Sweat slips in torrents down the metallic impossibility of its taper, quicksilver running down my hand in numbing consistency. Water, frozen in the presence of an enemy, the ambition of -6 degrees Fahrenheit undulating with laughter- at such ease in puppeteering earth’s most popular element.
Write a poem or narrative, using metaphors to compare and contrast ideas, bringing the reader deeper into your piece(s). (Example: like the tears that once wove down my striving neck, gushing around my bare feet, the waterfall stripped me of all feeling but sorrow)
Moist dew envelopes the sweet scent of fresh life, sweeping through my lungs, dripping, seeping in reflective globes down crinkled green sprouts. The droop of creamy white buds teeter from their precarious lifelines, falling to the damp dull jaggedness of earth to give way for their precious successors. Bright veins finger across smooth open teardrops, absorbing the dim warmth of concealed sunlight as I brush my hand across their skin. Scrunched in glistening valleys of spice, holding in burnt tongues and blasts of fragrance, the hidden green of curved, fresh fingers unfold into maturity. They hang in full weight from the striving limbs of stemmed strength and leathery gracefulness that forever reach towards the remembered sun.
The tight, sharp scent of fresh paint weaves familiarity into my lungs. I am lit by a current of warmth and streaming stillness as my eyes reflect the existence of last light. The peeling window is a transparent telescope, bending in burning contrast, curtains of blank, lifeless ice, still rivers down ripped brown bones. It shapes the dusty calm of brightness, shifting patterns and forming minuscule, precise rivers of luminescence to display on my open face. My mind drifts forward in the river of impossibility. I see my own eyes project what can never be elsewhere imagined onto the stark, crisp canvas. Fingers grasp the marked old stem of ideas failed, of visions brought to life, my nimble fingers relentless in rubbing its dried personality, chipping away, silent.
I painted this back in January, and have been debating whether to post it ever since.
I wanted to say that, I may not have dark or different skin, I may not understand exactly what it means to have that as something people judge on, I may even be part of a stereotypical whole called "white", but I don't consider myself to be "white", I never have; because after all, race is just a made up word that holds no scientifical meaning - only the despicable past and present we have piled on it. And being human is what matters to me. I don't care what your skin color is, everyone deserves equality and justice, and by all means, I hear you, I see you, and I stand with you. #BLM #Women's power
Another in-process sculpture. The small one is a maquette, wire frame with oil based clay exterior, and the large 2.5 scaled one is wire frame, stuffed with newspaper, wrapped in tape, and soon to be plastered- I started the plaster but will update when it is finished.