After gaining foundational knowledge about the rich history of poetic and visual collaborative work, students in Professor P.F. Potvin's Introduction to Creative Writing class visited the Stamelos Gallery Center. Students explored Christina Haylett's exhibition, Revelations in Paint, participated in a conversation with the artist, selected a visual by Haylett, and crafted poems in dialogue with Haylett's work. These selected poems showcase a breadth of perspectives, depth of styles, and diverse student voices. On behalf of the students, we're honored to share this work with you.
"I drew a lot of inspiration from the trope of an ideal family having quite a few skeletons in their closet. I've always been a fan of that subversion of supposed perfection in media, and I thought that this might be the perfect opportunity for me to try it out for myself.
I named the poem “Nostalgia” because of the bittersweet lens through which I look at early years growing up in my own family. I wanted to capture that feeling of simultaneously wishing I could relive those years, and being glad that they're behind me."
Back when things were simple
The little house on Tienken
Was so alive.
Every morning
Us kids would watch
Cartoons at breakfast,
Waiting for the noisy yellow bus.
After we left, our parents would dance in the kitchen
So terribly, horribly in love.
As the day went on,
Dark clouds swirled around the house.
We put our heads down, ate dinner in silence,
Did our homework while holding our breath.
The noises began before we were even asleep.
Muffled exchanges wafting through vents
About anything and everything and everyone.
The clouds further darkened.
The nights passed.
The sun rose.
Us kids watched
Cartoons at breakfast,
Waiting for the noisy yellow bus.
And as we looked behind us at the house,
Faint piano music played within.
Tucked away,
little white house.
The noise has not gotten to it,
so there it sits.
The little white house remembers
when it was once filled with noise.
A frame that never sat quite
Right,
fretted over, and adjusted daily.
A child's promise that toys
were all put away.
Except for their favorite,
little green car.
The tune
of a song,
that she could not remember.
Consumed by the house's
white walls.
The little white house,
Took these noises and
tucked them away.
Wishing to pull them out
when they return.
Tucked away,
sits a little white crypt.
Untouched, it
misses the noise.
Occasionally,
the rain greets it
enveloped in
sound once more.
The crypt takes comfort
in its embrace.
"I had the honor of listening to the artist Christina Haylett speak to our class throughout our gallery visit, and her words reminded me why I was taking the writing course. The hard part of taking Creative Writing as a class is the pressure to be perfect, or to get an 'A' on the assignment.
After hearing the stories surrounding some of the artist's pieces and how she chose which media to put together, I was reminded how art is supposed to be a fun expression of feeling. While it is amazing to have an audience pay attention to your work, nothing beats the feeling of looking back and being proud of what you were able to express, no matter the media used."
An image fills me, sanity threatened by a shove
Hands in hands, palms in palms;
For our life, our love,
Nature gracefully embalms.
Each stroke of the brush
Captures the essence of love
Blue as your eyes, red as my blush,
White that could rival the virtue of a dove.
For better, for worse,
till has death done us part.
The road is disrupted by the tires of the hearse.
With you, it takes a piece of my heart.
Hands without your hand,
Palms without your palm,
This place, by artistic command,
will forever be embalmed.
I once lived in a big beige house
Surrounded by trees and
Tall grass riddled with daisies.
I once played near the pond
With the neighborhood kids
Jumping
Splashing
Kicking up dirt.
I once picked the daisies and crafted flower crowns
Running
Dancing
Spinning like a fairy
Now the beige house is empty.
Now the neighborhood kids are grown.
Now the daisies and grass have wilted.
Yet I am still here
Thinking.
The Stamelos Gallery Center is located on the first floor of the Mardigian Library at the University of Michigan-Dearborn. For more information, see below for contact information. Anyone requiring accommodations under the provisions of the Americans with Disabilities Act should contact lacotton@umich.edu.
Taketori Tale,
Kyohei Fujita (b. 1921),
n.d.,
Mold blown glass with gold and silver foil inclusions
Gift of Richard and Louise Abrahams,
Collection of UM-Dearborn (Adp39),
Photograph by Kip Kriigel
World renowned artist Kyohei Fujita was born in Japan in 1921. He is known as the father of Japanese studio glass. Many of his works, including this one, were inspired by early Japanese boxes that were richly decorated with lacquerwork and mother-of-pearl inlays, and traditionally used to store Buddhist writings, jewelry, inkstones and brushes. Fujita's celebrated ornamental glass boxes revive conventional Japanese aesthetics in a contemporary form. This breathtaking piece was mold blown with gold and silver foil inclusions. Whenever asked by collectors what to keep in the boxes, the artist usually stated "You should put your dreams in them."
---Laura Cotton, Art Curator and Gallery Manager
