art

The Best Female Painters of All Time – Top 10

art, Thoughts

“There are no rules… that is how art is born, that is how breakthroughs happen. Go against the rules or ignore the rules, that is what invention is about.” 

– Helen Frankenthaler

Whether the brush stroke is wet-into-wet, feathering – or the art incorporates polka dots and mosaic elements; women painters have long been creating masterpieces. Some of the best female painters may not have been recognized initially because people didn’t see value in their work or simply couldn’t stand the competition, however, their vision, talent, and voice couldn’t remain in the shadows forever. The best female painters in the world have made their mark and this list will highlight 10 of the finest that you should know about!

  • Frida Kahlo
  • Georgia O’Keeffe
  • Mary Stevenson Cassatt
  • Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun 
  • Yayoi Kusama
  • Hilma af Klint
  • Louise Bourgeois
  • Artemisi Gentileschi
  • Helen Frankenthaler
  • Laura Wheeler Waring
  1. Frida Kahlo  

Beauty and pain never looked so divine and Mexican painter Frida Kahlo harmonized the two so beautifully. She primarily used oil on copper to create deliberate and striking self-portraits and still lifes.

The Broken Column, 1944 by Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo knew physical pain and emotional turmoil, which she used to fuel her artistic fire. Born July 6, 1907, in Coyoacán, Mexico. Frida produced roughly 200 small paintings that merge elements of fantasy, folklore, realism, symbolism, and surrealism to depict not only hauntingly sensual originals but relate fierce personal narratives as well. 

“I paint self-portraits because I am so often

alone; because I am the person I know best.”

-Frida Kahlo

“I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone because I am the person I know best,” she once said. 

Frida’s muralist husband Diego Rivera was instrumental in helping her hone the techniques she used in her paintings, which featured vibrant colors- reds and yellows- rooted in her rich Mexican tradition. 

She died in July 1954, after which her reputation soared. In 2000, her 1929 self-portrait, Portrait of a Lady in White, was sold at auction for over $5 million, further cementing her status as one of the best women painters in the world, 

2. Georgia O’Keeffe 

Among the greatest female painters is the mother of American modernism and the queen of abstract art Georgia O’Keeffe. Born in November of 1887, O’Keeffe made significant contributions to modern art.

Throughout her career she experimented with abstract art, focusing on composition colors, brush strokes, and shapes. 

However, she remained true to her love for nature, painting desert landscapes and flowers to exude the feeling it evoked in her.

Georgia ÕKeeffe Art in New Mexico | Museums & Tours | New Mexico True

“I had to create an equivalent for

what I felt about what I was looking at –

not copy it.”

– Georgia O’ Keeffe

Over time and through the influential ideas of American painter Arthur Wesley Dow, who advocated simplifying forms, Georgia O’Keeffe developed her style, fusing abstraction with realism. She continued painting up until her death at 98 years old.

3. Mary Stevenson Cassatt

Mary is one of the best female painters of all time and is considered the only American impressionist painter to have exhibited her work with the impressionists in Paris.

Her depictions of family life, particularly the bonds between mothers and children set her apart from other painters. 

Mother and Child in Boat, 1908 (oil on canvas), Cassatt, Mary Stevenson (1844-1926)

Formal training didn’t appeal to Mary and she primarily educated herself and was influenced by the works of influential painters Edouard Manet and Gustave Courbet, and Diego Velázquez.

She also had a close working relationship with Edgar Degas who became her mentor and whose pastel work she admired. After coming across some of Degas’ pastels in a shop window, it made an impression on her. ​

“It changed my life! I saw art then as I wanted to see it.” 

Mary showcased her first Impressionist work in the U.S, the 1878 painting, In the Loge, a depiction of her modern woman.

In the Metropolitan Museum is the Havemeyer Collection; to which Mary was an invaluable contributor. She died in 1926.

4. Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun 

Eighteenth-century turbulence in Paris, France, and obstacles to women’s advancement did not deter the self-taught, Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun from pursuing her art, which has landed her in the top 10 women painters category. 

Élisabeth was accepted into the Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture in 1783, becoming the fourth female member with the help of Queen Marie-Antoinette.

Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun, Self-Portrait with her Daughter, Julie, 1789, oil on canvas, (Musée du Louvre).

Her painting, Peace Restoring Abundance helped contribute to her recognition. She was the queen’s official artist and painted more than two dozen portraits of her. Élisabeth is known for her sympathetic portraits of the aristocracy.

Élisabeth fled during the French Revolution, but commissions from European nobility and royalty for portraits kept coming. Of the war and its impact on her art, she said, “But I could now paint no longer; my broken spirit, bruised with so many horrors, shut itself entirely to my art.”

“I could now paint no longer; my broken spirit, bruised with so many horrors, shut itself entirely to my art. “

– Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun

It’s believed that Elizabeth produced some 600+ paintings throughout her lifetime. She died in Paris in 1842.

5. Yayoi Kusama

One cannot talk about the greatest female artists without mentioning the Japanese painter, Yayoi Kusama, who is affectionately called ‘the princess of polka dots. 

Yayoi recalls how as a little girl she experienced a hallucination that was freakish and frightening. Pictures this: talking polka dot flowers that were everywhere. This hallucination left her feeling what she described as ‘self-obliterating’. These dots became a prominent feature in her paintings. 

