American Arbor Art Residency- Mississippi River
American Arbor: a tender journey.
Follow along with an artist’s sojourn beside the Mississippi River, in three parts.
Part I begins June 3, 2025 with observations, perceptions and noticings about a variety of biomes from Dubuque, IA to Memphis, TN
@colettewrightadams
Nebraska Sandhills
The swirls appear, briefly, to my eyes
As we pass
Nuggets of former lives reveal
Themselves on this rocky shore
Where cattle and antelope roam.
Before the world turns west
And oh so dramatic.
Little darlin’, take a walk with me here
Where the grasses grab the sand
Where the tumbleweeds still have roots
Where all has not changed much
In a millennium.
The land, the former sea, the sky, the air we breathe.
Deeply we are here
As observers and partakers and always, always,
As creators.
Credit where credit is due.
God-like in me, God-like in you.
Forget the stories, the histories galore
Remember the patterns repeated now
And forevermore.
The biologies, the topographies, the geologies,
The sky’s clouds look as sandy
As the hills
Wisps today and curlicues
The great swath, fresh
Desire moving towards intention.
-cwa copyright Colette Wright Adams 2024
Snowy
Snowy evening
Without the snow.
Elegant memories hold me spellbound.
The gloss of flakes in the moonlight.
The dark contrast whittles away any
Doubt.
Forward images — time manages this
With or without me.
But the feelings are mine to feel.
The sounds are mine to hear.
Rhythms flow and I respond,
Lyrics don’t matter when you know
A truth so deep.
"On the Night Before" (winter solstice)
Hard and fast, the rule of thumb
As I watch the heavens’ tide shift
An irony, wrapped in early winter
Tomorrow begins our trek towards spring
It’s blessings abound, so readily seen
But I am sitting here, in the hard and fast
joy of winter winds
Making the whole world appear alive
As it slumbers
-cwa 2018
"More Driftless, Memory"
We could keep the subtle canyons in mind,
Strewn across the backdrop of the Driftless.
As rudimentary as time and as elusive.
A construct in thought, perception and stone.
The calligraphy of the mountains,
A forgotten language,
Beseeches us to not dismiss the nuances of space.
Autumn Again
Over land and over sea
Shadows fall and rise
Winds of time and circumstance
Among the golden leaves apply
Their force, tethers me and frees me
As the boughs come tumbling down
The ripple effect circles around the street
And more amber leaves fall
In Autumn’s breezey sweep
Two more "How to Listen to the Universe" poems
#3
How to ride the wave to my desire?
Easy does it, one foot in front of another
And then the rush of wind grabs you
Pushing you from behind
I am a four leaf clover
And a watchtower
Where the blind lead the blind
You are an empty vessel waiting to be filled
You are a calm sea, having moved along great crevices and canyons
Waiting in the shadows keeps you cool in Summer’s heat
It allows colors to appear and disappear
Waiting allows arrival
We are not a train station depot
Remember, we are in this together
#4
Rising above all your dreams and desires
A great bird soars
Its wings expand to their fullest width
Their mouth tastes the air, determining the direction
They know they could fly all day in the sunshine
But rest comes too
Be unshakable but true to yourself, your nature
Spread your wings and fly, it is your nature
On calm days and stormy, winds alway blow
It's the nature of Life
A current carries you further than you think
You are not traveling alone in the wind of time
You are bolstered but not carried
Many paths are cleared and you choose one
It goes where you want or doesn’t
Leave your mind behind, move with instinct
Get out of your own way
Fly-by-night
It can be the shortest path between two points
Thoughts (AMBULATORY)
What is a volcano but a creative force of nature. It doesn’t need to be anything else besides what it is. It may have consciousness but it’s not here to teach, to warn, to soothe, but to erupt.
Even in it’s silence it embodies creativity, it’s own eruption. Volcanoes appear in various landscapes. Some are active today, some are dormant and some are dead. People continue to live near active volcanoes. Other people, scientists, study volcanoes. Botanists explore within the volcano’s trajectory and region. Conclusions are drawn and not drawn. I’m just an artist walking up the lava path. Hardened and cooled into a black carbon walkway. I’m here to research emotions that arise around volcanoes.
At some point I bend down far enough so I can press my lips to the hardened lava surface. Really, I’m prone. Dusty, earth warm, a little granular but smooth at the same time. But the aroma! Acrid, deep, primordial, hard to describe. Uniquely it’s own. I always say, when I can’t adequately describe something, “It’s like trying to describe the flavor of milk. What the hell tastes like milk?”
