
Felicia
Miclea
The poem written is a reflections on dreams ,a worded representation of the current installation that I am working on now . Writing allows me to express my thoughts freely without having to expectation or an outside critic.
The beginning
Writing poems started to be part of my practice since the beginning of the pandemic ,it was the only way that allowed me to express my thoughts fully without being observed or criticised. I could do mistakes and I would let them be mistakes .That was a time when I started being less critical on the way I create and think about art.
That was a time of reflection to me ,I always wanted my work to reflect my insight on life ,within the current times, but there was a long way to reach that place .I started by slowly incorporating colour words ,and shapes. This transition allowed me to see a different side of myself as an artist and engage into a therapeutical way of making work rather than striving for perfection.
Incorporating story telling within my work was an exciting idea ,which started to be a more consistent practice my current installation. For the creative writing part of my work ,I started learning more about the subconscious mind ,which allowed me to be more comfortable with the subject ,and write in a way that felt authentic to me. My research in dreams, was a slow but steady one ,and allowed me to become more committed in doing so by keeping a dream journal ,where I sketch and write parts that are more vivid while being in the sleeping state .
While rein visioning my dreams and memories ,the poems that I started creating are giving me a turning point which allowed me to observe my intentions more clearly, on the subconscious element of our minds .It made me question …What do I want the public to see feel and experience see this piece of work ?
Colours allowed my creative freedom to form and stabilise. Through this current installation ,I want to bring emphasis on the importance of intuitive part of creating art. Creation as a therapeutic activity rather than a feeling of obligation to fulfil the senses of productivity. Creativity flows when the forced productivity stops.
Existence
Innocence protected
the story of my living
Its roots grew inside
and hold my heart so tight
until I’ve forgotten everything
which I knew as true .
This land is my soul ,and my soul is in the land
I spread the soil on my face ,
And washed away my tears with it
Because
It’s the only thing that’s always there
Took a handful of my wishes
Planted them in rows
Persistent clouds have come to greet
footprints .
The worldly screens have shattered
And left behind the air of new beginnings
The green is germinating under our eyes.
While we swing back and forth
the cocoon is big enough to make you fly.
You sit in it ,close your eyes ,and think of floating.
.....Metamorphosis ,to become yourself again....
The swing of waves ,washed away your grey
It cherished your soul until it was time to go
Took your shell off and painted you with golden leaf’s
You became as soft as lotus ,
floating ,wandering where you might go.
