From my very first post I wanted to pay homage to the speech which inspired the title of my blog, Ain't I a Woman? by Sojourner Truth. Such a beautiful speech, such a beautiful name, such a beautiful woman. It is one of my favorite pieces. I strive to emulate this style in my own work. Poetic and powerful. Honest and unafraid. Memorable. And I like brevity. It too is beautiful. This is the standard I wish to be held to as I explore the question with you ~ ain't I a writer?
"Obliged to you for hearing me, and I do have a few things more to say..."

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Sunday, December 28, 2014

Death Becomes Her (Sometimes)

     Here is something I wrote recently following one of my weekends in NYC. This was originally published by Seacoast Media Group (Dec. 2014). I also took all of these photos.

      Death Becomes Her

By Tammi J Truax

       Vanity Fair called it “… a perfect little black cocktail dress of a show…”, and I highly recommend it too. Now through February first there is an exhibit at The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Anna Wintour Costume Center which I recently visited, and knew many of you would be interested in it. The exhibit is called Death Becomes Her: A Century of Mourning Attire.

           This exhibit really is a striking artistic as well as cultural display. The detail and darkness of the garments are contrasted starkly by the white mannequins wearing white wigs in the all-white gallery. White curtains and panels add a quiet and slightly sacred softness to the large open space. There are about thirty ensembles for men, women and children on display, along with accessories, quotes, fashion plates and historical photographs.

       The history of mourning attire is fascinating as alluringly alluded to in this quote from the exhibit’s curator Harold Koda, “The predominantly black palette of mourning dramatizes the evolution of period silhouettes and the increasing absorption of fashion ideals into this most codified of etiquettes. … The veiled widow could elicit sympathy as well as predatory male advances. As a woman of sexual experience without marital constraints, she was often imagined as a potential threat to the social order.”

      While the wearing of black garments when in mourning dates back to ancient times, this exhibit covers only a century of the tradition spanning the years from 1815 to 1915. That century, though was a period of time when mourning fashion, as a part of grief expression, became very serious in our nation in large part due to the overwhelming loss of life in the Civil War. While across the pond all time champion mourner and fashion trend setter, Queen Victoria, donned an all-black ensemble upon the death of her husband Albert in 1859, which she would continue to do every day until her own death forty-two years later.

     The more common cultural requirement for wearing black during that century was two years. These demands were focused on the female, but men had some requirements to follow too. As evidenced by the elaborately designed ensembles in the exhibit this must have been more than just an emotional drain on the bereaved, but also a financial one. A considerable amount of money had to be set aside to have a mourning wardrobe made, which of course, many war widows could ill afford to do. Poor people would often resort to dyeing their clothes black so as not to defy convention. There were stages of mourning dress as well; “full mourning” was followed in due time by “half mourning” when a woman could begin to introduce one or two other colors into her black outfits as long as they were not bright or light. Shades of gray were considered safe.







      After the death of her son First Lady Mary Todd Lincoln was once reported to be wearing “deep black”, the meaning of which seems inexplicable, but helps us to understand how society judged the person by what she was wearing. There were even expectations on the fabrics that should be chosen, with a preference for dull, not shiny ones, such as crape.

       I had always assumed that a widow’s black clothing communicated only that she was still grieving for the loss of a loved one. I was surprised to learn that these costumes were also used to communicate her availability for remarriage, and that suitors and busybodies could interpret when she could be remarried based on the stage of dress. Veils, generally only worn when leaving the home, had another variety of meanings for the onlooker to interpret.

      While I am greatly relieved that such harsh expectations have been eased, I do find the study of them interesting. Unlike most museum exhibits, this one has a little something for just about everyone. Death Becomes Her is an enthralling look at our past that will be of interest to both fashion and history enthusiasts, as well as all ilk of Goth folks and ghost hunters. The exhibit can be seen seven days a week at the museum’s 1000 Fifth Avenue location in New York City which charges pay-what-you-can admission.

       

Friday, December 12, 2014

Speaking for Grace Paley

      Today on what would have been her 85th birthday I pen a tribute post to Grace Paley. A Jewish girl from the Bronx, Grace lived out her later years in Vermont.

      Shortly before her death in 2007 I had an opportunity to study with her at a New Hampshire workshop, but because of family obligations I didn't. I have not, and I'm sure I never will, stopped regretting that. Regrets torment me sometimes. Writing of them relieves the torment. Sometimes.