Yayoi recalls how as a little girl she experienced a hallucination that was freakish and frightening- of talking polka dot flowers that were everywhere. The hallucination left her feeling what she described as ‘self-obliterating’.

Yayoi Kusama | Biography, Art, Infinity Mirrored Room, Pumpkin, & Facts | Britannica

‘Polka dots are a way to infinity. When we obliterate nature and our bodies with polka dots, we become part of the unity of our environment.”

Although her mom destroyed her canvas in an attempt to discourage her, she continued with her art and eventually left Japan and made it to New York, where in 1959, her art was on display in various exhibits. Yayoi voluntarily checked herself into a psychiatric hospital in Tokyo in 1977, where she is a resident to this day.

6. Hilma af Klint 

The Swedish painter Hilma af Klint is a part of an elite group of females who are the best women painters in the world. The abstract painter began producing radical abstract paintings in 1906, that were vibrant, colorful, and out of this world.

Hilma af Klint

Born in Stockholm in 1862, Hilma was a medium that was involved in spiritualism and Theosophy (any of a number of philosophies maintaining that a knowledge of God may be achieved through spiritual ecstasy, direct intuition, or special individual relations, especially the movement founded in 1875 as the Theosophical Society by Helena Blavatsky and Henry Steel Olcott (1832–1907).

Her abstract paintings can be described as occult-inspired and magical-looking.

She was called a crazy witch and between 1906-1915, she produced 193 paintings known as the Paintings for the Temple. Hilma explained that the pieces were painted “through” her with divine “force” saying, 

“I had no idea what they were supposed to depict… I worked swiftly and surely, without changing a single brush stroke.” 

– Hilma af Klint
Group IX/SUW, The Swan, No. 1 (1915) by Hilma af Klint | The Guggenheim Museum

“I had no idea what they were supposed to depict… I worked swiftly and surely, without changing a single brush stroke.” 

Before her death in 1944, she instructed her heir to keep her abstract paintings from public viewing until 20 years after her passing.

Her work was first seen in public in the 1986 Los Angeles show The Spiritual in Art. Hilma only received widespread recognition as a pioneering abstract painter when the Guggenheim Museum hosted a major survey of her work from October 2018 to April 2019 titled “Hilma af Klint: Paintings for the Future.” 

7. Artemisia Gentileschi 

Artemisia Gentileschi is in this top 10 women painters category because she is a pioneering Italian painter whose paintings reflect historical-art innovation.

Some speculate that her traumatic past -surviving rape– perhaps fueled her inspiring works of art and have characterized her paintings as autobiographical. Her paintings are also dramatic with a level of sensitivity in how color is handled and the female form is depicted.

She’s arguably the best female painter of the 17th century, with paintings that reflect the stories of women, including ambition, motherhood, and passion.

She paints herself as a woman completely in charge.

Self-Portrait as a Lute Player by Italian painter Artemisia Gentileschi, is an oil on canvas from 1616-18 with dimensions 77.5 × 71.8 cm. The painting is housed in the Wadsworth Atheneum collection in Connecticut, USA.

“As long as I live, I will have control of my being.” 

– Artemisia Gentileschi

Artemisa is the first to portray sexual predation in “Artemisia Gentileschi: The Image of the Female Hero in Italian Baroque Art.”

She was a champion of the oppressed woman and her dramatic Baroque paintings reflected that position. Artemisia admired Caravaggio and her art was heavily influenced by him and she became recognized for her realism and use of chiaroscuro. The exact date of her death remains a mystery.

8. Louise Bourgeois 

Born in Paris in 1911, Louise Bourgeois was not formally linked to a particular artistic movement, but exhibited her work with the abstract expressionists of her time, like Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock.

The themes in her paintings were dramatic and sensitive, such as anger, jealousy, abandonment loneliness, sexuality, and unconsciousness. This modern contemporary figure is one of the greatest female artists whose work often reflected her own experiences or was inspired by her memories and was emotionally charged.

Femme’, Louise Bourgeois, 2007 | Tate

“My childhood has never lost its magic, it has never lost its mystery, and it has never lost its drama.” 

– Louise Bourgeois

Louise has stated, “My childhood has never lost its magic, it has never lost its mystery, and it has never lost its drama.” She had her first solo exhibition of paintings in New York in 1945 at the Bertha Schaefer Gallery. Louise was more than just a painter and also became known for her large-scale sculptures. She died at the age of 98 in 2010.

Louise Bourgeois. Femme Maison. 1946-1947 | MoMA

9. Helen Frankenthaler 

Helen Frankenthaler has long been recognized as one of the best women painters in the world and a great American painter of the twentieth century. This American abstract painter is widely credited for being instrumental in the transition from Abstract Expressionism to Color Field painting.

She developed the soak-stain technique (thin washes of pigment that soak into the fibers of the untreated canvas), which expanded how abstract painting could be presented.

Helen Frankenthaler

“There are no rules… that is how art is born, that is how breakthroughs happen. Go against the rules or ignore the rules, that is what invention is about.” 

– Helen Frankenthaler

“There are no rules… that is how art is born, that is how breakthroughs happen. Go against the rules or ignore the rules, that is what invention is about.” 

Born in 1928, Helen’s professional exhibition career kicked off in 1950 with her painting, Beach (1950) in the exhibition titled Fifteen Unknowns: Selected by Artists of the Kootz Gallery. A year later, she had her first solo exhibition in New York’s Tibor de Nagy Gallery.

