Sink and Relationships

Inherently our most cherished relationships ultimately bring forth the most anguish.

EXISTENTIAL 2: PHOENIX RISING? WiP 4.b

Existential 2:
Phoenix Rising?
WiP 4

    "It's very angry," Erin comments from the doorway. 
    To model a line from a much better writer, disconcerted "isn't the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind." Taken aback.  Peturbed.
    "Ya think so?" I ask feigning curiosity.  I squish my eye to the corner of my lips and shake my head back and forth.  "I don't see it."  Sarcasm seems the appropriate response to expressed concern.
    "Do you want to talk about it?"
    "Nope.  That's why I painted that," I say, pointing back with my thumb.  
    "Well, I know you're not happy," she responds, cutting closer to truth. 
    "I'm sublimating my emotions," I say, trying to allay her worry. 
    "So the painting is helping?"
    "It is."

INTIMATE WITH THE ORGY OF NIGHT

Arts Incubator, 3rd Floor

to those
intimate with the orgy of night
who outlast the nagging day for the efflorescent purity
its freedom, possibility, vitality
for you I make this offering

ASSUAGING ANXIETY 1

Assuaging Anxiety 1

17x23"

ink, acrylic on colored paper  

May First Friday 2011

 

  

As the Arts Incubator withers away, I look to efflorescence, just months ago.  I’m trying to do so many things to prepare; I'm getting nowhere fast.  As my mind plans, curates, structures the next 14 chess moves, anxious whirlpools threaten.  On replay, I envision Scratchy's skeleton ripped out of his body: Itchy laughs, Scratchy dies.  It's a most uncomfortable kind of tension, a paradox of sensation: my outer body stationary and my marrow sprinting forward.  I often have this psuedo-agoraphobia before social events, which I don't really understand.  If I truly believe that painting can heal, then I should let it do so. 

So this was me, in the afternoon, sublimating my anxiety before my first First Friday.  

REBIRTH: ARTS INCUBATOR

In the all-encompassing oyster gray, my blood hisses as it slides through my catatonic kid corpse, revivifying as it sears.  I absurdly clutch at cascades of light, as it fondus my cryogenic desolation.    My aerial self-efficay escalates piles of princely orange peels.




www.artsincubatorkc.org

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