April 29, 2021

Good morning,

It’s not yet 8 am and I find myself already engrossed in Rachel Mennies’ the Naomi Letters.

This surprises me, not because I was questioning the greatness of the book, I wasn’t— I’ve known Rachel is a brilliant poet since the summer we met, when we were both seventeen…

It’s just that I had assumed this morning would proceed like the long string of others before it. I’d quickly finished a routine bowl of cereal, and filled my favorite, cracked mug with coffee —on which I both consistently depend and- with equal consistency— absentmindedly let cool beside me—

I then picked up and began the Naomi Letters.

What I mean when I say that I was surprised is that I have not been engrossed in poetry for a long time. 

In general, it would seem that I had resigned myself to being an absent reader, until this morning.

Poems tend to call for a quiet and open attention. It’s true that I’ve always had a somewhat unreliable attention span. However, it’s been particularly scattered and panicked for many months. Perhaps yours has, too.

It is therefor an unexpected and powerful realization that occurs to me now: Rachel Mennies’ poems are somehow calmly, effortlessly & yet actively holding onto my attention. 

They’ve called me to be present. I cannot help but sit in awe as I think about it.

It’s been so long. I wonder if perhaps I’d subconsciously decided that my capacity as a reader had recently become permanently diminished…

So much has happened. I’ve heard from a number of sources that we’re all—to varying degrees—grappling with “cognitive fog.” While I guiltily felt reassured hearing this news, the worry at its permanence also ran in tandem over the weeks and months.

With all of this in mind, it kind of stuns me now that I am focused on Rachel Mennies’ poems, even captivated by them. 

I love being hit by a thrilling line. Hers are knocking me out one after the other, and yet they're quiet and intimate. To feel such intimacy in my solitude, such frightening honesty--it really is thrilling.

It is a gift in itself that I get to read the published work of a friend; especially now. But on top of this I find another powerful discovery-- that I did not realize how badly I needed to read poems like these at this tumultuous and untethered point in my life.

I feel like a lost part of myself has been given back to me.

I didn’t realize this until now, the joy it is to quietly read and simply trust in the author’s direction. This demands from the writer a tremendous and vital quality of warmth. I feel it right away, an opportunity for connection, perhaps because I have been suppressing my own desire to be understood.

I’m sitting here reading the Naomi Letters and I trust the writer completely.

Thank you Rachel—not only for the honor of having my drawings on your cover,

but also for reminding me of my own need for poetry.

Love,

Frances

Hello,

There is much that I would like to tell you. I’ll attempt to begin here as straightforward as I can.

Heads up, clear and concise speech has never been my strongest attribute. Perhaps you’ve already gathered this about my writing (*insert laughing with a bead of sweat emoji here)-

It is of no service to anyone for me to attempt summarizing what this past year has wrought, especially as I have been fortunate enough to have some time and support (both financially and emotionally) to continue processing it — at least somewhat — on my own terms (again, somewhat)- it is also still happening—

“There is no arrival.” - My therapist (a resource I am tremendously fortunate to have) repeats this phrase often. At times it is encouraging, at time it is haunting. I am still learning to make room in myself to recognize and feel the presence of both truths.

That said, it has been stirring to see the practice of making art (in increasingly brilliant and dynamic forms) provide moments of recourse to both its creators and its audience. It has also, in my opinion, opened up an invitation to confront and process discomfort— even pain. I have been trying to sit with my own discomfort. It has been difficult to do this using words.

Regardless, the innovative and tireless efforts of others has encouraged me to be creative in a way that feels truest and closest to me. I am grateful to these numerous artists, as well as to you.

Perhaps you also feel more at home within yourself when you are drawing or painting. That’s been the case for me. I see no reason now to keep this practice as quiet as I used to. It is an undeniable piece of who I am, who I have always been. It’s when I feel most free.

All of this being said, below is my statement of intent regarding the creation of this site:

Every so often, on other platforms I have been asked whether I sell my artwork. The answer I’ve generally given is that I would like to, someday, but have been nervous to pursue it in more concrete terms. While this on some level remains true, a growing part of me insists that I make greater efforts to move past my anxiety. So here we are, and here is my work.

Some of it is for sale, some of it is just to share. I will be updating and posting new (and not so new) individual pieces and series as I am able.

Regarding the work for sale: I will be shipping all of it myself, and shipping artwork is a painstaking and careful process, so I ask ahead of time for your patience as you place orders. Currently, I ask you allow a week before the shipping of work.

My goal is for this to become a practical and sustainable way to begin selling and distributing my work directly to anyone who is interested.

Thank you for visiting the site, for your kind messages across varying platforms throughout the past year, and for reading this letter.

Best wishes,

Frances

P.S. This website was designed by DFP. I am eternally grateful for their efforts, talents, patience and friendship. Celina and I met in January of 2007. It has been a gift to watch her and Doug’s company grow and enrich artists and communities around Austin, TX, and elsewhere, and a thrill to collaborate with them now. I highly recommend their expert work to creatives across disciplines.