5 poems Jaclin Hastings saw

Feat. wild berries and a beach stroll

Hello sweet readers.

I write to you from betwixt the clean sheets of a guest bedroom, a soundless ceiling fan stirring the air above. It’s been a stupid busy month and I’m looking forward to cultivating some slowness and reserving more of my energy for writing and creating.

But this morning, I am even more excited to share another edition of 5 Poems, the monthly series where a special guest shares five poems they found out in the world. Not words, necessarily, but the moments, gestures, vignettes, asides, and jewels of existence that resonates as only a poem could.

Today I’m sharing a conversation with Jaclin Hastings, a truly inspiring, multi-hyphenate artist who works and lives in Cincinnati. Jaclin is largely known for her work as a tattoo artist, but she’s also a painter, a poet, a photographer, and an illustrator.

I met Jaclin when I was a barista at a coffee shop called Landlocked (RIP). Jaclin was buying a truck with manual transmission off of Craigslist, but hadn’t learned how to drive stick shift yet, so I offered to help her pick it up. It was a charming first hang, and since then I’ve viewed her entire life as a poem of sorts. She curates her life with thoughtful tenderness, finding charm and value in moments, gestures, and items others might overlook. She’s a person who seems to see a story in everything, and I admire that.

Enjoy the interview, and the sweet, meditative poems Jaclin has collected for us. I absolutely love them.

(TW: There is a PG image of a pet burial, so you may want to scroll past #2 if you’re sensitive to such a thing. ♡)

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This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Katrina: When I met you I could tell immediately you were an artist. You just had that vibe. Were you creative as a kid?

Jaclin: The times that I felt creativity in the same way that I feel it now, I would follow these paths of… almost meditation. I was usually alone working on a little painting, or literally setting up still life sometimes. My grandfather did a lot of painting that way. And I just felt like, this is what my adult people do, so I'll try that too. And so I would do it in my kid way.

I also liked to make little books, like stories, but illustrate them. Which is funny, because I don’t really do that too much now. But I have followed a similar path with illustration and creating lyrical painting sometimes too, and sometimes writing.

So your grandfather was a painter?

Yeah. I don't know if he was formally trained or not, because he was an engineer professionally. All the paintings he did were very traditional in some ways—at least in subject matter. It was always a portrait of something, or a landscape, or recreating a classic landscape painting, and then some of his own too. He would work in oil, but he would also work in watercolor. Those were always a bit more impressionist still, like objectively sensing a portrait or landscape. But the way he used his washes was really quick and nice. I felt like he was one of the first examples of: you can do something traditionally, but you can also just play with it.

Do you remember any of the still lifes that you created when you were a kid?

There’s only one I can really remember, because I think I felt very proud of it. I was sitting in our garage—which was more like a little cottage—and it had this window without a pane, and I set up a little bottle with some flowers, and maybe I brought out a figurine I had. I can't remember exactly what it was, but it was kind of backlit. You could see into the garden. I don't know why I chose that spot—I think the seclusion of it, that it was comfortable, and I could just be there without interruption, just sit and look.

That sounds beautiful.

I have no idea where it is, but I do remember that moment. I remember looking at it when I was done and feeling very proud, and very accomplished. Like, this is what I set out to do.

Did painting from a still life and illustrating a story feel distinctly different to you?

Yeah, they did, and sometimes they still do. I’ve been trying to break that up a bit. When I was a kid the style that I looked toward were things like Lisa Frank and other illustrators that were available to us. I really loved the stylization of taking something and not trying to make it realistic. It just felt more fun. So I think my story illustrations were more inspired by that.

Were you illustrating stories that you wrote?

Yes. I think I still have this one I wrote about me and my best friend Lori. I made us dolls, for some reason. So on the cover is me as a doll and Lori as a doll.

So you went on to study art, right?

Yeah, I went to art school in Savannah, Georgia and I studied illustration. So I have my bachelor in fine arts with my concentration in illustration.

Was there ever a point where you were trying to decide whether or not that’s what you wanted to do, or were you always pretty set on that path?

My decision to concentrate on illustration came from an art teacher in high school. It felt like the best way that I could be somewhat marketable, but also keep a feeling of autonomy. I don't know it that I would have described it like that then, but that is definitely what I was feeling.

I started to minor in graphic design. I love design, but for me it felt colder. I couldn't attach to it like I could exploring with other mediums.

So that's where illustration came from. And then I had no idea what I was gonna do with it. And really, I didn't do too much with it after school. Here and there I did some freelance jobs that were pretty miserable, until tattooing came along five years after graduating.

Illustrating through tattooing has been great, but also I've gotten some jobs outside of just tattoo work with people seeing my work more often in that way. And that's been nice. It feels more curated, too. They like what I'm doing, and they trust me.

I think for so many creatives there’s this question of, how do we make this sustainable? There’s an impulse to monetize because you need money, and then you end up in a job doing something that's not aligning.

