https://linktr.ee/stevenminchin

Steven Minchin, Lark Street, Downtown Albany, NY (2026)

10/14/2026

When hurt survives long enough, it can begin to resemble an achievement ... .

Trophy Hurt sets its traps between injury and ornament, where wounds are bronzed, elevated, and given pride of place.

Some damage stays buried.
Some hangs above the mantel.

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A kinetic pulse of crimson and shadow drives this visual poem by poet and artist Steven Minchin.

Where wide horizontal ribbons of fragmented, cut-up text border the top and bottom of the frame, pressing down on a harsh collision of black ink and deep red that flashes the warning: Beware . Poetry.

Cutting sharply across the dark space is Steven's trademark, a continuous, looping white cursive SM sigil. The poem's title, Trophy Hurt, emerges from the center, plunging directly into the kinetic verse as it reads:

Trophy Hurt

Get lost in, but don't trip on
this rouge hunt for b***y traps
this bent drive to hang landmines
like bronzed wounds waiting
high and marred above the mantel

End poem

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10/11/2026

An X for the unknown ... .

Some destinations can't be found. They can only be marked, again and again, against doubt, grief, and the long distance beyond us.

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A deliberate collision of white ink and black space opens the frame, anchored by the cursive letters of the SM trademark sigil engineered by poet and artist Steven Minchin. The sweeping lines of the S and M arc through the darkness before launching into a relentless sequence of kinetic poetry.

Block commands flash forward against a shifting background of repeated verses, urging the viewer to take this and go with a stabbing of your own.

This driving, rhythmic confrontation pushes through the interference as the signature tags hashtag SM and hashtag Steven Minchin lock into the bottom frame, leaving an X for the unknown before receding back into the closing sigil.

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10/10/2026

This's deliberate algorithmic su***de.

It takes more than 3 seconds to dismantle the machine.

Starve the scroll, step out of the hypnotic blur, and commit to the standstill.

This isn’t an engagement trap to inflate metrics.

If you find any art that actually snaps you out of the blur—save it. Share it. That’s how we build our own network and starve theirs.

If you want to bypass this feed entirely, say the word. I’ll send the work directly to you. We don’t need their algorithm to connect.

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10/10/2026

An intimate reckoning with the injuries that outlive their origins

Development of a Wound
» Some wounds don't heal with time.
They mature alongside us, intimate
and unsparing, growing into the lives
built around them.

«!»

In a harsh collision of glowing crimson lettering and pitch black space,
Poet and artist Steven Minchin delivers the kinetic text of the poem “Development of a Wound.”

The stanzas pulse in rhythmic, vibrating waves,

The glowing verses suspended over distorted, repeating background layers that shift and overlap.

The phrasing surfaces line by line,

Mirroring the relentless, aching throb of an injury that refuses to close,

Before culminating in the swift, sweeping strokes of Steven Minchin’s cursive SM trademark sigil.

The complete text of the poem is provided below:

Development of a Wound

and this is your aura
you’re an ever-present adolescent
powered by a damaged infant

something faltered
runs you
until you’re run over

your everything is stunted
and shining off of you
like demented personal history

you grow around a wound
that keeps growing
and leaves you aching

from four to forty-seven
aching
like disorders aging

END

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10/09/2026

Underneath everything, music is underneath everything. ...

And music is certainly the language under every language, because Ian McGilchrist in his book, "The Master and his Emissary", posits that human beings sang to each other for thousands of years before he innovated the technology of language.

And one of the implications of that is that when we sang to each other like dolphins or whales, everyone knew what everyone else was saying.

So we had to invent language in order to be able to keep secrets, in order to wall off information.

That's why we have all these different languages, Cyrillic and French and, you know, and Mandarin and all these divergent languages, because it's all to keep secrets.

It's all to wall off information and to lie for that matter.

So language at its core is for non-communication.

Music is the true communication under language.

And it's not to say that poets can't take language and change your life way for the better with it, but it also, their politicians can use it to destroy countries.

