Baltimore Sonnets

  Sonnet 18 - Unearthing a New 'Fair' "For my Sonnet 18 book, I was drawn to Shakespeare’s repeated use of the word fair, which is a term he summoned three times to describe beauty as shifting, resilient, and ultimately eternal. I wanted the cover to explore fair not as a fixed ideal, but as something gradually revealed and illuminated over time. That idea guided my use of layered embroidery, gemstone hues, and textures that feel both ancient and newly unearthed.  "The cover design begins with a metallic floral foundation worked in iridescent threads and chatoyant tones. This symmetrical base establishes the piece’s quiet shimmer, echoing the poem's opening comparison to a summer’s day. Above it, I added a second layer: a constellation of tiny prismatic blue glass beads and micro-sequins glowing like scattered sapphires. Their soft flicker creates a visual cadence, inviting the eye to linger as the meaning of fair unfolds. "The third layer intentionally...

The 20-Count Verse: In Sequent Toil “This week’s work responds to Sonnet 60, Shakespeare’s meditation on Time as a relentless force. I wanted to create imagery that reflects the fragile balance between life’s fleeting moments and enduring beauty. “The patterned geometry of a Turkish rug became the visual motif. By translating its intricate design on the book’s cover, I transformed a textile usually left underfoot into an object of contemplation, echoing the sonnet itself. Stitched on a 20-count Penelope canvas using the continental stitch, each deliberate motion became a parallel to Shakespeare’s craft: beauty shaped through patient accumulation. Each stitch a line of verse, each row a wave of time. “In Shakespeare’s sonnets, each line is perfected through inherited structures of meter, rhyme, and metaphor. In embroidered bindings, each stitch and pattern reflects generations of knowledge and care. Repetition in both is generative, creating resonance and subtle variation within a stric...

Violet, Purple, and the Puzzle of Sonnet 99 "Shakespeare is the master of riddles, and Sonnet 99 is one of his strangest puzzles. Unlike the traditional 14-line sonnet, this one has 15 lines and begins with a quintain, a quiet announcement that something unconventional is unfolding. "This poem begins and drips with color. Shakespeare first invokes violet, a spectral color at the edge of visible light. Then he quickly shifts to purple, which in medieval and Renaissance England was not simply a color but a symbol of wealth, power, and exclusivity. Purple dye was rare, expensive and reserved for the elite.  "The transition from violet to purple made me think deeply about the social and economic divides embedded not only in Shakespeare's world but also in ours. Language, like color, has hierarchies. Art does, too. Who is allowed access? Who understands the coded meaning? Who gets to speak in purple? "To explore this coded world, I created a seductive Violet figure, ...

 Shakespeare: In and Out of Time Linocuts printed on newspaper. This series juxtaposes Shakespeare's 400 year-old sonnets with the transience of daily news. Printed on current newspapers, these linocuts illuminate the tension between history and immediacy, situating Shakespeare's verse in dialogue with the present. Shakespeare's Sonnet 144 Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still. The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman colored ill. To win me soon to hell my female evil Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be turn...

What a joy to watch my niece, Jasaiya, give a compelling talk at the 31st Ezra Pound International Conference at Brunnenburg Castle, Italy. It was her first academic talk, and she discussed her research on American poet Ezra Pound and her future work analyzing his complex cantos. Jasaiya inside Ezra Pound's study at Brunnenburg Castle, Italy

Glyph and Gospel by Suzanne Coley Love's Not Time's Fool , 2025, Suzanne Coley In a recent production of  The Merry Wives of Windsor  at the Globe, I had the pleasure of seeing the minor characters deliver their lines in regional dialects. One actor, in particular, spoke as though singing hymnal gospel, in tones that evoked monastic chant or Catholic liturgy. He received a standing ovation. Perhaps it was the brilliance of the performance—or perhaps it was the first time Shakespeare had ever sounded like that. I looked him up afterward. On Instagram, the actor Samuel Creasey wrote, “The summer of dreams at the Globe.” That performance affirmed what I had been trying to do: to read Shakespeare not just as text, but as sound. Sound that resonates from the deepest part of the soul. Sound that remembers: church bells, complex organ music, spiritual vortices, harmonies composed of both joy and despair. In Shakespeare's sonnets, especially, I hear the  diminution,  a ...