art, education, imagination, storytelling tara l. conley art, education, imagination, storytelling tara l. conley

I'm from a black dot on a white canvas searching for rainbows

This is a multimodal piece I produced for my class in Culture, Media, and Education. I like fusing media and genres (written/spoken poetry, painting, digital video). Suites me quite well. [vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/20187343 w=398&h=224]

I am from long strokes of acrylic bent on canvas sky from blotches of black and blue mixed with white and reds I am from the taste of colors long forbidden Soul food, Black Foot, Irish-American.

I am from somewhere vague like shadows at noon from Negro seeds planted in the fields on hot southern days from an east coast milk truck named “Conley” for short. I am from somewhere whose love managed to give me life.

I am from hard fights and harder hugs from bedrooms of imagination filled with stories of magic carpets and gospel songs. I am from the house on 8th street where herbs grew in gardens instead of mangos.

I am from my mother’s eye Watching and waiting from her spirit longing to be free from the rainbow shirt that covered her belly with me inside.

I am from my father’s hands lost in the strokes of oily painted white mountains, from the heart he held to stop the attack, from hardened pale fingers I touched that were unfamiliar. From the shadow that moved curtains when it was over.

I am from an amalgamation of memories from a black dot on a white canvas searching for rainbows.

#culture #media #education #multimodality

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education, imagination tara l. conley education, imagination tara l. conley

Where I'm From

(Source)

After reading Where I'm From by George Ella Lyon, I chose a line that resonated with me the most and then created my own poem.

From Lyon:

From the finger my grandfather lost to the auger, the eye my father shut to keep his sight.

My father was an artist. I witnessed him take his last breath on 12/17/08 at 9:40 p.m. In the spirit of mourning my father’s death, this is what I came up with:

I am from my father’s hands lost in the strokes of oily painted white mountains, from the heart he held to stop the attack, from hardened pale fingers I touched that were unfamiliar. From the shadow that moved curtains when it was over.

#personal #narrative #creativity #education

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