Vas Littlecrow Wojtanowicz

The Original Lyrical Trash Artist

April Is National Poetry Month

I'm a multidisciplinary artist and the creative director at Velvet Rasputin LLC. I enjoy building bridges between people of diverse belief systems, cultures and genders, while engaging in pursuits that reflect my love for research and learning. I don't turn trash into treasures, I believe that trash is a treasure that others discard.

Why trash? Isn't TRASH BAD?

Trash is any object, person or form of art that's denigrated because of its social unacceptability or perceived lack of value. Things and folks deemed as "trash" tend to be demonized as "gross" or "dirty" before being discarded or ignored. Trash in it of itself can be or not be these things. Sadly, most people don't give it a single thought before tossing it out.I on the other hand, do care. I am here to show that trash isn't something that artists need to turn into a treasure. Trash is a treasure, in it of itself. It's simply misunderstood, messy and sometimes broken. I've been there, so I want to collaborate with trash and showcase its wonder.

I'm a queer Afro-Indigenous Boricua artist, cat parent and multidisciplinary artist currently residing in Rice, MN. I began experimenting with DIY neurohacking, assistive technologies, trashy art and healing traditions in my early twenties to cope with mental illness and addiction. Now a teetotaler in a happy household dynamic, I continue to use creative expression, identity explorations and technology to explore the boundaries of the human experience in our world.In spite of my cantankerous exterior, I enjoy building bridges between people of diverse belief systems, cultures and genders, while engaging in pursuits that reflect a love for research and learning. I’m a lyrical trash writer, heavily-influenced by b-movies and Christianity, as well as the kink, punk, goth and zine/mini-comics subcultures. I find great joy in community building, nature and rural living, as well as elevating the wonders of trash.

Adventures With Vas

I love connecting with folks and sharing my experiences with them. Learn about what I do.

• Events
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• Praise

Events and Appearances

Using AI Ethically In Poetry
Great River Regional Library, St Cloud, MN - Saturday, 5/6/2025
6:00 p.m. – 7:00 p.m.
AI technologies are everywhere, and many poets can't wait to explore their potential to elevate the creative process. But, how can conscientious folks take advantage of these innovative tools without plagiarizing, harming fellow writers or churning out AI slop that turns readers off? Is the ethical use of AI even possible for a poet? Multidisciplinary artist and poet Vas Littlecrow Wojtanowicz, will teach folks committed to using their authentic voice, how to use AI as a labor-saving collaborator, rather than as a soulless content generator, without infringement or creative laziness.For more information visit: https://www.mnpoets.org/chapters/great-river-poets/

National Day On Writing: Get To Know Cinquains And Rice's Trains
Royalton, MN - TBA
Join award-winning Minnesota poet, Vas Wojtanowicz, as we take a historical locomotive ride for our National Poetry Day Celebration! Find inspiration in Delano's fascinating railroad legacy as we learn how to write the cinquain, a Japanese-inspired American style of poetry. (All ages.)

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Praise For Vas

Local History and Poetry Presentations
(Anonymous Feedback From Actual Participants)
❤️ "Vas is a joy to work with."
❤️ "I learned that poetry doesn't need to be hard in order to try it."
❤️ "(I) learned how to write poetry."

AI Ethics For Creative Folks Workshops
(Anonymous Feedback From Actual Participants)
❤️ "Great job translating the topic from nerd to normal people English."
❤️ "A lot of energy, tons of info."
❤️ "Knowledgeable about AI in artistic spaces."
❤️ "WOW! A ton of information. Really happy to have the thorough handouts to refer to at any time. Great job!"
❤️ "Excellent presenter. A lot of good information to refer back to. The insight was great, and the presenter was very engaging."

Writing In Search Of Identity Mini-Retreat
(Anonymous Feedback From Actual Participants)
❤️ "Great job, Vas! I really enjoyed the space and the diverse community. I felt relaxed and glad to be there. I liked the stickers etc. and playful activities. I LOVED the food, snacks, and the connection with your family's recipes and traditions."
❤️ "Helpful: Getting the 2 halves of the equation 'right': the intimacy of exposure, and the art of telling."
❤️ "I have never been involved in a writing retreat and I was unaware of the different ideas that could give me inspiration."
❤️"I think it was an amazing presentation. I think you should expand the presentation to other cities."

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Vas Littlecrow Wojtanowicz

Recent Relevant Experience

Get To Know Cinquains And Delano Trains
Delano Great River Regional Library | Delano, MN - 4/24/2025
Research Delano's history; facilitated historical poetry event and provided instruction on how to write a cinquain.