Helen Frankenthaler | Western Dream | The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Helen’s true inspiration came not only from her contemporaries but from the “old masters” as well. She died in December 2011 at age 83 after an illustrious career, cementing herself as one of the best female painters of all time.

10. Laura Wheeler Waring

Among the best female painters is Connecticut-born African American artist Laura Wheeler Waring. Born in May of 1887, she was displayed in the USA’s first exhibition of African American Art in 1927.

Marian Anderson – Laura Wheeler Waring

Laura Wheeler Waring is renowned for her portraits of prominent African Americans made during the Harlem Renaissance and her beautiful landscape paintings.

She studied the works of master painters like Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot, Édouard Manet, and Claude Monet, which influenced her style achieved through vibrant and realistic techniques, with an emphasis on light, vivid colors, and atmosphere.

While she studied romanticism and impressionism, she leaned towards realism. Some of the portraiture subjects included Mary White Ovington, W.E.B. DuBois, and James Weldon Johnson. She was also an art educator for over 30 years. She died in 1948.

Laura Wheeler Waring, “The Study of a Student” (ca. 1940s) | PAFA

These 10 greatest female artists have left their mark on the art world and should be celebrated for their achievements.

This is just a small number of female painters, which hopefully piques your interest to explore more women painters and artists in general. Happy discovery!

Product of Consumerism – Freeverse Poem

Poetry 
 
I’m just a product 
In a department store. 
Waiting on a shelf 
To be used like a whore. 

And when they are done they 
Turn their backs 
On the shelf once again.  

They consume me 'til they’re done. 
'Til they have no use for me anymore. 

It never matters that I cared. 
It never matters how long I was there. 
It never matters the time we spent. 
It only matters what they spent. 

They want a return. 
They want a refund. 

They want the newest model, the next best thing. 

Except, now -
I’m vintage. 

They don’t make ‘em like me anymore. 

The new models are not as efficient. 

They say the new models are cheaply made - 
or that they’re all the same. 

They break down easily and they don’t work. 
They’d never have a warranty. 

Maybe the consumers should have thought of that before. 
Maybe the consumers should have recognized my value. 

I’m a product with nothing left to prove. 

They made their choice, they are the 
Ones who choose. 

I don’t have an option and really -
I never did. 

Donate me NOW to some “less fortunate” person - 
Maybe they will bid! 

Maybe they will cherish me, 
And keep me safe. 

They’ll look at me and say: 

“This one’s a keeper.” 

“A real collector’s item - she’s rare - she’s got old school features.”

Unique - I’d be. 
Complete - I’d be. 

Finally - I’d be 

Loved.  

© KIMBERLY ANNE INC. 2022

Fury

Poetry 
          Fury.
    She is fury.
Fury like the waves
    Of the Michigan Lake
         On a stormy day.

She sees them.

       Sitting on a window’s ledge
            Atop a high rise, she is
                       Hanging
                     H a n g i n g

Letting the wind feel her
                    And free her
As she lets the smoke rise
Out of her lips and let it kiss
                   The Sky
               With Passion.

She sends her whispers into the galaxy
Where the darkest purple clouds live
                           And black waves
                      Crash
                       And
                      Shake

                     No - it is not a dream.
               It is a very real scene.
A memory of her youth; so pristine.

Room 121

Experiences, Poetry, Thoughts

Room 121 – a Tribute to the Mule

Narrative Poem by @kimberlyanneinc

Welcome. Before you begin reading this narrative poem, I want to say thank you for being here. Room 121 is a place that you have been to before. It is a place that we have all been to before, in some way or another. It is up to you to determine what Room 121 is about. Room 121 is a diverse room filled with every kind of energy and emotion that is possible for human beings to demonstrate and feel. Room 121 is full of mysteries that are not meant to be solved. Room 121 is what you want it to be. 

This post is best viewed on desktop or tablet.

Room 121 – a Tribute to the Mule

What’s going to happen in Room 121? 
I swore to myself the last time we were there that I’d never set foot in a courthouse again. 
You know it was not supposed to happen this way. 
Like an out of body experience I see the stupid happy plastered look on my face. 
Walking with you like I should be so proud when in fact I should have 
hid my face. 
Then maybe now I wouldn’t be so embarrassed 
and ashamed of being associated with your name. 
Almost reaching Room 121 I’ve practically crumbled and just might 
disintegrate. 
 
What will happen in Room 121? 
In Room 121 I’ll become brand new and it’s going to be like I never even knew you. 
Remember that moment in Cinderella? There’s a fairy godmother who completes the impossible. 
She made it all possible for a transformation to take place. Can you see the wand now waving? 
Waving around now right in front of her face? A transformation I’ll go 
through even though I think really, it’s you who needs one too and 
you probably need it much more than me since you have issues with your eyes, 
your ears, and all things. You need glasses so you can see. A hearing aid so you can listen. 
 
What is going to take place in Room 121? 
If only a real fairy godmother exists, then she could help me help you! 
With this issue of vision. 
Helping you would be much too kind considering there is no hope for you anyway. In Room 121
I will release all of the pain 
and the guilt 
and the misery 
and the shame - 
along with all of your lies and your undiagnosed illnesses 
and that fake bit of chivalry that brays out of you like a True ass.
 
