Flirting with Inanimate Objects: A Conversation with Artist & Poet Miriam Calleja

Miriam Calleja, the body prays for beauty but remains a shipwreck, 2025 

BPL recently invited artist and poet Miriam Calleja to discuss her exhibition stuck; lingering, currently on view at the Central Library. In the exchange below, Calleja considers the differences between creating visual art and writing poetry. She goes on to describe the steps she took to create one of the pieces in her show. The body prays for beauty but remains a shipwreck, pictured above, is a distinctive accordion-style book that incorporates lines from one of Calleja’s soon-to-be-published poems…

Q. In your experience, is the act of making a work of visual art different from that of a poem?

A. Visual art has become a different teacher from poetry. The tangibility of materials, the unpredictable nature of textures, and the timelines governed by things like drying, setting, or layering—all have forced me to let go of the (false) notion of control. I have always written my poetry long-hand, especially the first draft, but visual art is obviously more tactile and forces me to get out of my head. As a poet, I put pressure on myself to produce writing that eventually becomes better than my last book. In visual art, I’m in a place of exploration, and I’m hoping to remain there as long as possible. What they have in common is also clear, though, the trusting of an instinct that is found in the heart or the gut.

Q. Have you encountered any other differences between the two creative processes?

A. Much of what shapes this kind of work remains unseen. This is, of course, the same with writing and poetry. The work is in those hours spent contemplating piles of torn paper, the choice to leave a canvas untouched for days, or the willingness to let an unfinished idea stew in the back of my mind. Writing is the culmination of years of reading, learning, teaching, and experimenting. Both creative processes are the result of keen observation and the metaphorical or physical collection of material, subjects, thoughts, protestations, wishes, familiarity, and otherness.

Q. Did you have a clear concept of what you wanted the pieces in your exhibition to look like and/or communicate to viewers?

A. Unlike what sometimes happens with poetry, my finished works have not arrived fully formed. Their true nature is constructed in the quiet moments of hesitation, reflection, and waiting. I didn’t have a clear concept of what the pieces would look like, but I had a concept of what I wanted the whole collection to say. It was a matter of teasing out the vision with different materials. Almost all the pieces started off as an exploration and eventually I would understand which poem it connected to. There is a hidden architecture in every piece I create—a layering of trust, uncertainty, and patience (or lack of patience, if I’m honest).

Q. Could you elaborate on the role of patience in your work?

A. I will tell you now that I’m not great at waiting for something to be finished. Which, you might say, is in opposition to flirtation, where the outcome tends to be mysterious. I think I enjoy the tension between knowing and not knowing in a sort of sadistic way. And this is why poetry has been my medium thus far. Visual art is less forgiving in that way. Waiting is built into the system in many ways. I felt that this was the right time in my life to cultivate this new patience and allow the waiting periods to become spaces where subconscious connections were made.

Q. Could you please talk about the creation of the body prays for beauty but remains a shipwreck ?

A. With the body prays for beauty but remains a shipwreck there was no initial vision. It began with a simple act: attaching a few pieces of paper together, letting the edges meet, not worrying about the outcome. Why? I don’t know. I gave myself permission to proceed without an agenda—to let the process unfold (or rather fold!), one step at a time. There was time between each step, often days. And so, later, I made a few decisive cuts, creating slits whose function I didn’t yet understand. These gaps held possibilities—light, shadow, or a window for something unexpected to appear. Over time, I painted a panel or glued an image down, responding to the surface as it changed. Each addition was a moment of response rather than a strategic move. I often had to let the piece ‘rest,’ to wait for the shape or texture that would signal the right direction.

Q. Did you know beforehand which lines of poetry you would include in the work?

A. This slow accumulation of gestures—attaching, folding, cutting, painting, writing, sticking—became a private choreography. I actually thought of it at night. Each session with the piece revealed something new. In time, the poem that I would use to accompany the work began to reveal itself, too. Something about the folds felt like a search, a prayer. And suddenly it became clear.

Q. How did you come up with the title of the accordion book?

A. The paper piece, the accordion, felt like it would lend itself to the idea of rounding a corner into the unknown and hence a shipwreck, a voice submerged, searching and fearful (“Are you afraid? I’m afraid too”). The title of the work – the body prays for beauty but remains a shipwreck – comes from the poem "Your Shadow Invents You Every Time Light Fails to Pass Through You" by Michael Wasson.

Come check out the body prays for beauty but remains a shipwreck and other works by Calleja in the Lobby Gallery at the Central Library, where they will be on display through August 15. Read more about the artist and her exhibition at https://bplolinenews.blogspot.com/2025/06/poetry-meets-imagery-in-new-art.html. Stuck; lingering is made possible by a grant awarded to the Friends Foundation of BPL by the Alabama State Council on the Arts.

Written by Margaret Splane, Library Assistant III - Birmingham Public Library