"So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies." ~ William Shakespeare
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Current: Danbury, CT, United States
Welcome! A few years ago, I discovered an application that artists employ in their works to bring cultural awareness to their audiences. Having discerned this semiotic theory that applies to literature, music, art, film, and the media, I have devoted the blog, "Theory of Iconic Realism" to explore this theory. The link to the publisher of my book is below. If you or your university would like a copy of this book for your library or if you would like to review it for a scholarly journal, please contact the Edwin Mellen Press at the link listed below. Looking forward to hearing from you!


I will present or have presented research on Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan) or my semiotic theory of iconic realism at the following location(s):

April, 2022: American Conference for Irish Studies, virtual event: "It’s in the Air: James Joyce’s Demonstration of Cognitive Dissonance through Iconic Realism in His Novel, Ulysses"

October, 2021: Sacred Heart University, Fairfield, CT: "Sydney Owenson’s use of sociolinguistics and iconic realism to defend marginalized communities in 19th century Ireland"

March, 2021: Lenoir-Rhyne University, Hickory, North Carolina: "Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan): A Nineteenth Century Advocate for Positive Change through Creative Vision"

October, 2019: Elms College, Chicopee, Massachusetts: "A Declaration of Independence: Dissolving Sociolinguistic Borders in the Literature of Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan)"

26 January, 2017

My Hands, a poem

Below is a poem with the theme of my use of hands, 
which some may think is archaic in this current era of technology:

My Hands

weathered pages of a centuries old book,
my fingers touch a piece of history
for this page was once turned by gloved fingertips
of a lady sitting by candlelight on a blue velvet chair
her cotton dress, flowing around covered ankles.
the strings of a vibrating harp, melodic echoes, soothe
the mind of my precious dog who lives to protect me
love me, comfort me. It's the least I can do for her.
dough that clings to each finger until I apply 
one more dash of flour to create 
the soft ball that will miraculously rise
to form into the sweet, aromatic sustenance of life: 
bread, feeding my family and friends.
a needle with just the right length and colour 
of waxed cotton,
slowly I turn remnant pieces of cloth
into a quilted memory to comfort 
through the warmth of artistry and pragmatism.
into rich, brown soil I plant a seed
water, nurture, protect until one day it grows
into a savory food, the source of my love's smile.
an extended hand, I feel the presence
of a life force, strength, our fingertips, touching
then brushing the tear from a child's eye
warm today, cold tomorrow
fond memory of the gentleness.
palm against palm, I sing a song
of praise.
I give thanks to my Lord
knowing His Love as undying, strengthening,
guiding my every step as I fulfill His Purpose for me.
from hand to heart.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

24 January, 2017

Out of the Fog

I took this photo in Dublin, Ireland, June 2009

out of a fog,
of flawed

© Jeanne I. Lakatos