I got lucky because after college I didn’t do much with my creative side until tattooing came along. I had a few art shows with friends, but I wasn’t floundering in my creativity. So I got very lucky that tattooing came along. And even though I do love it, it has had to become something very specific, so I'm grateful for the mode in which I get to be creative through tattooing.

But if it were my only way of being creative, it wouldn't be sustainable for me. And unfortunately, it still feels hard to monetize doing a tattoo for someone. They are expensive, and that's known, but I think they should be accessible as well. So I always try to toe that line and, you know, make a living. But just enough, because I also don't want to burn out and not do anything.

So does tattooing make it feel easier to do other creative stuff?

Yeah. I would say it’s my only structure. [Laughs] I'm grateful for this job because I have to show up to these appointments, but it's also so flexible in that I make my own time. But yeah, it does offer me more structure, and also more stylistic structure since I have to curate this perfect style, this perfect line, this perfect shade and color. Then I can experiment more outside of tattooing.

Tell me what you’ve been working on.

Maybe it’s a rebellion against what I do in my day to day, which are smaller scale, typically very detailed pieces that won’t be any larger than your arm or leg in most cases… but I've been wanting to make big paintings. I've been working on one that is parts of my body. It’s about three feet by four feet, and it’s parts of my body dismembered—not necessarily in a gruesome way. There are other things going on in there, like there’s a basket, there’s a rose growing under one of my feet. But they’re all floating. Some of the items are interactive with the limbs, but the limbs themselves aren’t necessarily interacting with each other. So it’s like this exploded diagram-ish thing, but in a more dreamy, surreal way.

This pieces also is the first time I’m letting myself slowly work on something. There’s no deadline. I would like to have a show, but there is no current show, and that's okay. And there’s some writing involved, but not really.

I’ve been thinking about how I can incorporate those two, but I don't know if I really want a lot of words in the visuals, like in my last showing. I think there were eight pieces then, and some of them were inspired by either the poetic writings that I’ve done in that journal, or just entries about different things. I do want to share that, but it didn't feel like the time with those pieces. I haven't found a good way to do that in tandem.

But even through the titles, sometimes I think that's enough. You can express a lot through a title that's interesting.

Hmm, I’ve never produced a visual piece of art that I’ve named, so I’ve never really thought about titles in that way.

You don’t think your poems are visual, as well as your music?

Wow. I guess so. I have started thinking more about the titles of poems as a way to frame someone’s attention without having to be so direct in the poem.

Yeah. I also love when poems have the title as the first line, too. I love both of those things. Either it's separate and directing you towards something, like you're talking about, or the title’s the first line and you read it with the whole thing is like [snaps fingers] you’re right in it.

So tell me about your poems as a visual thing, as an accompaniment to visual art.

When i’m translating them to a visual they help focus me, even if they feel a little vague. When those poems come to me, as cheesy as that might sound—but it feels like kind of a dream state!—it’s just this thread that comes in. And so when I base my paintings off of that, I feel the foundation of that thread pulling me through the visuals too. Because I may start with some semblance of something I can imagine, but I never know exactly what it’s going to be. And I like that, too. Writing takes shape sometimes for me.

Just thinking about reading a poem, or writing a poem, looking at a poem, the shape of the structure really does make a difference in how you pace yourself writing it, how you pace someone reading it, like a gentle guide through. So I’m not sure exactly how it works when I feel imagery shaped by word. It doesn’t feel like something I’m conscious of when it’s happening. And even so, after it’s there, it feels like it will always keep shifting.

How do you set the scene in your day to day to let creativity in?

That I can’t force. I've tried. The times that I've sat down like, okay, you're going to go sit somewhere and you're going to make time to write—sometimes it works out, but most often those times end up in journaling time versus poetry time. Which can form into other things too. But the way that poems come it’s just in the softer moments. Either I am daydreaming or just walking somewhere, or even just the moments of total defeat when you're soft because you're done. They come in those moments where everything either has to fall away, or miraculously does fall away a little bit in the day to day.

So that's usually when they come, in the softer moments.

I wish they could come in the angry moments. But when I've written in those moments, it's not productive. I’ve gotta let that simmer a bit, and then maybe better words can come. It's just too abrasive.

What’s differences do you feel when you have the urge to work on a painting versus the urge to work on poetry?

They are very similar feelings. But writing feels like an all-at-once feeling, like oh I’ve got to put these words down right now. Visual work feels like a slow burn, slowly rolling into this idea. Not asking, “is it worth creating,” but asking “what is this for?” And then there seems to be a click moment where I think, “yep, there's enough inner content there to put it out visually.”

Who are some creatives you’re feeling really inspired by right now?

I feel very inspired by the local creative community. Just watching people do multiple things allows you to really try anything. Like, don't be afraid to try anything that's pulling you.

I feel inspired by musicians often because it seems terrifying to me. So vulnerable. Y'all just bare your souls, and I know it's probably also scary for you, but that's always been inspiring to me. So watching creative acts just around us here in our region.

But I think writers too, at least, that's just so on theme for me these days. I've been reading book after book, and the amount of effort it takes to write a book or create a book of essays or poems, whatever it is, there's just so much care and research and time. And then you just let it go.

