A Handwritten Life

tragedy is it wasn't me either, 21" x 30", ink, graphite, pigment, charcoal, paper, wood, unframed


I am the house that poetry built.


You only thought you covered me in stain.
You only thought you were the only one there.
You blinked! And love walked in!
He covered my blanket of stain
With the sweetness of dew in first light.
Oh, you were there, and so was He”
Rainmaker and the Flower



For most of my life, I was a shadow; wrapping myself so tightly in the images of others, I sacrificed any dignity just to breathe. Today, my work is a passionate and seductive theatrical dance of experience, prayer, struggle, questioning, and joy.


As survival is what I have always done, so, I continue to listen and trust her voice. Drawing my words within observation I find truth; and in truth; I find the transcendent stories of building beauty in my world.

“She bears the burdens of her experiences
while being annihilated with love.
The unacceptable object;
She is truth staring at the everyday.
She is an object on display.
Me, as I look into the mirror
and sense the long ago shame
creeping out the skin of my today”
Brave House Secrets







Holy Darkness
River of unbroken rigidity.
Resonate the overcast softness;
mitigate my distress.
Continue Reading “Within the Emptiness”

Connie Sales at the time this goes to press, has been taken ill once more and is currently hospitalised.  Her work is testament to the power and resilience of the psyche to move through trauma and will its own indelible landscape, in which, the artistic voice might flourish and inspire.
The Literati Magazine team wish her the best possible recovery
superhero(s)eeing the (s)uperhero
When grace stands tall . . .

PART ONE of Literati Magazine’s  “In Conversation”  series.

Photo credit © Connie Karleta Sales. All work published with the artist’s permission.