So listening, if you listen to tone and you don't listen to words, no one can lie to you. - T Bone Burnett

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10/09/2026

Don't Be Afraid . Poet ...Up

A big Hey and lotsa Thanks if you've recently started following

- and [of course] constant Love to those who've been with me.

So, I thought a little get to know me was in order so, I've engage Ai Apologist mode:

Steven Minchin is an Albany-based q***r poet, painter, and video and performance artist. For over three decades he has built a practice between page and screen — experimental poetry, cut-up and micropoetry, visceral poems that mix spoon, sludge and heat until tenderness and violence become the same thing, glitch ArtFilms that move between black-and-white and saturated color with strobe and kinetic text and sound, spoken-word transmissions, portraits overwritten with text, and as a collaborator in the Outworks project, small poems sealed in glass bottles and hidden in public for strangers to find.

His Instagram isn't like most. It's an archive to be explored. It holds the little moments we all share that crack open — trap doors to greater things, q***r intimacy, love and loss, the body under panic and apathy and illness, mental health and madness and perception, and language that won't shut up in open air.

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A harsh collision of black ink and blank space ruptures the visual field.

A silhouette of poet and artist Steven Minchin dissolves into the digital noise, overwritten by illegible text fragments that shear across the portrait.

Rapid cycles of light and shadow pulse through the distortion, tearing the image apart in a continuous kinetic rhythm.

«!»

also- be ready, I'm verbose. anyho...
...Thanks for Reading, Watching, Sharing, and Lingering. Please feel free to Linger.

Thanks for Being Here.
Thanks for Being.

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[ FYI:
the name of this film is: ArtFilm Blank : Poet Afraid ]

10/07/2026

A Collision of Raw Text in Digital Noise

Give some time to get to know me. Settling in for three minutes won't hurt, let the art lead and it won't go as slowly.

Let's strip away traditional polish to model the exact space between mental illness and raw creation.

A harsh collision of black ink and blank space pulses through the digital canvas, introducing the kinetic work of poet and artist Steven Minchin.
Dense, rigid blocks of text stack against the illuminated pale contours of Minchin's upturned face, yielding to scanlines that peel back the surface.

Words dissolve into raw noise. A bulb swings overhead, trapped in static, before the screen tears open into bleeding light, revealing a mechanical ellipsis.

The flesh of the composition yields to physical exposure, thrusting language into an industrial momentum.

For screen readers and anyone who missed the rapid flashes of text, the primary themes in this video include:

1. The Vacuum & Absence: Using grammatical elements like the ellipsis as physical boundaries to model the exact space between mental illness and raw creation.
2. Visceral Mechanics: Rooting emotion in tactile realities, bridging human flesh with industrial momentum where the physical body must "yield, to yield."
3. The Cut-Up Method & Glitch Poetics: Slicing and rearranging text alongside video scanlines to show how language cracks open when traditional polish is stripped away.

10/07/2026

« Halt a polished 95-credit resume
A polished 95-credit resume breaks against a distorted silhouette... .

[ VERBATIM IDENTITY RECORD // ARTIST BIO ]

● Thanks for Being Here.
● Thanks for Being.

ICYMI . ... Let Me Co Catch You ... .
Up on Me ... .

In 2013 Steven received his first Pushcart Prize nomination from Crack the Spine Literary Journal for the poem, Over Exposure. He has over 95 publication credits presenting more than 209 of his poems. In addition to poetry Steven paints, creates photo, video and experimental sense works.

Steven enjoys calling himself Steven and capturing things he’s seen almost as much as things he has not. To date he has quite a collection of both.

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[ the name of this film is :
Steven Minchin Prey ]

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Piercing white light ignites the frame. Thick, dark horizontal bands crash through the center, establishing a rapid mechanical stutter before tearing into the silhouette of poet and artist Steven Minchin.

The active, living body pushes forward through the colliding bands, holding focus inside the mechanical rhythm.

A formatted ledger starves the physical pulse of creation, demanding a predictable transaction over raw human connection.