Music, writing those things… watching people create in those ways and very boldly hold their words in it, that’s inspiring to me.

Photography, too. Seeing how people are looking versus what I see, or just that act of looking and observing and being very conscious about it, feels inspiring to me lately, too.

One of the things I admire about you is your taste for curation. Any time I go to a thrift store with you, you find the sweetest things. I just love the way that you find things and the things that you are drawn to and pick out. I don't know how exactly, but it feels like that has something to do with you as an artist.

That's interesting that you say that because I haven't ever thought about those two things linking. But I hope that they do because I feel like when I find something at the thrift store, that feels like joy. Like it’s this little prize. And I hope I can bring that into my art making. I try not to be so serious. Art making feels so serious sometimes. Even if it doesn't look serious, it feels so serious. So joy would be a nice thing to work toward. I should remember that.

I feel like I've heard you use the same voice about a little like figurine as you have used to talk about a little like tattoo you've done.

Totally. But they’re easier to appreciate than my cathartic art, I guess. [Laughs] It’s a different appreciation. They’re just more joyous. Those items feel easier to appreciate and behold. Like, oh the sweet thing. And especially because they are outside of me. Like tattoos, even if I’ve drawn it, it’s yours, it’s outside of me.

It’s hard to bring joy to my art, and I think that’s a good thing. Because it’s that processing, it’s facing that shadowy part, which I really love. But I do think I should try to bring a little bit more of that charm, the feeling of that joy of finding a little figure or beholding a sweet tattoo.

Does it feel heavy because it’s so deeply connected to your emotions, or because it feels like you have to make a big statement?

Both, probably. More often it is something based off of an emotional story. But the times that I make art, I do feel the need to give through it too in a more active way that is benefitting everyone. But I’m not sure how that works yet through my personal art. Although I think the act of just working through your own emotions too… like how many times have I connected with somebody else's work and thought it was beautiful just for the sheer vulnerability of it. That feels important also. It creates its own small community.

You mentioned early that the local community inspires you to try new things creatively. What are some creative things that you want to test out?

I want to focus a little bit more on photography, specifically dark room development. I took a class a couple winters ago, and I would like to play with that some more. And the silence of watching those negatives develop into a print is really beautiful. It’s calming. And sharing photos I think would feel really nice.

I want to focus on my painting, too. Typically I make things with acrylic paint, but I'd like to try to make some large scale watercolor paintings this year. We'll see where that goes. When I was in school for illustration, my media focus was watercolor and ink. But again, that was so so stylized, and the times I’ve used it for tattoos it was also very stylized. So I think I'd like to start playing around with that some more, and maybe even do some plein air painting, like setting up in a park or somewhere. Watercolors are a bit unforgiving, but also leaning into that would be a nice form of letting go and working larger eventually with those.

What’s the last thing you read that really inspired you?

I’m Currently reading Beloved by Toni Morrison. I had read maybe one of her books, Song of Solomon, like 10 years ago, but picked up Beloved recently. And I mean, she does not hold back, which I really appreciate. It’s really heavy, and a bit violent. And the way she writes is so beautiful. I have no other word for it, even though this story is sad and heavy and a bit gruesome. The way she brings it to you is so beautifully written, and the way she's not holding back details of things. It’s based off of a woman in Cincinnati, and the history of violence and slavery. Of course, the story is so important, and it is important to not hold back the details, too. She’s just so good. It’s simple.

It goes back, I think, to that feeling of watching people not hold back and go through with their mission. And that, I think, is what is inspiring to me.

I present to you five poems collected by Jaclin Hastings. ♡

1. Early evening light coming through my living room window

Every (cloudless) day, this beam of sunlight softly blasts through the window of my living room. Even through the lace curtains, it is so powerful! Its clarity has caught me decompressing many times. Five-thirty to seven-thirty depending on the time of year, it comes on with such a strength, like someone is beaming this light on me. Maybe they are? Whatever I’m doing, I lay it down. Stare back and let it bathe me.

2. Saying goodbye to Sunny

Grief will forever be a lesson-maker. I’m thankful for pain, I’m thankful for love, I’m thankful for pain...

I sat in a park about two weeks after we buried her body. To remember everything, I wrote about the day we said goodbye. When I reached this part in the photo, I had to leave the park because the sun was going down. The last line I wrote was this:

“And then there were flowers.”

3. Film

As a poem surges from somewhere, anywhere, so does a photo. Consider it a visual daydream.
Once you’re in the practice of looking, the days become quite full.

4. Elder couple on a beach in Costa Rica

This beach was abnormally desolate. It was overcast, misty, and at two weeks in the trip wasn’t going well. The mood matched the clouds.
Then this elder German couple emerged from close by. We exchanged some fellow-foreigner pleasantries and they kept slowly walking. Arm in arm, I watched them shrouded in each others company. Becoming smaller shapes on their way with no worry of destination. Simply happy together, walking.

5. Black-capped raspberries

Found ripening in the sun along the Miami White Water bike trail. Gratitude for what's given when you're not looking for it.