My inner being never looks back :)
Throwing
Caution to the wind
But, you know
he married a cautious woman
and always hounded her
about it
But, really
his family was shrouded
in accidental tragedy
and continues to
this day
When I realized this
I was afraid
how this happens seemingly
out of control
But, even under
this mistaken view
I knew this madness
created intentionally obtuse
But, its only now
after the past is so
past, so done
I see their agreements
and mine
I see my husband’s desire
for safety, for caution
for no more tragedy
even through his ridicule
But, I am
overly cautious
its just that now
I see it serves a purpose
J.A.T (just a thought) Hitting my head on the ceiling of mass consciousness.
A forest is a metaphor
Life moves through it, is it
The many lines of sight and the way
Light fractures its path
Between, over and under
All the components
Seeing clearly, not seeing clearly
A distracted gaze, the piercing insight
Wild abandon and amazing control
The Patterns rooted so deeply
Between us, keeping us whole.
Empty Spaces
The empty spaces
between Autumn and Winter
between past and present
The spaces between trees
Evergreen branches swaying
A folded garden umbrella
on the deserted patio
Out the back door
of my mother’s house
A house that was ours
Once.
She always wanted a pergola
We kids wanted an ice skating pond
A place to ski in winter
A dog to run around with
A baby brother
A younger sister
A bigger bedroom
than my brother
Which I got.
The empty spaces are filled now,
before I empty them again.
Found Poems 2023
#1
Bother what
As memory, like an ant, crosses borders
Traversing
The split tree cocktail table
That separates me from them
Bother what
Hybrids live here, nestled between
Kadafi and Gibran
Levant roots and shoots spread
As wide as this original tree
Now, not tethered to its earth
But allowing me support if not
Succor
#2
I might sit in the desert this evening.
I might cure an unknown disease
I might found a nation that stirs peace.
I might develop a skill that no one can detect.
I could arm the defenseless or shadow the mighty.
These vertical pathways exist, unencumbered
By disdain or wealth or priceless princes
That galavant and come undone
In this Spring moonshine
I might just sit in the desert this evening
Come what may.
An artist's thoughts on...
My artistic journey is deeply rooted in exploring the relationship between humans, the natural world and the profound connection between them.
“We are immersed in a field of undifferentiated matter from which our senses gather bits of information…” * serves as a philosophical foundation for me as an observational artist. Focusing on trees and botanicals, my perception of the world is a selective process, where I filter and interpret the sensory information around me. Often I unearth patterns in nature. Some are obvious and others are hidden. I like the idea of working on a series where I juxtapose the visible and the concealed.
I invite viewers to see the world in a new light and appreciate the intricacies and patterns that often go unnoticed. This perspective, conveying the interplay between humans and the environment, evokes a sense of mindfulness and connection in viewers and can be a source of inspiration. Including raising awareness about the importance of preserving natural landscapes.
*The Creative Act: a Way of Being”- Rick Rubin
Meditating on questions
Who do you love? Life is who
which includes me and you.
What do you love? Being captured
being encircled
being crowned
by the wind, by the sun.
Where do you love? Anywhere
in the pale
and beyond the pale
How do you love? Emphasis on emphatic
emphasis on calm
freely
Little thoughts
I love the way leaves get excited by the sun.
They arch their spines and point upwards, becoming inverse to what they were.
A cup for gathering sunshine.
My cup runneth over.
What if we’re unique but also interchangable?
What if we all start off with the same amount of everything, like intelligence?
The Light of the World
The light of the world is here.
The shape of it moves as the tree branches sway.
Its a soft lemon-yellow against the trees’ grey-green.
There is a dead branch resting where it fell, held up by other limbs.
A song, that is a prayer in a language I don’t understand, caresses the present moment.
I feel the sentiment of deep appreciation.
Small part of this vast world.
How to Listen to the Universe #2
Sitting on a high ridge watching the sun set. When I close my eyes I see fields and then white cliffs under fragile blue sky. In the distance, mountains.
Am I walking in a strange land? Maybe just new to me. I have a request. I wouldn’t mind a guide. I will not ignore them.
When I look further I see, filtered through the light of a sunny day. All is calm. I am at peace. I feel my heart beating. It is working well.
All the lands that lie before you are yours. No need to run, no need to take, simply look-see.
A rising sun, a rising tide, a rising breath. They all roll together. They are your green rolling hills.
You seek a place to be. You are that place to be. Open the door, enter. Leave, enter again.
You are a passage way always passing. Your steps follow a plan and then no plan.
Your head is in the clouds and then back down on earth.
Nothing is tarnished by your dream. Life loves you. Brings you success. You are all one of a kind.
Sleep well, dream deep.
He is a man dreaming too.
Walking Poem #11
The dancing trees once crouched beside one another.
Their laughter flies in the face
of our reality.
Their aching toes spread wide in preparation for the movement.
They plan.
They don’t plan.
They hope.
They don’t hope.
They Be.
In the endless dance, timeless and contemporary.
Futile and filled with meaning.
I come back to they physicalness.
One dark umber.
One a muddy sienna.
With tones of agreement between them.