In Room 121 I will walk in alone and I won’t mind at all because I’ll be one step closer to 
escaping any thought of you 
for the rest of my life. 

Sometimes I wonder if the world only knew 
how weak and infantile you truly are 
if it would 
HELP. 
 
Do you think it will be beautiful in Room 121? 
Then they’d be able to escape you too; but like me they wouldn’t have to run 
because you’d already be gone. 
Faster and faster just like a marathon 
of foolishness and mental fragility due to your frail existence. 
In Room 121 donning silver attire, I will walk in with pride and 
explain my mistakes of how I fell for your 
schemes, 
your strategies 
and your lies 
and how 
NOW
they have made me only so much more indestructible - 
Rugged and impenetrable either through the heart or unmentionables, thank you. Thank. You. 
My armor is heavy, and my battle scars are unseen. Only those who wear this armor too will 
understand what that means. 
With my head held high and curious eyes glaring at the gleam 
that my iron shield, metal plate, and inlaid sword bring - 
everyone will know that you are not a real King. 

Just another imitation descended from swindlers and shams, who could only hope and dream to move on to better things 
instead of constantly being masters of the masquerade. I’m sorry you were built that way.

The crudeness of my words, is veracious as your credentials
of being extremely detrimental. 

The fact that you are a mule, and one that is destructive is comical to say the least.  
Being a tool is exactly the purpose of such an animal. Stubborn and a certified beast 
of burden - 
of this I’m certain. 

As I lift the helmet off of my head, and start to remove my sheathing, the verdict is reached and now I am breathing. A sigh of relief blasted out of my chest knowing that I was heard and that your cowardice 
made it all so easy.

Sailing out now of Room 121 
I go away and in search of anything that isn’t you 
for eternity now. 
Sailing out now of Room 121, 
off and away there I go, here I go, to anything or anyone that isn’t you 
forever now. 

Sailing out now with my armor, weapons, and my ship, hands on my waist with the hips you will miss - 
farther than ever so you can never taste my lips 
again.

Assailant should have been your title once long ago, but you can’t be called that anymore. 
You’ve lost this battle and I’ve won the war. Now thanks to Room 121 I am perpetually 
unassailable. And when the truth hits the ears of all who will listen, this is how the tale will go.

Thank you for reading. If you’re a rebel writer, let me know what literary devices you can spot in this poem. I’d love to hear from you. ❤ ‘Til then, happy writing!

Ode to Anonymous – Let’s Talk About Lyrical Poetry

Poetry

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Ode to Anonymous - Pindaric Ode - Lyrical Poem

New beauty with frosted skin and colorful harmony,
Singing warrior songs, under skies covered with nightfall.
A sleek princess with a voice like warm honey,
Your soft tongue, well-influenced by life’s days, your arsenal.

You sound just like a fantasy, and never could be heartless; I am consumed. 
With piercing eyes, like sapphire ocean waves, you struck me leaving wonderful wounds.
A whirl of energy enters me, and I’m enthralled with you; it is so wrong,
Searching for your taste, to you I do not belong.

Your lips are unafraid, and bitter as vinegar.
Grim lady, you are genuinely magnetic. 
Your melody is lucid; haunting and sinister.
The chaos that is you, inspires only those most poetic.
My captivating, candy-coated glacial Queen,
Your euphonic touch is so surreal, this must be a dream. 


by KimberlyAnneInc
Art by Mélanie Delon

My poem was definitely inspired by someone. It’s an Ode, so that should be pretty self-explanatory.

For all you know, it could be the Queen of England, or Betty White. Maybe I’m a bit fond of her. Whoever this is about, can be revealed at a later time. For now – let’s talk about lyrical poems.

The more I’ve been studying poetry, and its different forms and structures, they less intimidated I feel by it. I remember writing poems as a little kid in my bedroom. Music and words have somehow always made me feel more complete. For as long as I can remember I’ve considered music, poems, storytelling, art and everything in between as the most important and valid forms of expression. Emotional expression, artistic expression – these are actual declarations of human existence.

Despite writing little rhymes when I was a kid, somehow in my adult life within the last decade or so I started to let poetry intimidate me. I thought I couldn’t do it. I thought it would be pointless or a waste of time. Somehow along the way, I lost a piece of my creative self-expression. I’m grateful now to have put more time into learning, and I mean truly learning more about poetry and reconnecting with my own creative spark of self-expression.

My poem above, Ode to Anonymous is an example of a Pindaric Ode. During my studies, I learned about many different kinds of poetry; and lyrical poetry was one of them.

Lyrical poetry does not just consist of odes, but in this blog – that is what I’ll be focusing on. Generally, lyric poetry focuses on a brief description of intense thoughts and emotions. Sometimes this style of poetry is about nature, romance, grief, or death – just to name a few.

In my example above, it does have a bit of romance, but there are plenty of other elements that are hidden and not so hidden. Lyric poetry is also meant to be read aloud. By studying even further, I realize how important it is now to read poems aloud and hear them read aloud by others.

The thing with poetry is that when it’s spoken, and you hear it vs. just reading it, it can be interpreted differently. It’s like you experience the words differently. You feel the emotion differently. The message that the poet is trying to send is just absorbed so much better when you hear the words aloud.

The form of my poem above is called Pindaric Ode. The Pindaric Ode originated in ancient Greece and is named after Pindar. He was known as one of the most epic lyric poets of all time. Pindar is also the reason why Odes exist.