      So I embrace her words, the gorgeous, relivable legacy of a writer. Her prose and her poetry, but more often her advice. This is a favorite;

       “The best training is to read and write, no matter what. Don’t live with a lover or roommate who doesn’t respect your work. Don’t lie, buy time, borrow to buy time. Write what will stop your breath if you don’t write.” 

         Though we suffered the loss of her, I am glad that she was spared living through recent events in our country which I think would have pained her deeply, as evidenced by the following quote given when she was asked of the world that she hoped her grandchildren would live in;

       "It would be a world without militarism and racism and greed – and where women don't have to fight for their place in the world."

      We can do better. We can bring more Grace to the way we live.

                                                            9780374524319-195x300.jpg (195×300)

      Still, we must not give up. As evidenced by these words she also left for us;

"Let us go forth with fear and courage and rage to save the world."

      And here in a 1992 interview Grace talks about her writing;

http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/2028/the-art-of-fiction-no-131-grace-paley




Wednesday, November 26, 2014

White Mother Musings

       This is a painful week of Thanksgiving. The proudly American holiday of counting our blessings and of celebrating and sharing our abundance, occurring at the same time as all of the ugly truths and falsehoods in Ferguson remind us, yet again, of all that we have not accomplished as a nation. An ugly old legacy we just can't seem to process.
      I don't want to add to the divisiveness, which is so severe, that maybe, just maybe, some good can come from it. So I'm not blogging on the subject to engage in debate, simply as a bit of reflection.
      I just keep thinking of the Mom. Michael Brown's mother, Mrs. Lesley McSpadden.
      I have a son who is 6.4 and 250 lbs. too. I've had some fears for him since he achieved that size. My son, too, did some stupid things when he was a teenager. Mine too had several "brushes with the law", (though his were for marijuana and nothing violent). And the law where I live always allowed, even encouraged, me to throw wads of cash at them as a resolution. Which I always did. I have never had to worry, or even contemplate, that he would be shot six times. Shot dead.
      Sadly, I know many people will annihilate my analogy to justify the death, saying it was necessary and/or deserved. I have heard the arguments. They have accepted the old-as-the-Emancipation Proclamation self-defense testimony of a white man of equal size calling the suspect a hulk and a demon. Let's say, for the sake of argument, that that were true (though I don't find it all credible or even remotely believable in this case), we should still ask, we should still care, why? Why would any of that behavior have occurred? If the suspects were white youth what would have been different?
      What if he were your son?
      I'm going to share again the poem I wrote after the Zimmerman verdict, and am so sorry for the Browns. I wish them peace and comfort this week and always. What I know for sure is that while I can sympathize I cannot know their sorrow. I simply cannot know it. I can imagine it is unbearable, but I will never know.

My son and a friend in the back of my car a few years back.



      Lastly, since my blog is supposed to be about writing, I leave you with this excerpt from a 1960 American masterpiece of literature;

“The one place where a man ought to get a square deal is in a courtroom, be he any color of the rainbow, but people have a way of carrying their resentments right into a jury box. As you grow older, you’ll see white men cheat black men every day of your life, but let me tell you something and don’t you forget it - whenever a white man does that to a black man, no matter who he is, how rich he is, or how fine a family he comes from, that white man is trash.”
                                                                       ~ from To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee.

For the Other Parents

Since the year 1863
there has been a talk many American parents
have to have with their American sons
at just about the time that their son’s
voices begin to change, and their muscles
harden into impending manhood,
at just about the time that referring
to the boy as boy becomes something else.
They say things like these,
things I have never had to say to my son,
nor have any of my ancestors
since the year 1863.

***

There will be times, from now on
when people will be afraid of you.
You have to be aware of this at all times,
to develop a sense for it, to feel it
before it turns bad, because
very bad things can happen to you
when people are afraid of you.
You can’t play with toy guns anymore,
or swords, or pick up pipes, or even sticks.
Always be aware of your surroundings.
Try not to go anywhere alone,
especially at night.
If you’re being followed try to find someone
so you’re not alone.
Cooperate with authorities even when
your dignity makes that hard.
Don’t do anything with your hands but put them up.
Don’t worry about winning or losing.
Your goal is to survive.
Let them stand their hallowed ground
that they’re afraid of you taking.
You just stay alive.
And always - remember
there is nothing wrong with you,
nothing wrong with the way you look.
You are who you have always been
and that is the ground that
you have to stand.

by Tammi J Truax
all right reserved

Friday, November 21, 2014

Speaking of Strangers

       Yesterday when I heard that the major television networks were not going to air the President's address to the public, on the public airwaves, as they have always done, I felt my proverbial camel's back snapping, breaking sharply but completely. The attacks on our rightfully elected (twice) chief, attacks both overt and covert, are so shameful that I barely recognize my own nation. And no doubt, President Obama will be blamed for that too. 

