Hermina Jiang
Poetry looses the dialect of my blood. I see human beings as walking volcanoes, waiting for their lava to erupt. Verses and images shatter the cage of the prescribed discourse of society and life and free the oppressed energy inside every single body – all flesh and bones. Very often I feel something larger than my heart striving to break this crimson cocoon – a butterfly of fear and anguish and joy and love. In moments like this, I sit down with my pen and brush and paints and markers and papers and walls, to find my way to talk about the universe.