Using AI Ethically In Creative Fields
Rosemount Area Arts Council
Writers Festival and Book Fair | Steeple Center, Rosemount, MN - 3/15/2025
Presented on the possibilities and pitfalls of artificial intelligence, while minimizing harm when using it as a poet. Presentation included discussion and a live demonstration.

Using AI Ethically In Poetry
Blizzard Writers' Poetry Retreat | Wykoff, MN - 1/23/2025-1/26/2025
Presented on the possibilities and pitfalls of artificial intelligence, while minimizing harm when using it as a poet. Presentation included discussion and a live demonstration.

CARE Workshops
Community Anti-Racism Educaton | Various Locations - Greater St. Cloud Area | 10/29/2024; 11/4/2024; 2/1/2025; 3/28/2025
Served as a documenting artist and facilitating artist for Lyricality to help participants create sensory tools.

Writing In Search Of Identity Mini-Retreat
Wildflower Terrace, Sauk Rapids, MN | 10/19/2024
Co-facilitator; performer; created limited edition journals for distribution to participants; co-created educational materials; handled accommodations for disabilities and neurodiversity; provided hospitality to participants.

The Ghost Village of Langola: A Spooky History and Poetry Adventure
Royalton Great River Regional Library, Royalton, MN | 10/18/2024
Facilitated event; researched the history of the Village of Langola and scouted potential location; created educational handouts; carried out presentation; educated participants on Fibonacci poetry.

Open Door
Crossing Arts in collaboration with Lake County Journal | Central Lakes |College Library, Brainerd, MN | 10/12/2024
Second prize winner; poetry reading; poem published in Lake Country Journal October/November Issue

Folk 2 Folks
Lyricality | Great River Regional Library, St Cloud, MN | 10/12/2024
Facilitator and historical researcher for "How Cowboy Poetry evolved into Hip-Hop"; created educational materials

Hispanic Heritage Celebration
Hispanic Heritage Planning Committee | Lake George Park Complex | 9/14/2024
Poetry reading and storytelling

Fruity Poetry Workshop
Private Writing Group - Even Hotel, Rochester, MN | 8/30/2024
Presenter and performer

Anti-Racism Wellness Check For Community Anti-Racism Education
Community Anti-Racism Education | St Cloud State University St Cloud, MN | 3/26/2024 and 4/25/2024
Served as a documenting artist and facilitating artist for Lyricality to help create a community piece.

Art of Transformation for Greater St Cloud Leaders
Saint Cloud City Hall, St Cloud, MN | 4/22/2024
Served as a facilitating artist for Lyricality and helped guests create sensory sticks.

SCRAPS
Saint Cloud City Hall, St Cloud, MN | 4/18/2024
Served as a facilitating artist for Lyricality and helped guests create sensory sticks.

What's In A Name?
Lyricality | Great River Regional Library - Saint Cloud, St Cloud, MN | 3/12/2024
Served as a facilitating artist for Lyricality and helped guests create sensory sticks.

Cracked Walnut Literary Festival
Great River Poets/Lyricality | Great River Regional Library, St Cloud, MN | 10/28/2023
Performing Poet

Great River Poets
First Tuesday Workshops | Second Street Coffee House, Sartell, MN | 10/3/2023
Freaky Fibonacci Workshop

Royalton Library Summer Camp 2023
Great River Regional Library - Royalton, Royalton, MN | 6/21/2023-7/26/2023
Assisted with event planning and instruction

Poetry and the Art of Connection
Poetry of Transformation Healing Writing Cohort Public Presentation | First United Methodist Church, Sartell, MN | 4/30/2023
Poetry reader and event participant

Royalton Library Tiny Art Exhibit
Great River Regional Library - Royalton, Royalton, MN | 4/3/2023-5/31/2023
Created an exhibit of tiny art to inspire patrons to create their own items for the second phase, served as a media ambassador, and helped set up and take down the patron exhibit.

Recent Grants and Awards

Central Minnesota Arts Board
Fiscal Year 2025 Learning Grant Recipient

Lake Country Journal
2nd Place 2024 Poetry Contest Winner

Comprehensive CV Available On Request

Need A Creative Helper?

I love doing presentations, collaborative events, educational events, public speaking engagements, facilitation, demos and readings! Here are some of my favorite topics that I feel pretty confident about:

Want to see what I've done lately? Check out the resume page.
Interested in what I have to offer? Contact Velvet Rasputin LLC for more information.

