’, as Laurie Ann Guerrero might say- which results in a more intimate, occasionally uncomfortable experience. A poet’s writing is raw, demanding nothing but a reader’s undivided emotional attention.
So, after meeting both Saeed Jones and Laurie Ann Guerrero, I can’t help but wonder: what is it that makes a poet?
The first thing that comes to mind is perhaps the most obvious: pain. Mrs. Guerrero was particularly forthcoming about the hardships she had experienced as a child and young adult. She was repressed, silenced, marginalized. Mr. Jones faced something similar to this as well; as a gay man of color, he talked about his struggles with identity and his place in the world.
The second factor ties into the first in a willingness to explore and discuss that pain. Being an artist, in many ways, is about vulnerability. Much in the same way that painters put a piece of their soul on display when they frame a piece of art, poets give their readers a personal invitation into the workings of their minds. Fears, doubts, indulgences- all of these things are on display in a poet’s writing in a way that bares their soul to anyone who cares to look.
Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, is a flexible, introspective view of the world. Anyone can describe the world around them. To do so with insight and structured, creative language is another thing altogether. Both Mr. Jones and Mrs. Guerrero do this, providing personal and social commentary that really makes one consider the impact they have on others.
To write is to be an artist. To write poetry, however, is to be human.
Whenever I am asked if I read poems, I never know what to say. I always think, “Does it count if all I did was read the words?” The reason for this is that I hardly ever successfully interpret poems. I know it’s supposed to be all up to the readers mostly to interpret things the way they see fit, but it’s still a confusing question for me.
When I read Laurie Ann Guerrero’s poems before class, I didn’t really feel confident that I understood them. But, when she spoke in class about her background and her drive when she was writing the poems, I suddenly understood. Or at least my efforts were doubled so that this time I was determined to understand.
I came to the conclusion that sometimes a little background knowledge is important to fully understand a work of art. For me, putting the pieces together throughout the class was the fun part. In the intense and emotional time that Laurie Ann was in our class, I felt inspired because poetry really can express the essence of a person.
What I found really interesting was her “crown of sonnets”- mainly because I was in awe that she actually wanted to put herself through that grueling process! I remember in my junior year of high school, I had to write a normal sonnet and it was SO DIFFICULT. I mean getting the iambic pentameter right, then the rhyme scheme, all the while making sure the poem makes some kind of sense…it just goes on and on. The point is, one sonnet consumed so much of my time. But then in class I heard from Laurie Ann a couple of poems from her crown of sonnets and suddenly I was inspired to try my hand in poetry again.
Laurie Ann said that she attempted the crown of sonnets when she needed something to distract her and I’m thinking now that that sounds like a good idea. Who knows? I might try one!
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