The word ode derives from the Greek word oide, which means “to sing or chant.” Odes were originally performed to music. The duration, metrical patterns, and rhyme of these songs were certainly different long ago. Since the time of the ancient Greeks, odes have evolved into three different varieties, but the core form and premise have remained the same.

Pindaric

Horatian

Irregular

If you want to learn more about all three types of Odes, check out the Poetry Foundation website. (By the way, The Poetry Foundation is based in my hometown, Chicago – so you know I have to show love!)

The structure of an ode is distinct from that of other forms of poetic expression. Each of the three varieties of odes has its own particular characteristics. In contrast to Pindaric and Horatian odes, which must adhere to strict rules, irregular odes are free to take any form. It is common for odes to be constructed of several lines or stanzas of poetry, but they can be of any length.

In ancient Greece, odes to sports or other events were designed to be performed with dancers and a chorus. Odes were used in celebration of major athletic affairs, such as the Olympics.

Pindar enjoyed including mythical allusions in his art as a way of paying homage to the gods. See, now this is something Pindar and I have in common. If you know me, you know how much I love allusions and mythology. Pindar was spot-on by making sure everyone knew that mythological allusions are the best. Pindar was one super cool dude; he even taught Sappho a thing or two. Epic.

Before I get carried away about mythology and allusions, let me get back to the point!

The particular form that I used above is the Pindaric three stanza form, also known as a public/celebration form. The reason for this is due to Pindaric odes commonly being used for public events, sports competitions, or celebrations.

Generally speaking, Pindaric odes are separated into three sections, or stanzas: the strophe, the antistrophe, and the epode.

  • strophe – first section of an ode; a group of stanzas of alternating metrical form (see my 1st stanza and check out the ending words of lines 1-4)
  • antistrophe – second section in a poem consisting of alternating stanzas in contrasting metrical form (kind of like the 1st stanza, but AABB pattern instead of ABAB for rhyming end words)
  • epode – third section that follows the strophe and antistrophe and completes the movement (Stanza 3 (6-line sestet) – lines 9-14)

And there you have the structure and form of a Pindaric Ode! Writing poems with strict form and rules is actually quite challenging – especially if you’re a rebel writer like me. One time I did get in trouble for writing too many words over the limit on a school assignment. I have issues, I know – but only the best kind. It’s embarrassing since that happened not so long ago, but it’s true! If you are a rebel writer, tend to overwrite or just totally despise following forms and structures of any kind – but especially in writing, then you understand what I mean. 🙂

An Ode that I read, that really helped me understand the form of a Pindaric Ode was the poem, The Bard by Thomas Gray.

Here’s a stanza from his poem: 

II.2.
"'Mighty victor, mighty lord,
Low on his funeral couch he lies!
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.
Is the Sable Warrior fled?
Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.
The swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were born?
Gone to salute the rising Morn.
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows,
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes;
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway,
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey.

See the rhyme scheme and pattern?! The poem was crafted with excellence and has provided me with a perfect example on how I could attempt to write my own Pindaric Ode (even though mine is much shorter!).

In this poem by Gray, he presents ideas about two nations sharing a common history. Gray sought to investigate the concept of the significance of Wales within an old British nation.

Gray chose the poem’s structure and words with care and intention in order to make his poem appear a bit more ancient, and more important, so that he could use it to convey his ideas.

The conflict between Edward I, the English invader, and the last bard of Wales is depicted in Thomas Gray’s poem “The Bard,” which was written in 1757. The poem was a major success, and it played a significant role in establishing the image of the Welsh mountains as a symbol of liberty in popular culture.

I could probably go on and on about this, but it’s late so I’ve got to stop right here. A post from me was way overdue, so I figured this would suffice. If you’ve read this far, thank you. Your attention span makes me extremely jealous! I hope you enjoyed this post and maybe learned something new. Let me know in the comments.

To read more, you can check out these links for reference:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44298/the-bard-a-pindaric-ode

https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/edward-i-the-dutiful-conqueror/

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/sappho

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/pindar

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/thomas-gray

https://www.instagram.com/melaniedelon/?hl=en

Celestial Windows©

Experiences, Mythology, Poetry

Celestial Windows© – a Prose Poem by KimberlyAnneInc

Running again I see you chasing me. Is it impossible for me to see without eyes on the back of my head? I’m cornered as you climb through the window to get inside. The tiny little white square window that you somehow managed to open. How can you fit inside? In a world where nothing is solid of course, it makes sense. You push your way through and seep inside like liquid. This is impossible but you have your ways. I cannot escape and I’m trapped. Pushed into the corner and the walls made of light brown wood melted and pushed into me right back. You’ve done this many times and when I try to run you always catch me. Sometimes I want to make up with you but I know that when I do it will always end the same. It always ends the same. You grab the cell phone out of my hand. You question me again. You corner me. You squeeze me and it hurts. You do not let me go. In fear and fright, I scream and I cry but only in a way that I can recognize. You are not able to see. The walls start to melt around us as they push us closer together like flowing waters against rock pushing, pushing, pushing, until the imprints are made, the curves are present on the gray cold stone. Exactly what I don’t want. In terror, I freeze. I won’t let you see it. Smile at you so I can play tricks too just like you. I wish I could be like you. I want to crawl out of the window that you climbed in but my feet do not work. Solid like a cold gray stone. How can I escape this moment? The only thing that is left for me to do is wake. Wake. At my wake, they will stand vigil. 

