Artist Profile: Karen Davis

Name: Karen Davis

Location: Draper, Utah

IG: @karun_the_wzrd

 

At only 19, Karen Davis has established her artistic style as one that gives the audience a peak into another world. She has dabbled in photography for most of her life, and recently began experimenting with complimentary poetry that gives the viewer an honest look into her mind. Below is a short interview with Davis, and samples of her work.


Tell us a little bit about yourself! When did you start writing poetry and taking photos?

I started taking photos at a very young age. I have always had a love for photography, and I have taken a liking to poetry recently. I enjoy letting my feelings out and maybe having someone relate to how I’m feeling.

Your photos all seem to tell a story, could you share what some of them are? Or the thought process behind them?

Most of the stories that I want to show through my photographs are ones that I want someone to look at and wish they were in. They’re an escape from my reality to a dream world! It’s everything I see, everything I would want my life to look like.

  

 

Are you behind the entire production of your images or do you collaborate with other people?

I generally have the subject do their own makeup or I will do it, but I have collaborated with a makeup artist and they’re fun to work with.

What would you like people to get from your work?

I want my work to inspire people. I want to motivate them and make it easier for them to express themselves. I want to support and love everyone for each one of the ideas and the creativity they have. I also want them to look at my photographs and wish they were a part of my own dream world.

I

northbound you were there

on the i-5 in the bushes sticking out like a petal in December.

ragged and wreathed, you are more than my wine bottle you are

under the skin, all over the highway, on my windowsill.

northbound you were there

and i was sulking like my father, all bruise-yellow and blue. 

undressed and in heat you are more than my agenda you are 

my entire week-

 

northbound you were there

in my sweaty palms like tear streaks;

I brushed you onto my jeans. 

BY MICA GREEN

Up

If only fear could fuel a rocket,

we could reach the moon in time

to escape these shadows.

We could bring the sun down to earth

to brighten our days in time

to watch them burn.

They would do anything to love themselves,

except love each other.

You would do anything to love them,

except love yourself.

If only hatred could melt metal,

no more bombs, knives, or bullets.

If only ignorance could feed the hungry,

what an abundant world we would live in.

If only greed could make life everlasting,

then there would be no need to be greedy.

Success for us is being better off

than the people who harvest your food,

produce your pleasures, and support the successful on their broken backs.

What if success was measured only

on the happiness of all mankind,

and not each individual man?

What if people cared more

about making a beautiful world,

than making their little worlds beautiful?

 

BY XANDER TERRELL

read more here

YOU HAVE CHANGED THE TASTE OF FRUIT

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It is impossible to be two places at once, he tells me.

I know this to be untrue. I do it all the time.

 

Hand on my waist; he has mistaken this for anchor.

Instead I am inside the rim of the light fixture, hiding

in the shadow between morning and night. In this light

he looks like you did when we were still new.

 

The night I found you left,

I ate 12 of your name. Skin and all.

The night I found you left, I ripped my mouth raw.

Brown bristles and black seeds lodged themselves between my teeth,

even fiber lasted longer than us.

 

I picked you out of fruit salad for months. My taste-buds have developed

more sensitive, I don’t think I could tolerate your acid, even if I wanted to.

 

BY OLIVIA SCARLET HOFFMAN

read more here

Eating Your Lover

She has an eyelash on her cheek.

I take it,

I keep it

on the traction of my fingertip.

I think

she thinks I’ll do something romantic.

I place the eyelash on my tongue,

I mouth, “Make a wish.”

I’m learning to talk

with an eyelash on my tongue.

I’m a little kid again.

She looks at me like I’m a cannibal.

I thumb up, asking got it?

She nods.

I swallow the eyelash.

Maybe that was romantic,

or maybe I am a cannibal.

 

BY XANDER TERRELL

read more here

Weights of the Mind

I pour my mind out and it runs down my chin,

promise me I won’t have to apologize

for packing one more sardine onto the damp Translink tin,

and dragging along the presence that silence has in a room.

Old stacks of National Geographic magazines,

the cold porcelain floor coloured like cigarette teeth by age;

a scale model of New York below my knees.

The bipolar water heater recites its idiosyncratic oath.

Fifteen hour days drag on like snow soaked leashes,

fifteen year friends that have spoken no words.

The same plain gazes, the same grey days,

grey stained shoes that run through excuses,

Aggressively average minds make masterpieces;

Locked behind lips– the words that were.

 

BY NOAH COPIAK

read more here

keep up with @copiaknoah on Instagram

WHAT IF I MISS THE EARTHQUAKE

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In the Mazda with my mother, I drive us to Home-Depot—

we are going to buy plaster to fix the uneven sidewalk in front of our house,

Not only is it an eyesore, she explains, but also a liability.

 

I teach her about the Wilson Cycle, told her the Himalayas

were once an ocean. Everything that is now something was once         

something else.

 

My mom is less interested in this than I am. She has seen more

shrinking oceans than I have, perhaps this phenomenon

loses strength over time.

 

I took a semester of Earth and Ocean Sciences, I know

the sidewalk is evidence of the eventual earthquake.

 

The fault underneath us will give way any day now. Mom emailed me

an article a day about our upcoming Armageddon until I told her I was losing sleep.

 

BY OLIVIA SCARLET HOFFMAN

read more here

Sleeping in Fire

I’ve always found solace in illicit hobbies

Wondering along to the tune of big what ifs

As I hide in by bed from autumn

 

Those colours burning on shivering roads

burning like cinnamon whiskey

rousing me from my sweaty sheets….

 

….as Dreams of an overcast sky

touch the pale skin in my favorite shirt

bundled and doe-eyed

so far away from me

 

I kick off my cover red and overheating

And that crimson kiss is still looming

Eating with cold fingers to my wheezing heart

 

Asleep i hear the song of trees undressing

Swaying in the loving embrace

Of liquor and autumn.

 

BY TOM LANE

read more @tompoetry on Instagram

THIS YEAR I LEARNED THE WORD SOLIPSISM

Is it unethical to anthropomorphize the Amaryllis outside the shed?

I’m asking for a friend. The domestication of wild has always struck me

 

as selfish and yet I picked a Geranium I found on my way home because its

veins reminded me of my own. Perhaps our plights are similar. Not native

 

in this soil, we are aimlessly spawning roots only to be met by terracotta borders.

I cannot keep myself from weaving my own neurosis into the stems of those around me.

 

I stay awake wondering, do Cherry Blossoms get nervous? Or if Leaves dread the fall,

do they miss Trees, are Branches happy they’re gone?

 

Is Ivy like acne? Do Buildings covered in vines just wish that the itching crawl

could stop, would they buy concealer and across the counter face wash if they had legs?

 

What does the Ivy think of this? Do they define themselves as

burden or beauty? Is my skin glass

 

or my eyes projectors? I am unsure how much of me is situated in arrogance,

unaware of my own dimensions. I am always in the way.

 

(Am I made of everything

or is everything made of me?)

 

BY OLIVIA SCARLET HOFFMAN

read more here