       He wanted to talk to us about immigration. A strangely volatile subject. Strange, because if you are living here and are not an immigrant, that is because you have quite literally been grandfathered in. We are a nation of strangers, yet our fear of "the stranger" is intense.

      The gravest stranger now, it seems to me, is the democracy that we are supposed to be. The founding fathers, I am sure, would be appalled at the way the "POTUS" has been maligned. The man who in their day they called "His Excellency" has my complete support to restore the great experiment, and he has my support based on philosophy and politics, as well as honor and tradition. 

     I share a multimedia poem I recently exhibited at a local art gallery, on the subject of immigration, and I share a quote from the President's speech last night. Words that are far more poetic than my own. 



Assimilation

I dreamed of coming
to America, Land of the Free.

Longed, needed to come,
yearning to breathe free.

Tired, poor, and wretched
I left the home I knew well,

where the land I was one with
flowed familiar, never to trip,

where the words I was one with
flowed familiar, never to trick.

I came to these teeming shores,
arms held out to the Mother of Exhiles.

Gathering with others like me, yet
strangers to me, we huddled in masses.


We too cried with silent lips
but we changed …



our clothes,
             our speech,
                        our names.

Tossed our differences into the
pot to melt into cultural compost,

until at long last
we became one with America

calling those that come
strange.


by Tammi J Truax 
reprint with permission only


      "... Scripture tells us that we shall not oppress a stranger, for we know the heart of a stranger –- we were strangers once, too.
My fellow Americans, we are and always will be a nation of immigrants. We were strangers once, too. And whether our forebears were strangers who crossed the Atlantic, or the Pacific, or the Rio Grande, we are here only because this country welcomed them in, and taught them that to be an American is about something more than what we look like, or what our last names are, or how we worship. What makes us Americans is our shared commitment to an ideal -– that all of us are created equal, and all of us have the chance to make of our lives what we will.
That’s the country our parents and grandparents and generations before them built for us. That’s the tradition we must uphold. That’s the legacy we must leave for those who are yet to come.
Thank you. God bless you. And God bless this country we love."






















Wednesday, November 19, 2014

NHWP

     Today I'd like to give a shout-out to one of the several writing organizations that I maintain membership in. Even though I have recently moved to a neighboring state I am unwilling to relinquish my membership in The New Hampshire Writers Project. The professional support I have found from this group, the personal connections that I have made at their events, and the lessons I have learned from their speakers and workshops are just too important to me to leave behind. If you live in New Hampshire, or even if you don't, check them out. I know you will find it worthwhile too.



Thursday, November 13, 2014

Vertical Answers

       In August of 2013 I was honored to be chosen as one of the women writers who were invited to gather at Ghost Ranch in the northern hills of New Mexico by the wonderful women of A Room of Her Own Foundation. We created many things while we were there; written and visual works of art, both solitary and collaborative, visions of ourselves and our projects, and perhaps more importantly, we created bonds of encouragement that continue long after we left the desert. And that has fed the fire in each of us that continues to burn from places all over the planet. It is a beautiful thing.

      Here is a link to one of the very first gifts that we created together.


www.aroomofherownfoundation.org/vertical-answers



Saturday, November 8, 2014

My Radbrief

Manifest Destiny
(For my AROHO sisters)

I need to go west …
To bathe in bold colors;
turquoise and topaz 
orange and amethyst.
To warm my marrow,
chilled and chafed
in darkened places.
To lie in the sun, feigning death,
lizardlike, surrendering to stillness,
surrounded by space to run and roll
should the mood strike me.
To let my hair go white.
To let my words go wild.
To let my voice echo in canyons,
ad infinitum.

