Love, Your Artsy Girl

"Christian" graphite on paper by Cristina Querrer I t could have been you, as you always said. Be happy , you'd say, as you gallop across the waves in your toy boat. I could have drawn your form while you were sleeping, keep you immortal. There are no pictures of us to forget or adore, only Neptune now knows the truth of you. & he will one day spring from the sea after sundry sailors & foul fishermen who scrape the sea floor with careless anchors. Each day I sketch the shouts and screams of your sirens across your Pacific sunsets. Immortal only are the waters you rode on for the nets you cast, the bounty you caught never belonged to you. You must pay it back to the gods & those inland victims of yours at every port.

"My Archipelago" mixed media series by Cristina Querrer As if it's not enough to watch the island go under or watch myself float away. It's still there like some ancient ruin left by a mighty chief. I know what it may feel like to go back to a time. People don't look or act the same: just some scattered tribe speaking an old language, broken and poor by today's standard. It's not enough to watch myself go under hopping from isle to isle in search of the sailor, some ancient mariner who always had a heart of a stray animal ready to roll out his loot to impress the King as he raped & plundered the rest for his safekeeping. This is the same history of every remote paradise. The people are left wanting, waiting for the next ship & at the same time waiting for the white man to leave their island forever.

"Pohnpei Harbor" photo by Cristina Querrer I will come back to you without men who seek your women & waters. I will not come back to teach but to talk & sing with you by your rivers & waterfalls, take each climbing curve on your mountainside as meditation. I will come back on my own terms to know the real you — not as scientist, anthropologist, exploiting ex-pat, parish priest, or trans-continental company you're used to, but as mother & artist with Pohnpei poems I left behind.

  "Incantations by Twilight"  graphite on paper by Cristina Querrer It is not reliable—                     So neither Are all the times We depended On space and time To pin our meanings Inside milk cartons They go adrift And sink down And what rises and stay Are radioactive Dust particles, ingested In disbelief Like a tsunami Or typhoon victim Shock becomes the norm As deaf-mutes We gave up signing What is language But sketchy sign-stealing This is the result: I see you At the corner of my eye A motion A dark shadow In fits of bad dreams With no clarity As for telepathy? Stop answering—decoding— Speak through Phosphene air Halt all motor imageries More than hands, feet Once touched Space widens At its center Continents divide Further Emit now Or—else— Eternal memory

Fashion design has been my first love way before I knew about Fine Art.  I am a conceptual thinker.   If there is an opportunity to design something, I'm there!