Kristin Costa's Weblog

My roommate Gen and I were having a conversation about blogs the other day, as she is an avid blogger. We talked about how some people write more personal things on their blogs, and others don't. Gen and I are polar opposites in the blogging spectrum; while she is very open with her feelings and opinions on matters, I feel I tend to keep more of a distance between myself and anyone who reads my posts. I surmise this is because of the nature of my work, being that art tends to be an intensely personal venture in and of its self. To me, the simple act of bringing my art to something as public as an internet stage is a big move for me.

   However, though a lot of my paintings, drawings, sculptures, and poems are introverted exercises for me, my costumes rarely are.  (though be warned, I have plans for a series of costumes dealing with emotions in the works) 

    It has come to my attention that this blog as mostly talked about my costume excursions, and not very many other mediums of my art.  Consequently, due to a request from my roommate, I am going to post a poem or two. Perhaps I will post more in the future.

Rain Ghosts (Venice, 2007)

The voices we are not sure are in the walls 

or inside us,

they sound,

and call our names

when our backs are turned

to pour our prayers 

into the heavy belly of a queen

that no one has seen for years.

Voices inside us are pushing open our mouths

as we must compete with God in this place.

All the Ghosts here were brought with us,

and explore the house as we neglect them.

Here, skies will not hear my rain dances,

melting into yesterday without my knowing.

The sleep in this place is dreamless,

and though the wells have all been sealed,

my phantoms call to me from inside.

The Sculptor (2006 Inspired by Odd Nerdrum)

Hanging on the last breath of Tuesday,

he sits at the highest point and sculpts

as though the floods would come tomorrow.

He creates a people to survive the plagues:

storm criers, name singers, story givers.

The watchers and the wanderers.

Breathing life into legions of heroes

who do not know rain from earth,

he descends to sing the choral odes

that drive them all to dancing

With fingers and sound,

he pulls liquid song into smiles

and retreats to the top of the world

to begin crafting their children.