Quantum Poetica - First Mother Tongue - lo-res - Billimarie Lubiano Robinson - February 2020

Quantum Poetica: “First Mother Tongue”

The third piece in the “Quantum Poetica” painting series took a life of its own. The typewritten pieces–the poem, the bits of a poem–fit together in a more tangible way than the other two paintings. It is a bit like wrestling, patterning glue with typewritten paper onto acrylic and canvas. Will the typewritten bits peel off? The text fade? I don’t know. I hope it stays.

Quantum Poetica - i do do i i do - lo-res - Billimarie Lubiano Robinson - February 2020

Quantum Poetica: “i do do i i do”

This second piece in the “Quantum Poetica” painting series turned out relatively similar to what I originally envisioned. The title and the meditative spiral made of textured stitches of paint make perfect sense to me. I’m interested in trying this method again with different patterns, different shapes. The black on black, the careful blobs of paint, the sound as the words take shape in your mouth like a mantra singing you home: i do do i i do do i i do do i i do do i–

Quantum Poetica - Actions Birth Sound - lo-res - Billimarie Lubiano Robinson - February 2020

Quantum Poetica: “Actions Birth Sound”

Earlier this month, I was inspired to paint a new series called “Quantum Poetica.” One of my favorite things about creating Typewriter Poetry based paintings is the ability to play with spacing between words. In this way, the simple–the quantum–becomes divine. As much as I love traditional poetry, I love the intuitive flow of abstract painting and concrete poetics. The balance of space and color and weight feels like a much freer exchange. Almost as though the vision for the painting, manifesting in wondrous flux, remains forever light.

Poetry Portraits: “Poem for Ray” (Staten Island)

A creative himself, Ray & I talked about art and painting and music and writing, and all the strings that flow between those mediums, the incredible potential for boundless conversation. Rereading this poem reminds me of the lessons I am currently learning and re-learning while care-taking for my dad: we give it all back, eventually. Why not celebrate for having it in the first place?