#Radbrief entry from Tammi Truax (2013 Retreat: http://bit.ly/1u7z4OR
)

Submit your own "Radically Brief" lit here: http://bit.ly/1t0xKxu
 and receive a copy of The Los Angeles Review and a chance to win the last GO-Retreat Pass to the 2015 AROHO Retreat! (Drawing in April 2015 at AWP.)

aroomofherownfoundation.submittable.com

Thursday, October 30, 2014

NYC Reading

      It was a thrill to be invited to participate at a recent reading at Book Culture in Manhattan, a book shop known to be very poetry friendly.

                                      book-culture1.jpg (3264×2448)


     The reading was for The Widows' Handbook: Poetic Reflections on Grief and Survival, edited by Jacqueline Lapidus and Lise Menn (Kent State University Press, 2014). While I have met many of the other poets included in the anthology who are from New England, the opportunity to meet several others from the greater NYC area was a privilege. The book is doing fairly well, and has gone into a second printing. As you prepare for holiday shopping, consider buying a copy for someone on your gift list who is dealing with loss. It really is a special collection.

      More info can be found here: http://www.widowshandbookanthology.com/

      Here I am taking my turn at the podium, with the panel of contributing poets seated behind me.




       I knew that I would find some great books to assist in my novel research at Book Culure, and I was right. Here they are, and they made the long bus ride home enjoyable.






Sunday, October 26, 2014

     I wrote this article for The Portsmouth Herald's publication called Seacoast Seniors, which is not available online so I am posting it here for those who did not see the hard copy published earlier this week. It is reprinted with a few minor changes, and including a quote that didn't get into the magazine.


Liberty Trees Must Always Exist

By Tammi J Truax


     If you have been to Portsmouth, New Hampshire you've seen the massive tree that towers over the relatively massive Moffatt-Ladd Mansion. Her real name is Aesculus hippocastanum, commonly known as a horse-chestnut tree, and sometimes, a conker tree. There are several theories about why the horse-chestnut is so-named, too many to list here, and many of them sound plausible. While grown all over the temperate world for centuries the horse-chestnut seems to have been native to a small area in the Balkan forests of Eastern Europe. The motivation to carry the tree to other parts of the world was to spread beauty. The horse-chestnut is primarily an ornamental tree, and if you've seen ours even once, this you understand. It grows large, providing a gorgeous canopy, which in spring blooms in copious candle-like flowers. Other uses have been fully explored and are not significant. The wood isn't desirable for building, and the fruit (the conker which is not really a chestnut) is not edible (to some species it is toxic) unless processed, though that was done during the Great War in Europe. At times the conker has been used as an insect repellent in the home, and it is thought to have some medicinal properties that are still being studied today. The bark was used to make a yellow dye. Mostly though, the conker has been used for child’s play, the game of conkers having been very popular in the UK, did come to the US, and was taken so seriously that world championships were established.

                 conkers_797226c.jpg (460×288)


       The tree was most desired throughout time for the same reason that General Whipple brought it to Portsmouth; it looks lovely when mature, and lining an avenue. During the colonial years it seems to have been popular for stately men to plant stately trees outside their stately homes. Fancy trees were another way of displaying status. While often called a legend, and it is so amazing that it sounds like one, the story that museum docents tell at The Moffatt-Ladd House about the majestic horse-chestnut in the side yard is credible. It goes something like this;
      Whipple and his enslaved manservant, Prince, were in Philadelphia for the signing of the Declaration of Independence. While there they may have collected a handful of horse-chestnuts, the fruit of a tree new to Philadelphia. More likely William acquired seeds, or even saplings, from John Bartram’s Garden. Bartram was a Quaker and a botanist and the garden he started in 1728 is the oldest surviving botanical garden on this continent, where three significant historical trees still grow. By the time of the revolution it had become a thriving nursery business that the founding father/farmers would have sought out.
      Descendants recorded that Whipple planted the horse-chestnuts along the front of the house to commemorate the signing. It is more likely that one of the enslaved men living there did the dirty work. Quite possibly, Prince. Stolen as a boy from the gold coast of Africa, Prince was purchased by William Whipple upon his arrival at one of our eastern seaports. While still a teenager, Prince served beside his master in two battles in the American Revolution, and did ride with him to Philadelphia in 1776. In 1779 Prince would sign a petition of independence of his own, though it would not result in his freedom. There is no question when reading it that he had embraced the cause for which he had fought. Somewhere along the way the last surviving horse-chestnut was named The Liberty Tree. Arborists, who come to the Moffatt-Ladd House regularly to provide care and guidance, have verified her age, and she is on the National Register of Historic Trees.    

