Painting the Cave
Shawn Stradley
HGTV sends weekly emails showing 38 'what’s-trending' ideas to cover
bare walls. Not much different than Lascaux, jonesing to make
our mark. If not make it, buy it. Textile: two needlepoint parrots in oval
frames, hand-stitched by Grandma. Walk out to the fire pit. Pick up
a piece of charcoal. Mark making—Kilroy was here—that speaks
to authenticity. Monotype Diptych: The Geology of Language,
ink on paper, cream scribbles surface through the black. Indecipherable.
People grow restless. "Shelter in Place" mandates attempt, in vain, to prevent
the spread of something new. We just had to get out of the cave. Something
wrong with your cave? Not happy staying in. Going out, deadly.
Photos: black-and-white silver gelatin on paper, taken in grad school,
the abandoned flour mill, when you tried to be a photographer. There’s
no place like cave. There’s no place like cave. No place… if only
ruby slippers… Don’t be dramatic, all we really want is a fresh-baked
chocolate chip cookie. Shelter. Place. Warmth. Food. Sex. Marks. What
could the tally be? It could be feng shui, it’s probably just genius loci.
Spirit of Place. Who dances across shadow walls in candlelight? Oil
on raw linen: Two Naked Boys Dancing, painted by a bisexual artist.
To see Tous les Matins du Monde, the tragic film, somber viola da
gamba scored throughout, but not every sunrise. Enjoy what can be
seen from the kitchen window while eating oatmeal with blueberries.
Watercolor on paper: Rainbow Grid, graphed like an equation, gift from
a previous lover, painted when he was in junior high. A pot of black beans
boils on the stove. Biscuits bake in the oven. Mom’s crocheted afghan
drapes across the couch. Dad’s high-school wood-shop lamp lights the table.
Paper and twigs: Family Tree, leaves twitch in the slightest stir, branch
how we came to be born in this desert valley of poplar trees, temples,
irrigation ditches, though we descend from fishermen in the fjords. Home—
the golden egg—belongs only to you, to everyone. Solitude. Respite.
Protection. Tapestry: white ink on green cloth, mass-produced Dalai Lama
from a New Age reminds: Be kind. Whisper to every sun that has ever burned
and will burn for all brothers and sisters to flourish in caves of dancing
shadow. Acrylic on black velvet: dickered for around the fountain in Cuzco
town square, Machu Picchu, from the band of boys pretending to be artists.
This "kitchen sink" poem relies on couplets to control content, pacing, and enjambment, painting the cave. As a poem, "Painting the Cave" takes the simple idea of home into the breakthroughs that formed a part of 'interesting times."
SHAWN DALLAS STRADLEY grew up in Utah and California. He holds a B.S. in Horticulture from BYU, and a Master of Landscape Architecture from University of Colorado. In 2013, he earned an MFA in Creative Writing and Translation from Vermont College of Fine Arts. Shawn began writing poetry at age 16. His mystical fascination with the natural world weaves throughout his work, and mixes with the urban. Shawn became active in the Utah poetry scene in 1997 and published his first full-length poetry book in 2003: Beyond October (Black Rock Books). Shawn has worked with poets and artists to produce chapbooks and a collaborative catalog for the art exhibit, The 9 Muses. Two chapbooks of Shawn's poetry were published in 2025 by Moon in the Rye Press, Fragile House and a group collaboration, When Cupboards Open. His poetry has been published by City Weekly, Exit 7, Panorama, The New Era, Nine One One, The Poeming Pigeon, and My Kitchen Table.