BOOK REVIEW - Signs of Life: A Memoir in Poems

A diverse collection of poetry, thought-provoking and breathtaking, inspirational, and altogether wonderful, Knowles’ memoir is moving, hustling the reader through memories and philosophies that had me laughing at times and weeping at others. Engaging, unexpectedly page-turning for long-time lovers of poetry, and eye-opening to those discovering poetry for the first time, these verses, sometimes eloquent and elusive, sometimes brutally honest and abrasive, will draw you into the ancient art of poetry and leave you hungry for more. The author leads the audience, expertly, through a journey simultaneously spiritual and rational. Like a depthless ocean of free-thought, it tossed me back and forth, presenting views on both faith and logic, but it never fails in thoroughness, sincerity, or heart. The poet’s captivating imagery, descriptions of nature, metaphorical prowess, and artful rhyme schemes are a treat for anyone with an appreciation of literary devices. To those who merely dabble, occasionally, in poetry, this is a delightful read, a perfect escape for anyone who wants to ponder life’s realities without managing their own. It is an intimate self-examination. Often romantic and heartwarming, pieces such as Rede, Morning Light, and Married to You reveal the subtle truths of real love, while others like Because of You, On a Cold November Day, and I Remember You provide poignant memories and warm musings on the meaning of family and the generous nature of motherhood. Knowles is and does it all: a free spirit and a dedicated mentor, a mother and a child, a lover and a warrior battling the rawest hardships known to the human heart. For me, many of the edgier pieces, such as Ashes, Rebellious by Nature, and Safe were found to be excellent nourishment in the face of life’s frustrations. This collection is relatable in its advocating for independence coupled with its dismay at a life of self-inflicted isolation, speaking easily of how life transforms gradually. Knowles reflects on the human condition and the role of both human relationships and the relationship with self in her slice of life verses, such as Book Tribe, Snow Day, Apprentice, and Little Dog. Between these pages, clumsy beginnings exist beside true gems like Endless Night and triumphs of visual poetry such as Entropy, Tomb, And Peaceful Harbor. In each passages, I discovered descriptions of a truly unique, subtly desperate life, underlying with unprecedented adventure. The life of a Bohemian atheist. She is wild, yet wise, and her words are both fantastic and contemplative, with a flair for rebellion and an appetite for knowledge. Above all, through the roller coaster emotions, Signs of Life is uplifting and positive, constantly looking back, but never ceasing to move forward. Truly, there is something in this book for everyone.

Art

As the new year begins, I find myself contemplating art. Though we’ve all heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and art is subjective, I’ve come to discover that art—and its value, both intrinsic and sentimental—is even more complex than I originally thought.
Having attended art school, I’d like to think I know quite a bit about art; I’ve studied color theory, painting techniques, graphic design, animation, traditional and digital media, along with art history. When I look at a piece of art, even if it’s merely stock photography in an office lobby, I can articulate exactly what I see, how the piece affects me on an emotional level, and even what’s working and what isn’t. In a sense, I am able to make a judgment call on whether or not it’s good art.
For all that though, it is still impossible to pin down what’s going to be a popular piece of art and what’s going to fail miserably. As an artist, posting my work on line has always proven to be especially confounding. At times, a piece I personally love and feel deeply connected to will garnish absolutely no attention, even if it’s perfectly executed; in other cases, something I put a minimal amount of effort into and don’t particularly care for myself will receive unprecedented adulation. Congruent with my level of popularity at least. The only constant I’ve found throughout this process is that often fanwork gleans a bit more views than my original pieces, a travesty in and of itself.
I myself am a lover of fanart, and yet it sometimes seems as if people are so blinded by the piles of art depicting their favorite fictional characters that they can’t be bothered to get interested in something new. Out of this comes a natural demand upon me as an artist—I need to stand out, I have to wow them, I have to incorporate something into my style that will distinguish me from the crowd. All these things I learned during my three years of learning about the ruthless art industry, and I have no choice but to believe it. If I want to truly stand out, I must improve.
Unfortunately, the problem in this solution is that art is indeed subjective, and there is no standard for aesthetic. Therefore, it’s impossible to say what it is about my art exactly that needs to be changed. Is it simply my skill set isn’t where it needs to be? Or could it be my style is unappealing? I’ve considered the possibility that my content is boring, and yet I deeply enjoy creating it.
A standard recipe for success in this world of ours is to watch those who have succeeded and mimic them; in that case, it stands to reason that I could simply mimic the artists I see who are doing well, learn to emulate their style, abandon my own, fall into the digital media trend, and manufacture art of formerly established characters in a predictable and overused design. For that matter, I could devote all my artistic ability into drawing smut for well-liked ships, and I know for a fact my own popularity would skyrocket. That seems to be what the modern audience wants to see, so why not give them what they want and reap the benefits of following a proven formula?
And yet my very spirit despises the notion. Art is the language of one’s soul, an intimate and indescribable depiction of who the artist truly is, and my art is the rawest form of me that exists in this world. It speaks of a part of myself which even I don’t understand. A part of me which cannot be explained in any words we know.
If I were to change my style, my media, my subject matter, my art for the fleeting satisfaction of internet popularity, I would be denying myself a soothing self-expression which I need to survive. I would be turning my back on myself. Selling out.
I may not always stand out amongst the crowd, but when it comes to following my own heart or becoming popular, I will always stand up against the crowd. I will trudge forward, and I will try new things, learn new techniques while polishing the ones I know already; I will experiment with different styles and ideas, content and medias. There are so many facets of art yet to explore, and I wouldn’t deny myself the pleasure, but I will always create art I enjoy and care about, art I can be proud of, and I know that if I persevere, over time I will meet people who enjoy my art for what it is as well. Those people will be speaking my language.