Graffiti, poetry, and reflection on the final year of Tulip City Walls
We went all out for the final year of Tulip City Walls Festival! Our activity was inspired by the stencil project Miguel Ayala teaches during our session of Graffiti here at CultureWorks. Stencils are usually made out of paper, cardboard, or plastic, and have a design cut into them. Sometimes this looks like a drawing, other times it might be by stylized letters. A great thing about stencils is that they’re reusable!
For Tulip City Walls, Blake and I (Jaer) made some stencils so that the community could try their hand at graffiti, because let’s be honest, who doesn’t want to spray paint after seeing all the muralists do it. Using Montana 400—a water-based, low odor, and non-toxic paint—participants could create their own multi colored spray paint prints. We also had masks available for those who desired. With the help of our wonderful Student Advisory Council volunteers Lemmi and Clara, we were able to hold down the art making fort!
Elsewhere during the festival, our student poets had the opportunity to have their poems read aloud as part of the Poets Facing East program. Their work was created in response to the murals clustered around 16th St. and Central Ave. For that session, Evan led the students through an exercise in ekphrastic poetry, a form of poetry that responds to visual art, such as paintings and photographs, or, in our case, murals.
Being able to bring accessible art to the community is one of the highlights of the summer season for me here at CultureWorks. Seeing the spark in people’s eyes—kiddos and adults alike—reminds me why art is so important. Art is something that can be enjoyed on various levels from making your own art to simply appreciating it from a distance, this is especially easier when it’s a beautiful, large mural.
If you’re interested in reading some of the student poetry, read on below! If not, feel free to head to the bottom of the page to see some action shots of our stencil activity.
Behind the Tulip City Walls
I – Aviana Garcia
There is scrunched up gold foil
Draped over a prize inside
but what’s underneath is unknown
unseen
and unshown
Is it a necklace,
a ring,
a bracelet?
or is it something deeper?
is it someone’s feelings being expressed
yet still hidden?
is it feelings that are unsure how to word
but urged to be worded?
or is it only
a necklace
ring
or
a
bracelet?
there is blue tape crying from holding it
all together
There is a form of expressed silence.
II – Joice Rowley
There is a child, a hope in her eyes.
She absorbs the wonder of her surrounding friends.
Creatures unknowingly admired, admittedly untamed.
Soaring amongst winds and words. They are like us,
United.
Careful to silence themselves, people gather around
a fire. Her projected shadows dance as she sings with
mouth and melody. She will restore hope, once long-gone.
Behind the eyes of ev’ry friend gathered, ev’ry wide-eyed
child. Secret hopes, freshly restored by a strategic spark.
A wild dream awoken.
There is something new rising from within.
III – Geniveve Sosa
There is a golden gift
who sits at a corner where the sun can shift
wrapped with sweet foil, and a glimmer of light
Blue tape to hold onto the night
Yet the sun stays blue
Hidden with no view
His perfection shall be torn
Yet some tape keeps him sworn
Continuous creases in the golden gift
The ugly bottom, for one’s dismiss
will never carry the worth of a prize
Unless we see the work with our eyes
Every wrinkle will tell you a story
Three sad tears we keep avoiding
Stay wrapped up forever
IV – Olive Frey
There are flowers everywhere
They bloom over ponds
Over brick and pipes and doors
Their petals reach for the sky
Towards their teardropped neighbors
Koi fish hanging from a tree
I do not know the names of these flowers
But they are beautiful
In the way they are shaped
The way they yearn for each other
Whispering from tree to sea
And back again
Their laughter gets caught in a current
It bubbles and foams over miles
Floating across bridges
To different breezes and airs
To a new place–
A place shadowed by shattered machines
And flowers that glisten an unsalted yellow
Not unlike the yellow of the ones before–
But the ones before were more vibrant
They danced with paper lanterns,
They whispered.
There may be new flowers, yes
But I long for the whisps of what grew before me
There is a yearning for home.
V – Shiloh Plockmeyer
There is an open field drowned in yellow flowers, you stand in steel armor
that once gave you power.
Your heart fills with nostalgia at the sight of your home, and yet you realize
you are alone.
The moon shines in the soft blue skies, contrasting vibrant sunflowers
with childlike wonder in their eyes.
You stare at your hands which are monochrome, and realize your eyes
are fully grown.
Faceless friends fill memories that fly off in the breeze, the noisy
small babies, the old men that would wheeze.
Most people are still here, though they’re strangers now, you frown
at closed restaurants that once made you gasp, “wow.”
Every flower you think to pick, reminds you of a terrifying shift.
For if you hold the flowers, when your paths cross, all you will see is
what you have lost.
But maybe, just maybe, you’ll take a small seed, care for it
daily and kill every weed.
Share tiny greetings, and tell crazy tales, of big tall mountains
and fish with bright scales.
And while you may never be children again, a small bloom
appears with reminders of back then.
