Julianza, Inkling

WHO AM I?

If you know, please contact me immediately.  I'm curious.  Seriously, I am known as Julianza, Julie, Hoolio, Jewels, Jules, JZ, Jay, and more.  I love multiple monikers.  It makes me feel expansive in a minuscule sort of way. I am a writer, musician, and visual artist. I have a long-winded saying: If you read "The Beast in Jungle," by Henry James, "Steppenwolf," by Hesse, listen to Albinoni's "Adagio" and Leonard Cohen's "Dance Me to the End of Love," as well as his "Avalanche," watch "Dogville," "The Sweet Hereafter," "Phantom of the Paradise," and "Earthings" (this last one, a very important online documentary), you will know who I am.  Sort of. That's why I have "Inkling" up there. 

If you need something written or edited, I can help.  I can write anything from a difficult letter to a relative, to the story of your life (of course, you'll need to provide the rough subject matter).  I am a certified licensed proofreader, if somewhat redundantly so. I can out-edit almost anyone. The circumstance is nearly a pathology. Currently, the love of my writing life is poetry. I am extremely active in the poetry scene in my city and am currently compiling my first book.

I am a composer, and create unique gifts, jump-starting by setting the gift-recipient's name, birth-date or other information to the musical scale, and then expanding.  Recently, I was commissioned to write songs inspired by the poetry of Yousuf Zaigham.Then, to write music to the poetry of Lois Hayna.  The first was a collaboration between myself, the poet, and soprano Cindy Saunders.  The second was sung by Karen Peace and me.  I also play all genres (classical, jazz, ragtime, etc.) on my portable keyboard, and have played in restaurants, at gallery openings, in casinos, Fine Arts Centers, and for special events, like weddings. I also teach piano in my home. My other instruments are alto recorder and cello.

As visual artist, I work mainly with acrylic, but also do some pen and ink, charcoal, and watercolor.  I sometimes make "recycle art," using things like dried play-doh, scraps of ribbon or wire, rejected stained-glass pieces, plastic cup-tops and other plastic food containers, styrofoam, etc.  My style is abstract expressionist.  A current penchant is digitally enhancing original photographs. 

 

        "First Love," acrylic, 20" X 24"

 

  "Not Going Gentle," pen & ink, 12" X 16"

 

     "Life is But," watercolor, 24" X 30"

 

"My Sister's Shadow," enhanced photograph, 11" X 14" 

 

               LEXICON

 An entire thesaurus looms

before me and my next word,

which I try not to acknowledge.

My gloves strike out --

I take a rebound on the jaw.

Dizzy, I think I feel eternity

in one tiny ooze

above the left eye.

It doesn't matter whose.

 

That devil, my father,

schooled me in death,

in not so many words, one

sunny day in '62, saying that

those scrapbook photos,

which I could not use,

would all be mine, When.

 

Every day I go to the ring,

and there they are,

confronting me:

sounds with meanings

I don't understand --

taunting, tantalizing.

 

I grow old, begin to flail,

hope for an accidental hit,

grope forward, one word

before the other, hoping

to stumble onto just one

that's as gleaming,

as forthcoming,

as much a lexicon,

as one pinprick

of a father's cold blood.

     -- 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let's collaborate!

I look forward to working together and to meeting your needs.

Contact me:

julianza@comcast.net or info@droppinglikerubies.com. You can also reach me at 719-375-1200.

 

   Circa January 2009

My background is in journalism and public relations, and my degrees are in Philosophy and English, with a near-minor in Music Composition.

 

• Professional
• Satisfaction or bust
• Meet all deadlines
• Detail-oriented
• A percentage of any proceeds always donated to charitable causes
  

 

"Love at First....at Last!" acrylic, 16" X 20"

 

"Neonnatal," enhanced photograph, 11" X 14"

 

  Eternal Everlasting Birthday

                  for Amadea

You are the one who lived,

though the others, thwarted in

their phylogenic gropings, 

deserve equal ovation, 

simply for trying so hard.

I will mourn them forever.

 

But you I celebrate today,

on this anniversary of the

dead-of-night morning you

emerged blue, un-breathing,

nearly felling your father and

sister flanking me in my faint.

 

Your sister says they tossed you

around like a football, hand to

hand, finally took Herculean

measures a child of twelve

had no words for.

 

Finally, you were squalling as

though nothing unusual had

happened, as though all babies

enter the world with clueless

lungs, their bodies not remotely

pink like dawn, but dark as a

pouting sky in spring.

 

Recently, a friend said, no

celebration for her child this

year: eleven birthdays, and

she's “giving it a rest.”

That will never happen, here.

 

I bequeath no rest to such a

miracle, though in miracles

I do not believe.

Nor in the sentiment lodged in

“meant to be.” As, in you.

Or conversely, as in, the others,

incipient minuscule daughters

or sons with beating hearts,

inside me while I washed a pot

or pushed away a stray hair, who

had their rhythms imperceptibly,

irrevocably, undone.

 

No.  No God let them lapse

in favor of you.

But here you are, funny, funky,

beautiful in all ways,

and a little bit frail.

Your black hair teases your face.

Those wicked bangs

do no good.

You are like any other

eight year old, yet unique.

You are mine -- my breath, my

wings, my light, my hope, my

chocolate, my barbecue, my

music, my poetry --

my fifty-two pound paradise.

 

You are the sky at dawn,

noon, sunset, starred.

You are you. You are the one

who lived.  You are

the most sanguine of lungs --

ever and endlessly

reviving me.

        -- 2008