They will stand watch like Cerberus who barks in the lot. Watching and waiting like I will wake up. Wake. I just want to wake. Up. Lately, I’ve been so down. Like the pits within the earth, the ones that are covered in green moss and brown dirt. How much farther can I go? Digging and digging, below. Picking the colors from the earth as I become the meadow and picking at my flesh; this is what I do now. I pick them and dig. I cry out for Charon, please come and help. Escaping this place is what I must do. Digging and digging I want to go. I’ve had my wake and I cannot wake, take me across the waters made of souls dark and light and warm and cold. The agony above somehow compares to Theogony of all. Styx pushes and it melts but it’s nothing like you, not even with all of its shadows. Yours tops it all as a veil over the sun. 

Running again the craft of Charon cruises down the bed made of spirit as it carries me to a castle. Here you will find me but you certainly won’t catch me. I’ve found something much more powerful than you but only in the most fervent way. Abducting myself to travel to another realm with a barrier in between and live with all of the things unseen. It’s better this way I think while passing through Elysium and the Meadows of Asphodel. Finally making my way through after many journeys I find myself in Tartarus which somehow is better than being Up and awake and in the presence of you. Persephone may want to run and if she does I hope she comes to you. I will send her myself and then take her place and look into the eyes of a god who can’t be worse than you. Hades would stand with a seraphic grin as I tell him all of the things and with his own celestial windows bearing his spirit I’d feel safe and warm in this otherworldly underworldly place that is somehow swarming with the ice of frozen souls but none would compare to you. Tired no more I wouldn’t run. No longer can I see you chasing me. I’m too busy filling bowls with seeds of pomegranate fruit and all on my own because it’s all much better than you. Shoving the seeds into my mouth and swallowing them down, planting myself there forever so that I never see you again but somehow if I do in this world they will already know you. Seeds, all of the seeds make it easier for me. You can run now I am the Queen and in the realm of the dead in the far depths of the Underworld, I am more alive than ever. This new sweet taste of disposition is something I envision Cupid’s bow and arrow would never be vigorous enough to create as I stare into the celestial windows.

Places: How They Influence Us

Experiences, Thoughts, Travel

Within the last couple of years, I have transformed; mentally and emotionally. Some of the things I did before the pandemic were unhealthy and questionable. I mean very mentally and emotionally unhealthy. I was around people who were just not good for me and my mental and spiritual health was on a decline because of it. During the pandemic, and with tons of time to be alone I had an epiphany of sorts. After realizing I had almost wasted my life with an individual who was completely toxic for me, I realized that I truly wasn’t living my life the way that I should have been or could be doing. Realizing that, I decided to make the most out of my 2021, once many COVID restrictions started to lift. 

Last year I went on some truly amazing adventures and discovered so many new places and met some lovely new people. At this point, I’m not a stranger to traveling alone. I find that traveling alone is extremely beneficial and something that everyone should do at least once in their life. I don’t mean traveling for work either, or something tedious. I mean to go, across the country, or the world – completely by yourself and for only one purpose: leisure. 

Last year, by the power of fate I made it to Iceland twice, Omaha, Nebraska (Nebriowa), and St. Louis, Missouri. I feel like I’m forgetting something, but if I remember I’ll be sure to come back and write about it. I did go to Roswell, but that was for a family visit and something I’ll discuss later on. Traveling for me is all about exploration of the world and exploration of myself. It might not seem like a lot to some, but the places I went to and the things that I saw last year have given me memories that will last a lifetime. Traveling makes you realize just how tiny you are in this giant and overpopulated world. 

Seeing Mt. Esja, among many other beauties in Iceland for the first time, was breathtaking. I did, of course, see some epic waterfalls, ate fermented shark (and didn’t puke, haha Gordon Ramsay!), and even saw one of my favorite artists perform. On top of that, I even went to Álfaskólinn, the official Elf School of Iceland, and was lucky enough to sit with a historian and listen to stories of magic and folklore (my favorite!). 

Sitting on Mt. Esja, Iceland

When traveling to Nebraska, I stood in two states at the same time while on top of the Bob Kerry Pedestrian bridge where I witnessed a marriage proposal at sunset. It was so romantic, and I was thrilled to have captured photos of the moment. (The Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge is a 3,000-foot footbridge across the Missouri River between Council Bluffs, Iowa, and Omaha, Nebraska.) I did send the photos I got to the couple after their special moment. I rode a bicycle up and down the Lewis and Clark National Historic Trail. The feeling of connecting with nature and history brought me such pleasure and it’s a magical place I’ll never forget. On the trail, I slowed down so I could witness a musical performance taking place on the side of the river. I saw the Durham Museum and listened to stories of military men and the brave Standing Bear. I was shocked and heartbroken at learning things about Standing Bear and his people, that they never would teach us in school. At the Joslyn Art Museum, I discovered an epic Dutch painter, Maria Van Oosterwijck. I ate the best fish tacos I’ve ever had in my life at Voodoo Taco. I wish all of the time, they’d open one up in Chicago. 

