Category Archives: Art

The DEEPER DIG at Vermont Digger — on Mental Health Care challenges

Features me and a poem…as well as a discussion of mental health “care” with DMH commissioner, Mourning Fox

https://vtdigger.org/2018/11/16/deeper-dig-hospitals-struggle-psychiatric-care/

 

This Art print is Available

I cannot find the email or the name of the person who mailed me wanting a print of this piece, but I wanted to inform her that art prints and other posters etc are now available at this link  at Redbubble.com. Also posted at Zazzle.com.

ZAZZLE STORE

https://www.zazzle.com/psychiatric_take_down_someones_watching_photo_print-190152500586657512

REDBUBBLE STORE

https://www.redbubble.com/fr/people/pamwagg/works/33861823-retrait-et-contention-psychiatriques?c=679082-original-art-drawings-paintings

 

Why I QUIT Amazon.com and How You Can Too

I recently sent the letter below to Amazon.com. For those who wonder, I used the name they still had on their account for me, as my new name, Phoebe Sparrow Wagner, was not recognized. In return, I received  a nominal customer service email, but none of the promised (or implied) follow-up after that.

The art posted at top was designed for a stop restraints and seclusion group logo in California, which ended up not using it.

Please feel free to use my words as a model or template for your own.

Solidarity! and in several other languages (chosen mostly at random): Solidarité! Solidarność! Solidaridad! Undod! סאָלידאַרישקייַט, համերաշխությու,სოლიდარობა Mshikamano!Umodzi! Ubumbano! تضامن (tadamun), Dayanışma,солідарність!

————————————-

To Amazon.com

After reading about the conditions in your workplaces, and the careless disregard you, as Amazon, have shown for human dignity and the basics of humane treatment of your employees, I have decided to cancel a Prime membership I have had since its inception.  I have shopped at amazon and been a loyal customer since you began. Indeed, you even sent me a coffee mug with your logo that first year. But no more. Not only am I quitting my prime membership but I  will no longer shop at amazon.com or use any “benefits” that amazon claims to offer. Good bye and good riddance.

Sincerely,

Pamela S Wagner
A once extremely loyal customer, leaving In disgust

 

More Domestic Art: Cooking with Wild Plants

This cake, made from the invasive but edible weed known as Japanese Knotweed had the texture, but not the spices of gingerbread, and was moist and just delicious! If anyone wants me to reconstruct this recipe, let me know.

knot cake aka cake made from Japanese Knotweed

Flynn Center Art Show for persons with disabilities

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My picture NOT WAVING BUT DROWNING will be in this show. Click on link to see full color information

Continue reading Flynn Center Art Show for persons with disabilities

LEARNING TO SEE IN THREE DIMENSIONS: three poems from book

 

Reviews would be greatly appreciated! Here is link to book at Amazon.com

https://www.amazon.com/Learning-See-Three-Dimensions-Poetry/dp/0998260460/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1519480074&sr=8-1&keywords=Learning+to+see+in+three+dimensions

TO THE READER

who may be sitting as I am
in a green recliner with a cup of tea
staring out through the porch
to a darkened streetlamp outside the diner,
with a book in her lap, mine, I hope
the only one I feel I should have to mention
if I mention a book in a poem I write;
to the reader, the nitpicker, the one
who may be wondering why
on p. 47 there are two ands, one
right after another, and whose fault that is;
and to the reader, who may be tired
after a long ride home on the bus
after dark and a meal not worth mentioning
who picks up my book but finds his eyes
closing before he has opened the cover,
I say: Forgive me
I am only a writer sitting in a green recliner
with a cup of tea, I can’t explain
those two ands or the mysterious
streetlamp or warm the feet of a tired
reader in his bed. I can only put music on
and tell him stories to make movies
turn in his head, to let him wake
with the sudden understanding that poetry
may be all it takes to make a life—
well, my life at any rate, and maybe his,
and maybe the nitpicker’s and yours, too,
staring through the porch to the streetlamp
where what happens so mysteriously is poetry—
and the whole night is wrapped
in the words spoken by two strangers
meeting there, or not spoken, which is poetry too,
and all of us who listen are waiting
for the music of what is to happen.

(Last line, thanks to Helen Vendler)

MOSAIC

Mosaic: a word that means from the muses, from Moses
and a work of art created from broken fragments of pottery,
stone or glass.

