“Lunar Landing (1975)”
Collaborators’ Q&A
What inspired you to bring your work to Broadsided?
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: The easiest answer is that I really love visual art. My sister is a tattoo artist and a muralist, and I grew up in the DC Metro Area with my parents dragging us to the Smithsonian every week. I didn’t understand what a huge privilege it was to grow up in a place where visual art is public, free, and accessible until I went to college out of state and realized how rare my experience was. Art influences a lot of my work; in the past year I’ve written and published several ekphrastic pieces, most recently “Hind Sight (dark space): James Turrell: 1984” in Half Mystic. But even though my work adores and is in conversation with visual art, it is, for the most part, an unrequited relationship. So when I saw that Broadsided gave poets the chance to have a piece of art made in response to their work, I jumped at the chance.
What drew you to create a visual response to this poem, in particular?
Artist Kevin Morrow: Sculptors, at least in my case, tend to see things first in materials—in wood, in stones, etc.—when I read something or hear something. For me, this poem was full of those kinds of triggers. When something—be it music, literature, etc.—when a cue is given to me with material or when I visualize a particular material, I know there is something there to work with. Then comes the form, and the arrangements of forms. That was there for me when I first read xochi’s poem.
How did this poem come to be?
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: This poem was really inspired by the movie A Million Miles Away, which is about the life of José M. Hernández, the first Mexican-American astronaut. I was watching the movie with my mom, who immigrated to the United States from Mexico. It filled me with both a deep joy and a deep sadness to see how we each engaged with the movie. For her, it was proof of the American Dream, that as latinos we can be and do anything. For me, as someone who stepped into adulthood during the Trump administration, it was proof that our excellence will not save us from systemic violence. I became really fixated on the idea of the astronaut, and how astronauts are seen as the best of human innovation, while Black and brown migrants, who in my experience are the real innovators, are dehumanized as “aliens.” From that image, the poem kind of grew on its own, with the last stanza referencing Malinalxochitl, a Mexica goddess and sorceress associated with the desert, and her mythology.
How did this image come to be?
Artist Kevin Morrow: As I had mentioned previously, first came the material “visualization,” though that evolved as I worked on my initial forms in concurrence with xochi’s words—their structure and direction. The forms I used are simple, not to be confused with “basic” as those are two very different things, the latter of which (basic) I’m not sure actually exists—all things in nature at some level could be described as basic, but now I feel that word carries more negative connotations than positive. Simplistic forms carry the most weight, the greatest potential for numerous interpretations, which is the most advantageous way to go about creating sculpture—the second something is what it is, you’re left with very little. You see the sculpture and say “oh, it’s that” and walk away. That is not what Xochi’s poem was—to me at least—her story had a definite direction and intention but also many modes of interpretation—many ways in which many of us could “insert” ourselves as characters in her poem.
What did you think an artist would pick up on from your poem? Does the artist’s response make you see the poem differently?
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: I don’t know if I had any expectations going into this process about what the artistic response would be, but I like that so much of the frame is this rich blue color, with the text of the poem in the moon shape. It serves as a beautiful contrast to the red orange I kept picturing as I wrote it. Seeing the visual makes me reflect on the diversity of rituals and monuments to grief.
Did anything shift for you or come into new light as you began working on your visual response?
Artist Kevin Morrow: Yes—I began the work entirely as a work of stone. Her mentions of stone in the poem made me jump right to that, but it became evident to me that that was too much the obvious answer—and for whatever reason as I progressed through the stone(s) it just wasn’t clicking, so I transitioned to using mostly wood, though retaining a small bit of stone (alabaster) in the work.
What question would you like to ask your collaborator?
Poet to Artist: I noticed through my exploration of the Broadsided archive that you’ve been contributing pieces since 2008. Of all the collaborations you’ve done, what was your favorite and why? If you don’t have a favorite, I invite you to tell me the story of one you still think of tenderly.
Kevin Morrow: The collaboration that sticks out most of all for me is: “searching for poems on grief” that I did with poet Lisa Ortiz. It’s funny looking back on past works—my responses to the Q&A are of course sincere, but as time has passed I look on that work with entirely different eyes and recollections. I enjoyed the collaborative work at the time but only now see how well married the words are to the images, the forms; perhaps Lisa and I were experiencing the same things in life but in different geographies. I wonder given more time, how now I would respond to those same questions?