Industry expectations force an artist, especially the dreaded poet to prove their worth through a sterile catalog of achievements rather than the kinetic reality of their work.

A pristine resume operates as a trap.

Don't you want experiencing art to thrive with the feeling of an ubrupt encounter with a living creative energy, not an audit of externally applied validity.

True creative agency refuses to be quantified by a metric. A metric cannot bleed, and the catalog dies the moment the physical collision begins.

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~ & His ~

10/06/2026

.ŕ. [ The Quenelle Method // ART INTO THE STREAM // Poetry Reading // SOUND ON ]

• The Quenelle Method

A terse, visceral recipe for intimacy and rupture. In blunt, ritual lines the poem mixes domestic gestures with a metallic insistence—spoons, sludge, heat—until tenderness and violence become indistinguishable.

The film stages these motions close and unflinching, asking viewers to watch how desire, loneliness, and craft collide. Stay with the work as it transforms the ordinary into something quietly urgent and strangely intimate.

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«ř»

ENDURE NOW ... .

«ř»

KINETIC ID:

BEWARE hits first, then POETRY, that's the first thing you're told, stark white against dark, sharply, unexpectedly. Then THE QUENELLE METHOD lands dead center, the title of the poem, holding, lingering, from poet and artist Steven Minchin.

Suddenly, lean, instructional lines that read like a recipe, but land like a confession, roll through the middle one at a time, tenderly and roughly at once, take two spoons, a bowl of sludge, scoop it up, pound the metal edges together, add heat, desire, a dash of lonely, repeat violently, serve intimately - each line holding a breath before the waiting dark takes it back.

Through it, a stark, unguarded face surfaces in high contrast and slips, eyes flashing, then gone, this self portrait showing itself briefly. The motion feels close and percussive, a slow press and release that holds its breath, dark bands sliding and parting with a quiet insistence.

Let that linger.

Linger with sound on, hear the full reading in Steven, the poet's, voice; experience its art thrust into the stream, this poetry reading that lives in eye and ear together.

Could it be that what stays with you and me is what's allowed inside?

There's a quiet truth that doesn't get named much, intimacy holds because lonely stays in it. It's easy to think you've gotta smooth away every unfinished edge before you can offer anything real. That's what art will allow, it'll allowed you to sit the other way, it lets that dash of lonely stay in on purpose.

That permission's where the piece lives.

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10/05/2026

» Smoke blown directly into the scroll catches wandering eyes on the glass.

[ ART INTO THE STREAM // ARTFILM + POETRY ]

'ey, here's a little poem to go with
this little film. It's love to provide you
with some sweet smoke to go with
it all, but you've gotta engage some
on your own too- so pack one and
enjoy. ...

[ btw : The name of this film is
ArtFilm is : Poet Up Poet ]

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V***r Creation and The Artist at Rest

Smoke begets smoke
and men who say begets

fading wisps of men
like this one
here again on flimsy pages
which are actually screens before men
this man here begets smoke
and lets it summon whatever
strings of men and other things
that it can get spinning
through any natural air
as if they where a toy
a frail whirl of a toy
here again at the end of a grip
that’s forever bound to this man
and all that he begets

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Rapid, erratic light and dark oscillations drive the digital frame.

Poet and Artist, Steven Minchin’s face dissolves and shifts beneath heavy radial bursts and raw distortion.

Bold block letters spelling POETRY overlay the moving image, anchoring an unstable visual transmission to the screen.

This blunt, transactional challenge launches directly into the algorithmic feed.

Pushing a physical hit of smoke directly onto the glass bypasses stale academic riddles entirely.

Deliberate mechanical traps pull passing eyes into a three-second digital grinder.

Physically anchored at the end of a tightening grip, the artist actively produces the output, the product to some, the ways to others, and watches the visual transmission spin wildly out of control, forcing the scrolling public into an immediate, physical exchange.

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Steven Minchin

10/14/2026

10/11/2026

10/10/2026

10/10/2026

10/09/2026

10/09/2026

10/07/2026

10/07/2026

10/06/2026

10/05/2026

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