There are many things I go to when not writing that may lead me back to writing. One of these is visual art. I’ve loved going to museums since I was in my early twenties and have done so, until recently, without a presentiment of writing in response to what I’ve seen. More simply, I have gone to try to look at art as fully as I can. I generally prefer to do this alone, so I’m not pulled toward sociability or analysis. When I stand in front of an artwork, my main desire is to quiet my thinking and distract myself from myself. I want to take in what the artist is suggesting first, and for as long as I can extend the moment of looking, before my leaping mind takes over. This way of experiencing visual art is plenty gratifying on its own for me. I’m thankful if I can sustain, for even a few minutes, a thread between what the artist created and my consciousness. But sometimes a work of art will find a way into me and, if I have a notebook in hand, I’ll linger longer and jot down the language that impresses itself upon me. And then sometimes, at that time or more often later, in reflecting on my notes and with the workings of memory, a conversation between me and the art might take shape as a poem.
—Shara McCallum, author of Behold (Alice James Books, 2026)