     photo by T Truax

      Until four years ago our Liberty Tree had a sister tree 3000 miles away in Amsterdam. She was known as the Anne Frank Tree and grew outside the secret annex. Anne mentions the horse-chestnut tree three times in her diary. By 1944 it was full grown, though considerably younger than ours having been planted around 1840. Having suffered fungal and insect damage, she was condemned to death. In an outcry familiar to many locals the townspeople flipped out, and a judge granted their tree a stay of execution. Of course, she couldn't really be saved and storm winds toppled her in 2010. Her offspring though, were sent off around the world. Eleven of her babies came to the US and, after a three year quarantine, have recently been planted. The closest to us was ceremoniously set into the Boston Common at the request of another teenage girl who thought the site most appropriate and somewhat coincidentally named it The Liberty Tree.
      The devoted Moffatt-Ladd gardeners ensure the continuance of our Liberty Tree too, and as many saplings as they can establish each year are sold to visitors as a fundraiser, but we seldom know where they end up. I propose that the city of Portsmouth plant one on public land where it can be watched over by all, perhaps near the Liberty Pole in the park. It would be a good way to prepare for her demise. It is nothing short of remarkable that she has survived this long. The day cannot be far off when, like the Anne Frank Tree, our old horse-chestnut will no longer grace the waterfront.
      Until then, come and see her. Appreciate her. Touch her if you’d like. You won’t regret it. I will always be grateful that I got to see both of these trees in the glory of their golden years, and that they let me feel a connection to Anne and Prince. I think of them … looking out at a tree that meant something to both of them, something that we can never know. ... Looking out at a tree heralding the passing of one season after another, of time being lost. .... Looking out from the confines of their attic prisons where they could only dream of the liberty we enjoy each day.

     photo by T Truax




"From my favorite spot on the floor I look up at the blue sky and the bare chestnut tree, on whose branches little raindrops shine, appearing like silver, and at the seagulls and other birds as they glide on the wind. As long as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be."  ~  Anne Frank, February 23, 1944


Thursday, October 23, 2014

       So a few days ago I was careening along the interstate on the back of a bus bound for New York City. Looking out the window, I realized that story and poem prompts were passing me by one after another. I wondered what stories might lurk in the snippets I saw. At the rate of 70 MPH there wasn't much I could do with them, but scribble them down to share with you later.

       Here are a few. See what you can do with them. I would love to publish a few of your responses here. ...

~ A dreary and dilapidated three story tenement with a shiny yellow kayak standing on the saggy top back porch.
~ A commercial warehouse with an enormous pile of bicycle wheels on the roof.
~ A small white porcelain vanity sink tossed at the foot of a stand of maple trees just at the peak of their autumnal perfection.
~ A skinny little man sporting a ZZ Top beard, deftly maneuvering an eighteen wheeler through traffic. The lettering on the truck indicates that it is filled with craft beer. Or is it empty?

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Humbly

      Please accept my humble apologies for blog-neglect. I have been working hard all summer to settle into my little writer's cottage, all the while trying to prepare myself for leaving my youngest baby in New York City (of all places!). It has been a tumultuous time for me, and now that the leaves and temps are transitioning too, I'm beginning to settle into a new routine. Sort of ...
      Still, I intend to become more neglectful than ever this winter as I hole up and finish the first draft of the novel I've been hammering away at for about eighteen months. I am really nearing completion and what it needs now more than anything else is much uninterrupted attention. First though I have to get through the busy museum teaching season, but that will fly by. Then comes Thanksgiving and the kid will be coming home!
     Obviously I have a lot to learn about holing up in my cottage...


      There is something that I have been wanting to share; I recently had the pleasure of  introducing three poets who had come to my town to give a reading at my local indie book store, and it really was a pleasure.
      One was New Hampshire's reigning poet laureate, Alice B. Fogel, and another was a young lady making her way through the poetry world with considerable success, Leia Penina Wilson .  They were both well worth hearing.
     But the poet who really caught my ear was Kate Gale. When she read one of her poems in two voices, I could scarcely breathe. She is skilled at reading her own work to great effect, which is something few poets seem to take the time or effort to perfect. So many of us are hobbled by the habit of being humble. Hobbling ourselves, how stupid is that? Our voices should be as strong in the air as we want them to be on the page. IMHO.