I rode all over downtown Omaha by myself on those little stand-up electric scooters and let my hair blow in the wind as I cruised the streets, examining the architecture and statues of pioneers and buffalo. Somehow I managed to make my way to a concert of roughly 70,000 people in the middle of a field that looked more like a valley than anything. It was one of the hottest days of the year, and I had no idea how I’d get back to where I was lodging. Luckily, I met a beautiful Princess in the crowd who was from Lake Okoboji. She told me about where she was from, and how people always looked confused when she said “Lake Okoboji”. It is a glacier lake that was formed 14,000 years ago by the Wisconsin Glacier and has a maximum depth of 136 feet, making it Iowa’s deepest natural lake. Bri, or Bree, if you ever read this, just know that I think you are a genuine and beautiful human being. It’s mysterious that we never exchanged contact info after hanging out and demolishing curly fries after the concert. Thank you for helping me get back into town so safely. In my mind, I’d like to think it’s because we are both Midwestern chicks who were looking out for each other that night. She initially came up to me and started chatting because, for a moment, she too was in the crowd alone. 

Somewhere, Iowa

For my son’s birthday, we drove to St. Louis. The first time we saw the Gateway Arch, it felt incredible. Seeing things in person that you’ve only read about in books or on the internet gives you this indescribable feeling! It’s like yes, we finally made it. My son particularly loved St. Louis and Missouri in general. Especially when we drove out to the Meremac Caverns and learned about the hideout spots of Jesse James. Seeing the caverns all lit up felt like being in a dream. We got to explore a part of the earth that so many other people haven’t been able to see. We also spent time at the City Museum, and it was one of the most interesting places I’ve ever seen. Everything constructed at the City Museum comes from old pieces, parts, and random works of art that were once part of the city of St. Louis. Inside the City Museum, which is both equally fun for adults and children, you can investigate the unthinkable.  I rescued a toddler while there who had apparently gotten lost. I found her crying in some loft (there are literally secret compartments all over that museum). Thankfully, her parents found her once I brought her back to the front desk! It was still wild though, considering each child gets a wristband and their parents are supposed to write their phone numbers on them! There was no phone number on hers, which made me super disappointed. My mom instincts kicked in super hard!

St. Louis, MO
Gateway Arch National Park

The City Museum is a hundred-year-old warehouse where artists have recycled the remains of the past to create miles of tunnels, slides, and climbers as well as bridges, castles, and other structures. There are secret caves inside, giant halls, and more tunnels than you can ever imagine. On top of the building, there is even a school bus on the roof and a Ferris wheel. Some of our time was also spent at the Magic House Museum in Kirkwood, MO. The Magic House is a non-profit organization that provides hands-on exhibitions and educational activities that are tailored to the specific interests and requirements of children and their families. In addition to field excursions, STEAM evenings for families, scout programs, and summer camps, the Museum provides a range of interactive learning opportunities that encourage and inspire kids of all ages toward becoming successful learners.

City Museum, St. Louis, MO

This is just a tiny snippet of what I’ve experienced last year in my “free time”. The point is, all of these places shape what I know, who I am, and how I see the world. Every time we discover a new place, we discover something about ourselves. We discover something about humanity. As much as humans seem impossible, experiencing new things and new places gives you a chance to discover the good that is left in humanity. In St. Louis, I was shocked at the hospitality we received at one restaurant. It was genuine, it was real. It wasn’t that fake smile or fake voice that many servers here in the city pull. 

In the city, when I was growing up one of my favorite hideout spots was the Montrose Bird Sanctuary. The Montrose Bird Sanctuary is a quiet preserve that is home to a diverse range of migrating songbirds and butterflies, and it also has a skyline view. When I was younger I thought it should have just been called the Butterfly Sanctuary. The last time I was there, sadly, I did not see so many butterflies. There were plenty of tall grasses and trees to hide in and around. Maybe I loved the spot due to my obsession with nature which I’m going to blame on books of my childhood like, “The Giving Tree”, for example. Or even “Goodnight Moon”. Growing up with books that taught about nature, the stars, and altruism – one shouldn’t be surprised that a favorite hiding spot of mine is just next to the shores of Lake Michigan where you can easily hide in trees. It looks much different now than it did back then. Even though it’s changed so much, it will always be one of my favorite spots. I went back and visited last year, and found a single rose floating in the lake. I considered it as a message from one of my most loved and missed friends. 

Near Montrose Harbor, Chicago IL (I promise you, I did not put that rose there!)

I’ve been incredibly lucky to experience so many things. This year, I can only imagine what else I will find. Taking none of this for granted is critical to the importance and the extent of my appreciation for all of the magical things in this world. 

Roswell, NM 2021

The Gift: A Poem

Poetry 
I have a gift for you, my grandpa says. 
With excitement, I jump up and down. 
So tiny and little, my feet make no sound. 

He has a box and it's wrapped with a bow. 
Someday, my dear, you will certainly know. 
Keep the box with you and never let go. 

This gift will guide you and it will protect.
When it is open you can see the things you will never forget. 
Greater than any other gift, nothing will compare. 
Unwrap the box and you will see how I care. 

All of those times you should not have been alive, 
And should not have survived,
It was me
And the gift, 
Working out of sight. 

The one that I gave you so long ago. 
The prettiest one, that was wrapped with a bow.
You have much work to do still, here in this life.  

This is a gift that can withstand all time. 
You can pass down the gift to your own down the line. 
It was given to me, and now I’ve given it to you. 
Stay strong and have courage, as we need you to do. 

