Gouache has been taking the online art world by storm since the pandemic hit, and it's honestly pretty confusing. First of all, how the HECK do you pronounce it? Also, how do you get started? In this article, I'll share some of the tips I wish I'd known when I picked up gouache last year, and let you know about the materials I've especially come to love.
So, you’ve just written a poem. You’ve crammed it with emotion, love, and artistry. You really believe in it. But if you’re being honest, you know it needs some work—maybe even (ouchy-ouch) a LOT of work. And yet you really have no idea where to begin with that dreaded process: revision. Here's a checklist to help!
Inspiration and Time To Write don't always get off at the same station. Do you frequently find yourself all out of ideas the minute you settle down to write—even though you had been looking forward to it all day? For times like that, poetry prompts can be an invaluable addition to a writer's toolkit, and I'd like to share a few of my personal favorites with you.
Okay. So. You've been painting. With watercolor. And if you're being honest, it's not going all that great. Your paintings feel messy and out of control or wooden and scripted in a clumsy sort of way. Let me reassure you: as a mostly self-taught artist, I've been there too, and I want to share some tips to help out!
I certainly wanted the poem to reflect the strong personal attachment I felt to this pair of birds whose ardent connection to one another aroused all my sympathies at a time when global events made connections between living things seem especially frail.
Ah, Lament. How I used to fear you as an ominous precursor to madness and despair. How many years I wasted trying to keep a lid on you, trying to put you back in the cage not knowing that every caged thing tells the world a lie.
Not too long ago, I was flipping through the journal I kept in those days and I found an outraged entry about Annie, penned by my jealous twelve-year-old self. I began to laugh at little me, and I laughed and laughed. Then I wrote this poem.
Optimism comes easy to children who are surrounded by caring people and protected from sad stories. But this whole planet is groaning under the weight of its sad stories, and any assessment of the world that doesn’t take them into account isn’t a true one.
I’ve watched fear bloom in my heart like a Venus flytrap, snapping at any beautiful thing that dares to flutter too close. And I’ve decided: this joy thing is not child’s play. Joy too can be an act of resistance, as many people before me have observed.