It was, I recall really fun making the forms as well. I was living in New York at the time, in Brooklyn and had little to no space, especially for sculptural work. I cast a few blocks of plaster in empty orange juice containers, carved them with cheap rasps and sandpaper, and to display them I was stumped on what to do and still remember that I took an old wooden crate I was keeping paint brushes in, dumped them out, turned the crate on its open-side, and put the plaster forms in it. That collaboration—at least from my position as contributing sculpture—made me truly realize the infinite power of simple form.
Artist to Poet: I’m always interested in creator’s ‘point of origin’ – the transition or moment of taking topics or subjects that one might be ‘interested in’ to putting pencil to paper – or be it what tools it may be for each creator.
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: My point of origin is almost always archival. I collect language, thoughts, images, and just kind of let them pile up until they look like a thing. For this particular piece, I got the title before I got anything else. The core metaphor and concept felt really interesting to me so I wanted to run with that and see where it went. I’m not sure if I can give any more insight into that process because I often feel like my poems happen to me; I feel surprised by what I write more often than not.
When you consider the full folio of work from this issue (see the “related broadsides” links on the left), what questions, observations, or connections arise for you?
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: I was recently lucky enough to spend a significant amount of time in Maine, and while I was there a friend gifted me a question, “is the tide of your life going in or out?” I think when I look at these folios, although they all land so differently, they all speak to a tide of life. “Topology” feels like high tide, this idea of fullness being there where you remember to look and the water coming back up, offering all that it offers. “Leaving” feels like low tide, I mean just that stunning line “it’s time to allow words in which there is an after” reminds of that point of low tide where all the water has left us with an empty beach & expansive possibility. And “Mi Palabra / Ti Jk’ope / My Word” feels like a king tide, this idea of sharpening your words and them being forged in the fire as both a gift, a promise, and a threat. “Poem About Vape” feels like the tide is going out, this control is being lost, things are going missing, and this hurt being aggravated like a sore. “Vapor / Sjob / Steam” feels like a gentle tide coming in, this reminder that we’re all more connected than we think, all made of the same things.
Describe your ideal “Vectorization”—where, in your wildest dreams, would you most like to see this broadside posted in the world?
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: I live right down the street from El Instituto Cultural Mexicano de Washington, DC, which is the Cultural Institute of the Embassy of Mexico. In my heart of hearts, I’d love to see my work there.
Artist Kevin Morrow: As always with my work, I would like to see this ‘permanently’ outdoors (still in wood) and, given the material, to eventually deteriorate in the environment.
If this Broadsided collaboration were a type of weather, what would it be?
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: Maybe a windstorm.
Artist Kevin Morrow: Autumn.
Do you have a favorite, generative prompt for artists or writers you’d like to share?
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: This past Spring I was in a Brooklyn Poets workshop with I.S. Jones, and one of the prompts she gave us was to write an ode to something shameful. It’s one of my favorite prompts I’ve ever been given, and I hope other folks might find it as useful as I did!
Artist Kevin Morrow: Not really, No.
Read any good books lately?
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: I recently read Maria Gray’s chapbook Universal Red which was published by Ghost City Press (a digital pdf can be found for free on their website). It was stunning, heartbreaking, and one of those very rare curated collections that had no skips.
Artist Kevin Morrow: Visual Thinking by Rudolph Arnheim; Guernica: Painting the End of the World by James Atlee; Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks; War by Bob Woodward
Seen any good art lately?
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: I was lucky enough to see Elle Perez’s exhibit Intimacies at Mass Moca last year, and it’s lived rent free in my head ever since.
Artist Kevin Morrow: I recently made a pilgrimage to London’s Tate Museum to study their collection of Henry Moore sculptures and drawings—I was able to complete some research of select drawings and lithographs in the Tate Museum study room and spent six hours in front of the original plaster of his reclining figure 1951.
Anything else?
Poet xochi quetzali cartland: Thank you, Kevin, for sharing the gift of your work, & to all the Broadsided staff who put so much time, labor, & love into making this project possible.