There is no greater gift than the truest of love. 
Marching behind you, we push and we shove.
Your wisdom is brimming, your light they'll try dimming.
Do your greatest and make us so proud. 
Believe in the magic and keep passing it around. 

Do not be afraid, and hold close your gift. 
It’s been crafted with much care, I’m here to uplift. 
Remember me always, my grandpa says. 
No longer tiny and little, I’m fierce and I’m loud. 

When I stomp on the ground my feet do make a sound. 
With all of my force I shake and I scream, 
Energy swarms and it moves and
I see. 

All of the things I was meant to see. 
With the power of the gift, I have so much more. 
It’s everything I’d ever need or could imagine.
More than just one lifetime could fathom. 

Looking at the gift now, the box and the bow, 
I wrap it back up knowing what I know. 
Tie it so tightly, 
With all the love 
And care that I can, 
Now the box feels mighty, even more than before.

Set it aside and wait patiently for the next, 
Now when it’s my turn 
I’ll give it to them too, 
When they most need it!
When the day comes, with honor I'll tell
Someday, my dear, you will certainly know.
Greater than any other gift, nothing will compare. 
With the power of this gift, You will never be defeated.
Keep the box close and always be aware.
Untie the bow and you will see how I care.

Monster

Poetry

A monster
Wandering in the snow.
Freezing in the cold.
Hair blowing.
Can’t stay afloat.

Sinking,
Drowning,
The horns are crowning –
The top of her head.
Pushing out,
Breaking through her skull.

Just like the doubt.
The monster trips,
But will it fall?
Is anyone there to catch the one who walks alone?

Who can see what is underneath
the rough skin and coarse fur?
Concealed and unrevealed.
Clenched jaw and grinding teeth.
Please don’t,
Force her.

All she needed was warmth.
Retreated to an open space,
Deficient of a hearth.
With no pressure.
No eye could see the monster’s face.
Invisible beast,
No one can tamper with.

The flowers spring out,
Like the horns;
From the dirt in the ground,
Now she is a myth.

Words by: @kimberlyanneinc
Art by: Inna Vjuzhanina

The Homemaker: A Poem

Poetry 
On a Saturday afternoon, 
When the sun is out, and the sky is bright blue, 
I’m in the house stuck again. 
All alone and dancing in my room, 
With a vacuum in hand. 

I remember your face and the things that you said. 
You don’t remember of course, 
But I’ll never forget. 
Now I’ll dance with my vacuum instead of with you. 

I open the window to let in some fresh air. 
Make my way down the three flights of stairs.
Just to wash all the laundry, I see images of you 
In my mind, they taunt me. 
Loading the clothes bit by bit, 
I wash them and you as I close the lid. 

Carrying my soap and basket 
Back up the stairs, it’s not so bad I say, 
Carrying the weight of my fears. 
The weight of the years, the ones spent.
The time wasted that I won’t get back. 

Into the kitchen now, here I go. 
A sink full of dishes is waiting for me. 
They’ve been there forever, just like I waited for you. 
Those dishes can’t sit much longer, 
We can’t live that way. 
Soak them in suds, watch it go down the drain. 

Turn around now, and I stare at the floor. 
Bits and crumbs, tiny pieces on the tile.
The walls close in, and I feel the pressure.
Grabbing the broom hardly even remembering your smile. 
Sweeping myself off my feet as I sweep the kitchen,
You’d be silly to think I even miss you a smidgen. 

Hot water now fills up a bucket. 
Another romantic date with my mop.
This is what I signed up for, 
It’s exactly what I wanted. 
Did you think I’d be your little puppet?
You had them lined up. 
No use for me. 
The truth would have been good. 
Or maybe even sympathy. 
Dirty mop water, pour it all out. 
Like I did with my heart, 
And you flushed it all down.
Not a care in the world, you don’t hear a single sound. 

I make. 
There’s a pot on the stove, 
It’s been cooking all day. 
Stirring and stirring, daydreaming as I go my own way. 
Who is better at stirring the pot? 
Is it me or is it you? 
Because it’s not just myself who I need to feed, 
But the little one who is relying on me. 

What is a bathroom break when you must clean the bathroom? 
Bleach, baking soda, and mini cleaning brushes, 
Are part of my auxiliary. 
It’s standard for the code, luxury is forebode.
Don't get caught taking a breather. 
Scrubbing the shower, I scour and scour. 
Pretending I could scrub you just the same, 
But off of my skin. 

Dusting the shelves and little knick knacks is part of the routine. 
When cleaning the home, I’m also cleaning me! 
I polish the floors, while you polish your whores. 
When I caress the dishes, you are giving kisses. 
I wash the tub, and I dry the puddles. 
Reminiscent of the time when I wasn’t sitting in a muddle. 

What touch feels like now is a mystery to me. 
But then again, so are communication, respect, and boundaries.
The night comes fast, almost too quickly. 
I still have one task to complete swiftly. 
On top of the cooking and cleaning, I take out the trash. 
Symbolic, I think, as I laugh and I laugh. 
The house is sparkly and gleaming. 

But a repair needs to be made, so I’ve learned how to do it. 
I do your job now since you’re not around. 
I don’t mind it at all, in fact, it’s quite profound. 
The things you’ve taught me just by disappearing, I find quite endearing. 

While you’re out nailing and screwing, I’m doing the same. 
The only difference is the things you nail and screw actually breathe and have a name.