"Mother Memory" (Art Exhibit Series, 7/10)
Toti O’Brien
The following is part of the Mother Memory art exhibit series, a pairing of literature with art curated by the exhibitor, Toti O’Brien. Oyster River Pages is pleased to present this series in weekly installments.
The enigma of the narrative voice in Cindy Rinne’s poetry has always intrigued me. I am compelled by the mystery of her expressive subjects, part human (mostly gender neutral and ageless), part mythical. Simultaneously familiar and alien, they are caught in a temporal interregnum where past and future collude. Rinne’s verses exude traces of ancient wisdom and civilizations bygone—they are infused with memories even older, pre-sapiens, pre-homo, with primeval impulses of life still inchoate. But the archaic mood is randomly intersected by a sharp feeling of “post,” and everything seems alien, uncharted. We have the impression of landing on virgin territory, unexplored or rather residual—on a new planet, or instead among the sublunary ruins of a bombed town. The present, as we know it, is absent. It’s a hiatus, a rift that Rinnes’s voices painstakingly attempt to stitch over. Her sudden incarnations (appearing and then vanishing in a whiff) are always in motion, on a quest, in constant transition or rather transformation, metamorphosis. They are always patching fragments, their own and those of whatever surrounds them, recomposing a puzzle of which they have lost the template, re-searching ancient harmonies or inventing new ones—as it happens, in psychological terms, to survivors of personal or collective trauma. Nature, always dominant in Rinne’s poetry, is what bridges over the chasm, allowing sacred relics to be lugged from lost before into the unknown after. But nature is offended and wounded. It is strong and resilient, yet bleeding. Nature helps, but also needs help.
Soundscapes
by Cindy Rinne
Apollo’s snakes hiss in
Cassandra’s ears with
prophecies no one later
will believe Chaos in
my body listens for secrets
of the dark
I cup my ears
Echoes map the landscape
red rock pinnacles temple
pillars Goose honks wisdom at
sunset
Witches chant gather herbs
to heal ginger calendula
fennel
Plants grow from my legs
I paint their presence with my song
Vocal memories of my
lineage whisper what was
and returning
I massage my earlobes
Silence calls me
Toti O’Brien | Úlfur Dottir (detail) | Mixed Media | 2025
Úlfur Dottir (Daughter of the Wolf) belongs to a series of artworks that employ all sorts of luggage. First inspired by souvenirs of my mother, I meant to call it Intimacy. Though the title has changed, the piece might still hold maternal residue—intimate, as well. Not sure. Resonances shift as we work—they expand, or they suddenly espouse an unforeseen point of view.
The two halves of a baby chemise—the front and back of the garment, not quite specular, iron stained, dotted with rust—are sewn to the internal surfaces of a trunk. They are completed each by a set of objects. The two sets might belong to a same narrative, but they are distinct. From the left half-dress sprouts a curvy cage/balcony, solid, but not necessarily binding. To the bars is attached a feather, ready to go. A silvery spiral carves the laced central trim, sternum-level. An eye floats above, closed or not. A tubular cord connects torso to torso. It is light, flexible, shimmering, lunar.
Among different kinds of remembering, I’m awed by the preverbal one—what remains of our first impressions, immune from preexistent narratives, not translated in words (hence excluded from memory proper), nevertheless engraved in our body and our neural system. In particular, I am enthralled by a yet more ethereal trace, that of the lost twin. During pregnancy I have learned that almost all conceptions are double, but an embryo is unknowingly expelled, almost always, at a very early stage. I’d like to believe that this brief traveling companion leaves a mark, an indent—a minimal scar, a nostalgia unexplained—a soft, incurable longing.
Cindy Rinne lives in San Bernardino, CA. She is an interdisciplinary creative in poetry, performance, zines, fiber art, and collaborating with musicians. Rinne was awarded a writing residency at the Chateau d’Orquevaux in France. She performed Dancing Through the Fire Door during the PAMLA conference at UCLA. Her performance poetry has been experienced at LA Artcore, Los Angeles, CA; MOAH (Museum of Art & History) and MOAH CEDAR, Lancaster, CA; OCCCA (Orange Couunty Center for Contemporary Art) Santa Ana, CA; “Feral Fusion” at the Beatnik Lounge, Joshua Tree, CA; The Little Gallery, San Bernardino, CA; and the GOAT Gallery, Landers, CA. She has published over 15 poetry books. Her poems are published in journals worldwide. https://www.fiberverse.com/