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Lyrical Trash Art

Artist's Statement

Lyrical Trash Art

The lyrical trash art creative movement is heavily influenced by Boricua (Puerto Rican) folk art, American late 1990's New Age jewelry making, Mikhail Larionov, underground comix, 1990's 'zine aesthetics, the lyrical abstraction movement, the fluxus movement, punk DIY-ethos and queer/fetish/goth fashion.Originally, I developed a multidisciplinary sort of naive fiber and wire art that I now call "lyrical trash art". It was born out of desperation when I searched for food inside my apartment building's dumpster, after reaching the lowest point in my life around late 1997, and early 1998. There, I found art supplies and hope. The first pieces were made of leftover beads, wire and, sometimes, rocks. When I sold my first piece at a consignment shop, I finally saw a ray of hope. At that time, poetry provided me one of the few creative outlets I could afford.As time went on, I began using this technique to make more practical things, like puppets. I have included some of these early pieces in my portfolio to show my work's evolution and the consistency of my style and voice.At the time of what's was known as the "smuttery and puppetry period", around 2005, the Catnose Comics collective collaborated with UK-based shock art collective, SBE. In this context, lyrical trash art gave shape to a more extreme and socially unacceptable adjacent movement known as "gutterotica", which mostly centered mostly on socially conscious, but grotesque adult comic art. Proto-gutterotica however, can be traced back as far as 1985 to the Phantasy Star fanzine, "Mini Misfits of the Motavian Moon," which in turn was inspired by two separate 20th century Japanese art movements. If you are interested learning about gutterotica's guiding principles, you may read The Gutterotica Manifesto. Warning: contains vulgar language, upsetting topics and a confrontational tone. Recommended for 17+ readers.The original version of lyrical trash art further evolved with influence from my comic art and neural style transfer photography collaborations with AI (examples of both are included as well in my portfolio). Ultimately, lyrical trash art has evolved towards a more multidisciplinary mindset than a single approach towards creativity.From inception, lyrical trash art has most-often involved the wrapping of objects with textiles or wire as a stimming activity that I could easily hide from judgemental neurotypical eyes. Lyrical trash art's gaudy color schemes and chaotic patterns reflect the experience of my tactile, visual and auditory hallucinations.The most practical use for lyrical trash art and its variants is trauma processing. It is above all, a tool for healing.

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Lyrical Trash Lyricism

Some lyrical expressions feature vulgar language, sexual references, potential triggers and controversial themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised with suggested minimum age indicated.

• Song and Spoken Word (17+)
• Poetry Samples (14+)
• Published Work Online
• Published Work Offline
• Events

Spoken Word and Music Reel

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Sample poems

How my identity informs my writing (Or, my bio)I write to survive, to prove I exist:Living in Trump country: rural Minnesota.
With my gentleman and my lady.
I leave town to find more community.Called myself mixed before I understood that
Humans aren't food items to be blended,
Into becoming unrecognizable mush.We aren't salads to be chopped and covered
In thick dressings that hide individual flavors,
After prioritizing supremacists’ favored veggies.Identities are multifaceted and integral to me,
A Boricua gem: Taino, Yoruba, Mali, Spanish,
Arab, Celtiberian, Portuguese and much more.Gems come from Earth, and I unearth more
Identities: still as integral as these ethnicities:
Queer, neurodivergent, creative, a dreamer.Schizophrenic and I don't trust reality.
Autism demands a thorough examination.
I interrogate, investigate and deconstruct.Need assistive tech: I’m a nonbinary cyborg.
Intersex but gaslit by society into being an F
I mistrust that F, because my body knows.Mother Earth revolves, evolves, erodes, erupts...
It moves like a living thing, not ready to be devoured.
We’re made in our Creator's kaleidoscopic image.So many parts on a single microscopic gem
Interacting with so many gems forming Earth.
Human beings are made in their multifaceted image.I am therefore I write.

45 Minutes Past The AlarmQuietly stimulating myself to quell slumbering overstimulation,
Lying in bed at once dreading and anticipating another day of life.
Am I meant to stay here nestled in flannel and warmed by rumination?
Or do I get up, face the day and begin a new birth of creation?

I'm an adultI don't want to be in a patriarchy:
Fathers don't always know best.
I don't want to be in a matriarchy:
Mothers sometimes can't nurture.I'm an adult done with paternalism.
I lust after my greater autonomy.
I don't need empty parochialism,
I shine as a big picture researcher.

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PUBLISHED POEMS ONLINE

This is not a comprehensive list of my published works, as it does not include lost media, zines or self-published works. If you know of other works that should be listed here, please contact me.

