With My Eyes Shut There is Still Winter

+ rainbows, + snail mail, + typewriters, + new old toys

With my eyes shut there is still winter

outside like a hand clasped over my mouth,

winter and its tongue of stone too heavy behind

the broken teeth of the crypts in the cemetery

next door. O naked trees, when can I sing?,

when can I sing the snow between what I shoulder

and what I gather to my body like a coat made

of the silhouettes of the thinning woods and

one sharp tine of moon? Will you tell me, field

of my making? If I open my eyes I see that time

is passing. The little fruit trees we planted bend

and bud, my bare legs are cold from the hopeful

walk to school. There were long shadows of the

telephone poles, we played a game where I said one

good thing and one bad thing and my daughter chose—

Car crash or Sunday dinner? Smoking a cigarette

or flying to Florida? Flowering or icing over?

//

Here we find ourselves again, somewhere between winter + spring. One day birds singing in the sunshine + blue bells poking up their tender green tips. The next, an icing over. A cold rain and muddy brown riverbanks for parks. And back and forth, from flowering, to icing over all over again.

My own motivation and creativity feels similarly erratic. The world at large feeling especially over the top fire and ice — with the people supposedly in control so absurdly out of control — is not helping.

But as my friend Ariel Shumaker reminded me with this photo, sometimes, with my eyes shut, there are rainbows. And sometimes they land right smack on your face. So you stop and give thanks, then open your eyes and carry on looking for and creating beauty, and cheering on those that do the same.

I have an idea. An offering. For those of you who, like me, love tactile, hold-it-in-your hands things. Or who yearn for the days when mailboxes meant more than bills and a handful of trash.

A snail mail subscription

Every month, you’ll receive one photo poem — the photo a 4x6 fine art print, the poem typed on my Grandpa’s Royal typewriter (with the help of the library’s photocopier if I get a lot of subscribers) — both sent to your actual mailbox. From my hands to yours, with love.

Options:

annual subscription $108 ($9/month) direct pay - just reply to this email with your mailing address + your VenMo and I’ll send you a payment request

6 month subscription $60 ($10/month) direct pay - same - just a shorter commitment

annual through SubStack - $132 or $11/month (it’s convenient but they take a cut, so it’s a little more) click the “snail mail subscription” that should now show up as an option, then reply to this email with your mailing address. Please don’t forget to send me your address!

Here’s the typewriter I’ll use, which just so happens to be covered in rainbows!

Which leads perfectly to my next offering. .

creative prompts. . I know it can feel gimmicky, but I’ve found little creative nudges to be surprisingly helpful in the past. And since I usually get them from some sort of winter practice group, which I don’t have this year, I’ve decided to just do it myself.

Maybe you’re also needing a nudge and would like to be in my haphazard practice group?

Here’s how. . for the rest of the winter (maybe longer?) I’ll add a creative prompt. Give it a go, and then let me know how it went.

Today’s creative prompt . . .

/ New toy / Or new tool? Toy just sounds more fun.

I am not a gear person. Not one to rush to buy the latest anything really. The DSLR cameras I use came out in 2016. My film camera might be from the 70s. But there is something about using a new (to you) tool that can make you see, experience, and create differently. For me, right now, it’s the old Polaroid camera that’s been sitting in my closet for 2 years, after sitting in my parents’ closet for decades.

While I love the immediacy and quirky look of Polaroids, I’ve never loved the shiny plastic cover. So I’ve also been also been playing with a process I learned at the John Campbell Folk school (where once upon a time I lived and studied). You essentially peel it apart, dunk it in warm water, carefully peel out the emulsion, and then place it on paper, or glass, or wood, or once I tried a teabag!

Here’s the first one I’ve made in nearly 20 years (so thank goodness for Youtube tutorials because I completely forgot how). It’s of my friend Kaoly Gutierez, a fabulous artist who I’ll be giving a talk with on Feb. 26th. You are more than welcome to join virtually! I’ll be sharing and answering questions about my Gravida project, and she’ll be sharing her project “I’m Sorry. Forgive Me. Thank You. I love you.” If you click HERE there should soon be a link to sign up.

Thank you for following along! It means a lot to me. Especially those of you who take the time to leave a comment or hit reply. It’s so encouraging to know these aren’t just getting lost in the void.

If you know someone who you think would love to receive photo poems in their mailbox, it would mean a lot to me if you would pass this along.

xoxo,

Eliza

for more of Meghan’s award winning poetry - Meghan Sterling

for more of my photography - Eliza Bell Photography