      http://www.thefreedictionary.com/humble

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Gigs

       I will be teaching a few classes at Kittery Adult Ed. this fall. See the link below for more info. I'm particularly excited about the workshop I am designing about Prince Whipple. Prince was an enslaved black man who lived most of his life in Portsmouth, and who served in the American Revolution with his master William Whipple, a signer of the Declaration of Independence. I will be giving this talk (with visuals) first at The Moffatt-Ladd House (where Prince worked) but the date for that has not been set yet.

     http://kittery.maineadulted.org/

     On Saturday evening I will be performing with other poets and artists at the:


LALAPALALA MUSIC & ARTS FESTIVAL
AUGUST 30th, 2014
DAY & NIGHT SHOW (1pm-1am)

Featuring:
LOCAL MUSIC, LOCAL ART, LOCAL POETS, FIREDANCING, HOOPDANCE, LIQUID LIGHT SHOW, ART RAFFLE,
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
DAY SHOW: 1pm-7pm

LOCAL MUSIC:

Thomas Anello (Acoustic, Intricate Fingerpicking)

Clara Berry (Art Pop)

Animals and Shapes (Adventurous Rock)

Cornelius Peppercorn and the Matadors (Rock/Funk/Jazz)

Yelloyuth - band (indie punk/rock/folk/pop)

The Floods (Blues/Psych Rock)

The Tercet (prog/funk)


LOCAL ART, CRAFT & PERFORMANCE:

-Made With Love by JAH (zafu's, sewing, and clothing)

- Mandi Moonjava (Hoopdance, Handmade hoops, Hoopdance class)

Angie D'Anjou, Psychic Medium (Spiritual consultant)

Boxes Unlimited (Birdhouses/Woodwork)

-Firelight Pottery ( Jewelery/ watches)

Lisa's Wire Creations

- Molly Foye (Provocative Interactive Pieces)

- Evolution Decorum (Recycled/Functional Art)

Althaea Wellness Education (Natural Herbal Products)

Mudwerx

LOCAL POETS/WRITERS:

- Mario St. Remy

- Lucas Perry

- Tommie Ann Bower

----------------------------------------------------------------------
NIGHT SHOW: 7pm-1am

LOCAL MUSIC:

- GYMSHORTS (Punk/Garage/Surf)

jonee earthquake band (Surf/Punk/Rockabilly)

People Like You (Psych Folk/Indie/Pop)

-The Raunchy Randos (Psych Rock/Blues/World Music/)


LOCAL ART, CRAFT & PERFORMANCE:

Marisa Kang : Artist (Painting/Pointillism)

-Molly Foye (Provocative Interactive Pieces)

-Lisa's Wire Creations (Wire Wrapping Crystals)

- Angie D'Anjou, Psychic Medium

- Mandi Moonjava (Hoopdance)

Jessefisherglassworks (Blown Glass)

Family Fuego (Firedance)

- Ben Tillinghast (Forgery)

POETRY/WRITTEN WORD READING:

- Tammi J Truax

- Kate Leigh
http://www.bookthatpoet.com/poets/leighkat.html

- Rene M. Thibault
--------------------------------------------------------------------
August 30th, 2014
1pm-1am

All ages till 9pm! Children under 12 get in free.

-----------$5 cover-------------

At The Stone Church, Newmarket, NH




LALAPALALA MUSIC & ARTS FESTIVAL
AUGUST 30th, 2014
DAY & NIGHT SHOW (1pm-1am)

Featuring:
LOCAL MUSIC, LOCAL ART, LOCAL POETS, FIREDANCING, HOOPDANCE, LIQUID LIGHT SHOW, ART RAFFLE,
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
DAY SHOW: 1pm-7pm

LOCAL MUSIC:

Thomas Anello (Acoustic, Intricate Fingerpicking)

Clara Berry (Art Pop)

Animals and Shapes (Adventurous Rock)

Cornelius Peppercorn and the Matadors (Rock/Funk/Jazz)

Yelloyuth - band (indie punk/rock/folk/pop)

The Floods (Blues/Psych Rock)

The Tercet (prog/funk)


LOCAL ART, CRAFT & PERFORMANCE:

-Made With Love by JAH (zafu's, sewing, and clothing)

- Mandi Moonjava (Hoopdance, Handmade hoops, Hoopdance class)

Angie D'Anjou, Psychic Medium (Spiritual consultant)

Boxes Unlimited (Birdhouses/Woodwork)

-Firelight Pottery ( Jewelery/ watches)