Sherbourne County History Center
Poetry Showcase Voting - 4/1/2025
A Postcard For TenaNew Member Introduction at Love First United Methodist Church
12/12/2024
Testimony Poem - First Draft - timestamp: 45:47- 47:25

CARE Artifacts
Anti-Racism Wellness Check - 4/25/2024
Shark Teeth - A CARE collective anti-racist poetic parable in conjunction with Vas Littlecrow Wojtanowicz, a facilitating artist for Lyricality.

CARE Artifacts
Anti-Racism Wellness Check - 3/26/2024
The Center is in the Margins - An accidental collective chatbook - Antiracism Wellness Check for CARE - 3/26/2024.

FUMC Newsletter
January 2025 newsletter
Testimony Poem - Final VersionNew Member Introduction at Love First United Methodist Church
12/12/2024
Testimony Poem - First Draft - timestamp: 45:47- 47:25

Lake Home Journal Poetry Contest 2024 (2nd Place Winner)
October/November 2024 Issue
Blue Skies of Possibility

Multiracial Activist
11/01/1999
Smart Cookie
Puerto Rican Woman

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KNOWN PUBLISHED POEMS OFFLINE

This is not a comprehensive list of my published works, as it does not include lost media, zines or self-published works. If you know of other works that should be listed here, please contact me.

St Cloud Star Tribune
4/15/2010 - Page 37
Hula Hooping In The ParkRed Weather
Spring 1997 - Page 11
Thus Spoke The Fallen TelevangelistRed Weather
Spring 1995 - Page 56
My Gerbil Died On Easter 1994Sueños y Pensamientos
Spring 1995 - Page 55
The Quilt
SIDARed Weather
Spring 1994 - Page 7
Crow Eats RoadkillSueños y Pensamientos
Spring 1993 - Page 17
Piano Gren * Dahl

