Elizabeth Ivy Hawkins

"Skilled storyteller who can thoughtfully craft narratives, boil down complex concepts into succinct communication across multiple media channels. Relationship builder and experienced development strategist leveraging creative and strategic collaborations that stand out in a noisy world.”

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Here is the link to the full Ruminate Magazine Article:

https://www.ruminatemagazine.com/blogs/ruminate-blog/the-portrait

The Portrait, Selected for Publication on Ruminate March 2020.

I just received notice that, The Portrait, my story about being a young art student, has been selected for publication in Ruminate Magazine. It’s been a dream of mine to be published by this literary organization. Can I be bold and ask a favor—would you look for my work this March and share it with your friends?

Here is a sample reading:

I felt completely seen and understood when I saw her. The light fell dimly in the room where she was bent down on her knees, her thighs and calves supporting her torso and upper-body. Her legs seemed solid and strong, carrying her weight as she kneeled on what looked like a cold tile floor. Her body was turned to the side. From my perspective I could see every detail clearly: how her muscles and joints were pressing slightly against her skin. The intricate nature of her hands and feet were drawn with clarity and precision, the soft charcoal coaxing the firm roundness of flesh into existence. She was moving, her head coming down to the baseline of the image, moving her weight onto her haunches, then back to the floor again. She was completely bare, hovering over something unseen. The artist had drawn herself with part of her skeleton exposed, her skull rising above, yet still part of her. The movement of her mark-making, the gesture of her trained scribble, was used to create unity between her body and her bones. The movement of that scribble was like wind through a willow tree, or how sand must feel being sifted and pulled from the shore to open water.

This drawing was a departure from the images of women I was used to seeing. Airbrushed and Photoshopped, wearing peach colored lip gloss.  Women with impossibly arched backs pushing themselves into a pose, morphing into poster children for a Coke and a smile.  Or in the pornography I found hidden inside my brother’s nightstand.  These images were glossy and contrived.  I became spellbound by their celluloid nature, but also eerily repelled by them in equal measure.  I felt the weight of an ideal that was absurd, impossible to achieve.  This portrait was, by contrast, honest. It contained texture and dimension. Beauty informed by design and ineffable grit. Its splendid composition carried a story of what it felt like to live in a female body--and the contradiction and cultural weight that came along with it…

Where I Fell In Love, Published on the StoryGathering Podcast…

It was barely summer. The water was still numbing and cold.  But the day was splendid and warm. We followed one small river into a larger river, than through a large no wake channel that flowed into the big lake. The water was calm—a personification of glass as far as the eye could see, and the Brown Hornet skidded along its surface gracefully.  We stopped to watch the sun go down—the horizon filled with color.  I jumped in, my body shocked by the sudden cold, but I took one moment to ponder, to look at the boat above me, the expansive water around me.  I held this beauty in my heart.

It was when we left that we noticed the leak…

Listen to the full story here. Or read it here.