 

Even the first time, surrender was not hard,
though the grownups and mothers
with their drinks and swizzle sticks
undoubtedly thought it so when you volunteered
your only present that 10th Christmas
to a younger child who wouldn’t understand
being giftless at the tail end of a line to Santa,
nor your inherent sin in being born.
Such generosity should have stayed
between your concept-of-God and you,
but grownup admiration (you could not hope
to make your act unpublic) sullied the soap
of any generosity’s power to cleanse you.
Other atonements followed, only one
almost perfect, being perfectly anonymous
spoiled by an accomplice’s later telling.
Perfection? You never made that grade,
your terrible love for God demanding all life
from your life. No one told you, “Live a lot,”
not in words that made it matter, though
they doubtless counseled, “Live a little.”
You were always in school to be perfect,
never knowing that life is a classroom
where one learns to love flaws
by throwing bad pots, to shatter
them with careful hammer,
assembling beauty from broken things.

FORGETTING TO REMEMBER

Multiples: former shorthand for people diagnosed
with multiple personality disorder, believed to arise
from early sexual trauma and abuse; now considered
a dissociative disorder.

 

Two suicides and such a multitude of multiples
wrung from their imagination the year I was there
by student psychologists eager to make names for themselves,
the halfway facility would be shut down for good the next.
But not before seeds of uncertain certainties were sown:
repressed memories miraculously recovered from the abyss,
of incests, sodomies, satanic abuses, so even my stalwart insistence
on a happy-go-not-so-unlucky childhood
became stained by the sepia of doubt:
had I really escaped such clutches?

Knowing memory’s foibles, it’s hard to trust
what my sister tells me was true: that there really were
neighborhood “Bad Boys” and a shack in the woods
where they kept a stash of comic books and pin-up calendars,
the price to read there all afternoon if you were a girl
a feel, that I’m not wrong to believe I read my fill
of “Archie” and “Prince Valiant” and “Peanuts” inside.

Though I had to find my own way out afterwards
after they’d gone, taking their comics with them,
leaving just June, now unpinned from the wall
in her tiny shorts, the shine of her raspberry lips
pouting next to a tractor, I recall only
dry motes falling through the last rays
of sun, the smoky smell of sawdust and dust,
and grit under my bare feet, my trembling relief,
as I studied a stroll through the back door at home,
perhaps worse for the wear but on time for supper
so nobody questioned the dirt in my hair.

Q and A, courtesy of Inkbiotic.com

Check out Inkbiotics WordPress blog for the origin of the questions I respond to below…

Now Tell Me About You…

1. Would you rather be beautiful, an astronaut or able to walk up any surface (ie up walls and along the ceiling)? Why?
Definitely I would love to be able to walk up any surface — it would provide such a “superpower” and afford me entirely new experiences.
2. Would you rather physically age, mentally age or visibly age?
At 65 I have been told I do not “look my age” to which my response is, this is was 65 looks like! That said, my mental and intellectual aging are of prime concern to me, and along with that is generally the requirement of good physical health. So if I had to choose for one of the three, I suppose I would opt for signs of visible aging.
3. What was the last good deed you did?
I hate to tell people what the good things are that I do in the world, it is boasting and so I keep these between “my concept of god” and me, where any accounting of good deeds belongs.
4. I’ve been watching the Good Place. It’s great. To give a spoiler-free description, it’s a comedy about a Heaven-like place, where you can live in your ideal house in a perfect village, eat all your favourite foods, and hang out with your soul-mate. What three things wwould you choose to have in your good place?
Good friends, good books, good memories.
5. You get a time machine watch that can only go up to an hour into the past or future. What would you use it for?
If such a machine existed, I would reserve its use personally for revisiting all the times that I have written and sent impulsively some email I should not have, or likewise, to repair words I spoke that might have caused immediate harm. I would not use it to visit the future, as that could tamper with the present big time and also I prefer the future to remain tantalizingly unknown and unknowable.
6. You’re such an awesome person, that the mayor of your town has asked you to come up with a national holiday, what would you want the holiday to be for (eg Tree Day, Festival of Dreams), and when would you want it?
Peace Day would be a national holiday of forgiveness where people are supposed to reconcile and make amends for past conflicts , both on the micro or personal scale and on the macro or international level, where this day is reserved for nations to think and act peaceably towards each other, and make attempts to end conflict.
7. What small something would you change right now?
I would start being able to speak again, having been mute since November 2017…
8. What are your plans for getting older? How do you want to spend your time when/if you stop working? Where do you want to be?
Having been on disability and not working all my adult life, retirement is meaningless, but I hope to be able to do art till the day I die.
9. You find out (probably from a magic floating wizard or by text or something) that nothing you do today will have consequences. What’s your itinerary for the day?
First of all, everything we do has consequences, absolutely everything, it is unavoidable, that is the beauty of what is called The Butterfly Effect. Small changes in a system can have enormous down stream consequences, like the butterfly that flaps its wings in Beijing and by a long series of directly traceable consequences and events eventually leads to a hurricane in the Atlantic. We all always affect others and the world in ways we can never perhaps predict or understand the full ramifications of. So given this, I cannot in any rational way answer this question.
10. When you die your ghost will be trapped in the place of your death, where do you want to die?
Sorry, but this question again leaves me bereft of an ability to answer. I do not believe in trapped ghosts. Energy exists, yes, and maybe we can “leave behind” personal energy that imbues a place, but I do not think one’s Life energy could get trapped in any place just because you died there. And frankly I think your “living ghost,” the life energy and intentionality you project and leave in your LIVING wake is far more important than where you die. We are trapped only insofar as we believe in traps. Ghosts or spirits or just human energy, life is where energy matters, as it warms the blood and invigorates the mind and body. I worry less about where I will die, and whether my “ghost” might be trapped, than that while living I am free in mind enough not to feel trapped or in a prison of someone else making. Freedom is a state of mind, an attitude. Where the body or the ghost is scarcely matters when your mind is truly free.