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Trash Prose Sample

The Word Of Our FatherMy father who is now in heaven, hallowed be our arguments. We loved the Bible like we loved each other, and often that fed our source of contentions. Our conversation topics reminded me of daily bread, mixed, pounded, heated, taunting us with their torturous aroma, until we took them out of the oven fully baked and delicious once the preparation ended. I miss tasting those celestial slices of wisdom and reconciliation.Before my father became a man of Christ, alcohol fed fires that transformed him. A kind and charming man who called me Gata Flaca, Skinny Cat, carried me into the bedroom and sang Topo Gigio’s “A la camita,” song. When drunk, a violent monster who threatened to break my face emerged.These brutal beatings only stopped because he made the mistake of threatening me in front of my maternal grandfather. With a soft voice weighed down by the gravity of his tone, kindly old grandpa warned him, “if I ever find out that you have raised your hand against this innocent child again, I will shoot you and no one will find your corpse.”From that moment, my father never hit me. I didn't know at the time that my grandfather's authority as Auxiliary Superintendent Of Police in Puerto Rico gave his ultimatum teeth. He could have easily made my father disappear from the face of the Earth, without a single drop of repercussion.Thank God he never had to do that. However, the power behind his words impressed me and I never forgot it. The word seemed like the only thing that could stop my father's rage. And the word, coming from the mouth of all righteous authority, seemed to be the only thing dad would listen to.Eventually, my father and I developed a semi-functional relationship when I reached adulthood. In spite of his exhausting and often infuriating sense of certainty, Dad and I enjoyed each other's company. He cared about me more than anything. Being his eldest child and his second favorite, filled me with joy.My middle sister happened to be his golden one. Because Middle Sister’s mother wasn't mine, she stayed behind when mine moved to the states and left him behind. She was his joy and his light.In my late twenties, my father not only found out about my sexual identity, he also found out that I wrote queer graphic novels that held no bars. My youngest sister, his third favorite, snitched on me behind my back when she was still sanctimonious. Father called me long-distance just to yell at me about my immorality as I took my daily meditative walk before harvesting some wild plums.He called me, “dirty,” and told me that I would go to hell. He accused me of being a disgrace for creating such garbage. “Abandon this sinful pursuit; I tell you this as the mouthpiece of God,” he crowed nonsensically. “Repent or you will burn in hell!”Channeling the holy spirit of my grandfather, I posed questions fed by the powerful words of an authority he dared not dispute. “Cheo, how do you know that I wasn't asked to write these things by God himself? I'm a Christian too and you know that I am obedient to Him. Why would I do something to displease my Savior? What makes you think that I didn't pray for HIS guidance before I undertook that project?"“God would never ask anyone to depict such perversion in such disgusting detail.”“Explain the Old Testament then, Papá.” Silence. “Go on, Cheo. Explain why the Book of Ezekiel is there. You do know what's in the Book of Ezekiel, right? Or what about the book of Samuel? Shall we go on?” More silence. “God led me to write my ‘trash,’ just as he led the Old Testament prophets to do the same. I will gladly disobey God and abandon this burden he has placed upon me, when you curse Him and the Old Testament prophets in the same way you have slandered me.”Father never did that. Instead, we began a new tradition of having conversations about the Bible and God while I went out on my meditative walks, typically after church on Sundays. That nasty argument between him and I, gave birth to one of our most cherished rituals. These chats continued until the Sunday that started the final week of his 71 years on Earth.Although some topics we mutually agreed to keep out of our conversations, in most everything we read each other like open books. Even when I started taking hormones to help reverse the feminization the doctors and the modeling industry inflicted upon me, an intersex person, we found common ground.He started taking testosterone at the same time as I. We couldn't stop raving about how much better we felt because of it. One point, he even told me that he didn't think of me as his child, but as his best friend.His allegiance to an Evangelical theology that didn't acknowledge my autonomy as a queer person, made that sort of friendly banter hard won. Perhaps that's why his final words to me were, “I love you very much, and I hope I can find peace soon.” I knew that we would never speak again.The day he died, my stepmother called me frantically as the firefighters and police held her back to keep her from jumping into the blistering inferno in a vain attempt to save him. I screamed uncontrollably, wishing I could take the next plane to Puerto Rico to do the same. The explosion made headline news back there. The mayor of Toa Alta sent the disaster response unit of his city to deal with the devastation and help rebuild my stepmother's home.My family learned much later that Dad died from an attempted suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning gone awry. He gave up on life after being told that COVID-19 exacerbated his stomach cancer and shut down his organs. My dad and I had talked about euthanasia before.He wanted to go to Colombia to get the deed done. I always managed to talk him out of it. I always managed to convince him to go to the nice little folk healing place in the country that never failed to made him feel better. Unfortunately, from March 2020 it remained closed indefinitely because of the COVID-19 epidemic. He couldn't go to the oncologist either until it became too late. The government considered his cancer treatment to be an elective procedure.Papá Cheo placed all his faith on a snake oil salesman. He claimed that one could cure cancer with strawberry papaya smoothies, hypoglycemia and expensive placebos. That devil robbed my father of his will to live when his promises fell flat. Dad didn't ask me for permission this time. He just told me that he didn't want to die in a hospital.His final conversation involved his wife and his most beloved child, my middle sister. Half an hour before he took his life, he told her. “I'm going to beat cancer. I'm going to beat the coronavirus. And, I'm going to see all of you kids for Christmas. I love you very much, girly and I can't wait to see you.” I tried calling her, because her mother and our baby sister didn't have the strength to do so.Middle Sister's work as a nanny meant that she would not get my message, or my brother's, until later in the evening. I knew she would take his death very personally. Unlike me, she did not know how to challenge his ridiculous and bigoted religious stances. She didn't know how to talk to him, or how she could use the word of a powerful authority to successfully defy him.Because of her somewhat strained relationship with dad, she never knew that she was the favorite, even though everyone else did. She shone as his light. Middle Sister kept him from killing himself when my mother moved away after the divorce by simply existing. I'm pretty sure that she lifted his spirits during their conversation. Unfortunately, depressed people with a renewed will often use their fresh motivation to end the pain. I dreaded getting my sissy’s call.I cut a slice of homemade gluten-free bread and poured hemp oil on it before going out on a walk. I needed to take a walk to clear my head. I felt somewhat relieved that my father's years of agony from cancer finally ended, but why did he have to die the way he did?Sure, he condemned people by telling them that they would burn. One could say that poetic justice did him in. Yet, part of his bigotry came from a place of misguided love, and a fear of authority. He didn't actually want anyone to go to hell, and I knew that full well. He didn't deserve to burn in that inferno. No one deserves to burn in hell. I prayed to God, asking, “Why?”As I walked among the pines flanking the narrow dirt road, I basked in the silence and numbness. I focused on my breath. I noticed the blue of the sky before the red sunset. I heard a gentle voice in the wind. I recognized my father's voice telling me, “Child, don't worry about me. I'm pretty good where I'm at.” I smiled. The blessed power of his words fed me and gave me the strength I would need to face the tears of his most beloved daughter.

Contact

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Use the links below to contact Vas Littlecrow Wojtanowicz