Lisa's Wire Creations

- Molly Foye (Provocative Interactive Pieces)

- Evolution Decorum (Recycled/Functional Art)

Althaea Wellness Education (Natural Herbal Products)

Mudwerx

LOCAL POETS/WRITERS:

- Mario St. Remy

- Lucas Perry

- Tommie Ann Bower

----------------------------------------------------------------------
NIGHT SHOW: 7pm-1am

LOCAL MUSIC:

- GYMSHORTS (Punk/Garage/Surf)

jonee earthquake band (Surf/Punk/Rockabilly)

People Like You (Psych Folk/Indie/Pop)

-The Raunchy Randos (Psych Rock/Blues/World Music/)


LOCAL ART, CRAFT & PERFORMANCE:

Marisa Kang : Artist (Painting/Pointillism)

-Molly Foye (Provocative Interactive Pieces)

-Lisa's Wire Creations (Wire Wrapping Crystals)

- Angie D'Anjou, Psychic Medium

- Mandi Moonjava (Hoopdance)

Jessefisherglassworks (Blown Glass)

Family Fuego (Firedance)

- Ben Tillinghast (Forgery)

POETRY/WRITTEN WORD READING:

- Tammi J Truax

- Kate Leigh
http://www.bookthatpoet.com/poets/leighkat.html

- Rene M. Thibault
--------------------------------------------------------------------
August 30th, 2014
1pm-1am

All ages till 9pm! Children under 12 get in free.

-----------$5 cover-------------

At The Stone Church, Newmarket, NH
   
      http://kittery.maineadulted.org/


       This Saturday evening I will be on the line up of poets and other artists performing at the:




LALAPALALA MUSIC & ARTS FESTIVAL
AUGUST 30th, 2014
DAY & NIGHT SHOW (1pm-1am)

Featuring:
LOCAL MUSIC, LOCAL ART, LOCAL POETS, FIREDANCING, HOOPDANCE, LIQUID LIGHT SHOW, ART RAFFLE,
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
DAY SHOW: 1pm-7pm

LOCAL MUSIC:

Thomas Anello (Acoustic, Intricate Fingerpicking)

Clara Berry (Art Pop)

Animals and Shapes (Adventurous Rock)

Cornelius Peppercorn and the Matadors (Rock/Funk/Jazz)

Yelloyuth - band (indie punk/rock/folk/pop)

The Floods (Blues/Psych Rock)

The Tercet (prog/funk)


LOCAL ART, CRAFT & PERFORMANCE:

-Made With Love by JAH (zafu's, sewing, and clothing)

- Mandi Moonjava (Hoopdance, Handmade hoops, Hoopdance class)

Angie D'Anjou, Psychic Medium (Spiritual consultant)

Boxes Unlimited (Birdhouses/Woodwork)

-Firelight Pottery ( Jewelery/ watches)

Lisa's Wire Creations

- Molly Foye (Provocative Interactive Pieces)

- Evolution Decorum (Recycled/Functional Art)

Althaea Wellness Education (Natural Herbal Products)

Mudwerx

LOCAL POETS/WRITERS:

- Mario St. Remy

- Lucas Perry

- Tommie Ann Bower

----------------------------------------------------------------------
NIGHT SHOW: 7pm-1am

LOCAL MUSIC:

- GYMSHORTS (Punk/Garage/Surf)

jonee earthquake band (Surf/Punk/Rockabilly)

People Like You (Psych Folk/Indie/Pop)

-The Raunchy Randos (Psych Rock/Blues/World Music/)


LOCAL ART, CRAFT & PERFORMANCE:

Marisa Kang : Artist (Painting/Pointillism)

-Molly Foye (Provocative Interactive Pieces)

-Lisa's Wire Creations (Wire Wrapping Crystals)

- Angie D'Anjou, Psychic Medium

- Mandi Moonjava (Hoopdance)

Jessefisherglassworks (Blown Glass)

Family Fuego (Firedance)

- Ben Tillinghast (Forgery)

POETRY/WRITTEN WORD READING:

- Tammi J Truax

- Kate Leigh
http://www.bookthatpoet.com/poets/leighkat.html

- Rene M. Thibault
--------------------------------------------------------------------
August 30th, 2014
1pm-1am

All ages till 9pm! Children under 12 get in free.

-----------$5 cover-------------

At The Stone Church, Newmarket, NH

     Hope to see you at one of these events!