New Poem by Pamela Spiro Wagner

FIXING YOU – A REWRITTEN POEM

Recalling my month-long “treatment” at New Britain Hospital a.k.a Hospital of Central Connecticut on Grand Street, in May 2014, under the supervision of Dr. Michael E. Balkunas

 

Naked in restraints in New Britain Hospital 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only nine days after that last adders-pit hospital —

You still wear sunshades to protect others from you

though no one out here believes they are in peril.

 

Nevertheless, the staff there described you

as “assaultive,” dangerous to self and others,

unfit for company or visitors.

Neither accurate nor truthful

they wrote lies for the sake of their convenience.

 

Now you are a week from making new friends

in far northeastern Vermont,

in a place magically named the Kingdom

and it’s a move your bruised mind

requires, still unable to let go of

the half-nelson grip of hospital guards

bent on eliciting pain, who, when told to strip you

then four-pointed you naked to a mattress,

replaying their favorite rape scene,

yanking each limb apart to expose and humiliate, knowing

that the nurses’ own official policy was hands-off

and would protect their asses.

 

You want truth, you wish for reconciliation

but how, you wonder, does any Truth or Reconciliation proceed

when so many refuse to acknowledge

that hospital staff broke every rule,

stopping short of murder only

because you submitted nick of time,

your terror strangled in a towel they wound

around your head and face,

before they injected punishment drugs into your buttocks,

then muted the intercom and sealed the door

 

No one was ever there to bear witness.

That was always the point,

from your father to the hairdresser

and all the hospital staffs in-between.

They’ve made a religion of secrecy

and no one Outside wanted to know

what they didn’t want to know…

 

Call this, “our family business,”

call it, “a private shampoo,”

call it, “necessary treatment.”

they could always do what they wanted to you.

 

And when it broke you, as it eventually would,

when your sudden screams split the night,

and no one could explain what drove you

to empty your lungs,

ripping the air to shreds,

they stood aside and declared you

just “one of the family” now,

no better and no different than anyone else,

now that they’d finally fixed you for good.

 

Wonderful Birding Site features Pamwagg Art

Hi Everyone,

Do take a look at this site, both for my newest artwork, (only a detail  is the featured image above) which is featured at the link, and for the AMAZING pictures of the birds you can find there. You will learn so much from browsing at Hemant Kishan’s DigitalPlumeHunter blog, as I did when I was looking for photos of the birds I needed for this fractured portrait. DPH’s photos are so crisp and clear and beautifully shot they are artistry embodied. Just click the link below!

http://www.digitalplumehunter.com/2017/12/an-artists-vision-and-birders-passion.html

 

 

New art from Pamwagg, Fractured Portraits

Fractured portrait of Mott, in caran d’ache luminance pencils, 9 by 12
Fractured portrait of Mott, #7
Fractured Portrait done at Rutland hospital, Number 3 or 4 of aide named Lené
Fractured Portrait #6 caran d’ache colored pencils 9 by 12
Fractured Portrait #5
Einstein with Violin, fractured