What Kind of Times Are These...


Through happenstance, I came across Adrienne Rich’s poem, “What Kind of Times Are These” after beginning this cyanotype and sculpture series. It spoke to what I was feeling at the time. My work and I had a conversation with, and through, Rich’s poem.


Nameable, elusive.

“…picking mushrooms at the edge of dread…”

A pause, a breath,

the space between…

between here and there,

between you and me,

between what is said

and what is heard,


left unspoken.

“…this is not somewhere else but here…”

I felt imprisoned,

boxed in

By the pandemic,

the virus,

my workload,

by a stalled relationship slipping away,

by your losses and mine.

And, yet…

“…Because you still listen…”

Questions abound:

What measures do each of us take

to feel safe?

Where do I belong?

Wandering, wandering

“…ghost-ridden crossroads…”

Safety, care, respect, belonging.

Inalienable rights.

But, the world is not equal or just.

And, so,

I have more work to do.

Our paths intersect.

“…and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows…”